30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  Later, when her friend Alice married and left, she began to feel the first stabs of envy. Alice’s husband was an apprentice, but soon he took over the business, and the couple lived in luxury. Mild vexation grew to disgruntlement that her own husband could not provide so well.

  Still, they had the house, and the land about here was abundant. Fruit grew thickly on the trees. The cider here was the best in the land, she swore, and no man need go hungry. They did not suffer hardship.

  She saw that over the fireplace, hooked in the hole in the wood where the plaster had fallen away, was the old goosefeather which Ham had bought her for dusting and cleaning. It was a silly thing, just a length of feather, nothing more, and yet the sight of it was enough to make the tears flood her face. The feather held so many memories for her – of times when she and Ham had been happy, when Jen had been a little child. So many happy things to recall, and all now in the past. Ham had left her – had gone away to find a new life. She could almost wish she had been less shrewish.

  ‘Mother?’

  Agatha opened her eyes and looked at her daughter. The girl was anxious, wishing to console, but sad too, to think that her father was gone – because Jen was no fool. Agatha held her arms open and embraced her daughter, and soon she was sobbing like a maid. The emptiness in the cottage, the anxiety about her husband, all conspired to bring her to an emotional collapse.

  It was not that she feared he was dead. Rather that he was alive and well, and enjoying another woman.

  ‘I miss him so much!’ she wailed, and the sound of her despair scared her.

  ‘Mother, what did Father Luke mean? He said there was money. Papa had no money, did he?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Agatha wiped her eyes. ‘Must have meant the purveyor.’

  Jen blew her nose. ‘Why did Father Luke have to go with them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said. But now there was a vague memory . . . She cast her mind back to that fateful day. Father Luke had approached her to ask where her husband was, hadn’t he, and a little later she had heard that the priest was joining Ham and the purveyor. Ham had said he must go to the church to fetch something before he and the purveyor left. The words he muttered made her think it was a heavy item belonging to the priest.

  Heavy. Coin was heavy. Gold was heavy. Could it be that the priest had something valuable to carry? What could a priest have that was worth anything, she scoffed. But there was a niggling suspicion at the back of her mind. Was that why Father Luke was so determined to tell her nothing about Ham? Poor Ham! What had happened to him?

  ‘Ma?’ Jen said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Agatha said. ‘I think there’s something the Father forgot to tell us.’

  Furnshill

  Baldwin stared in astonishment. ‘At Kenilworth? They must have been mad!’

  ‘It was a bold attack, from all I have heard. No subtlety, just a simple assault. They almost reached Sir Edward, but then they were repulsed and several killed.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And all the Keepers of the King’s Peace are expected to be alert for any signs of such malefactors in their areas, and should arrest all those who appear to have plotted or who may plot the escape of Sir Edward of Caernarfon, lately King of England.’

  Baldwin nodded, but did not react. Sir Peregrine knew that Baldwin had been an enthusiastic supporter of the King. No matter. So had many others.

  ‘I shall be vigilant,’ he said.

  ‘Sir Baldwin, I am sorry, but I do not think you understand my mission. I was sent here by the guard at Kenilworth to ask you to join him.’

  ‘What? At Kenilworth, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Sir Edward is to be taken away from that castle and installed in another. He is distressed. He believes his life is in grave danger, and he has asked that two men whom he can trust should go with him.’

  ‘Not I?’

  ‘I fear so.

  Baldwin was about to sneer at his words, when he saw the sympathy in Sir Peregrine’s eyes. It was enough to stifle his response. ‘Aye, well.’

  ‘Not you alone, though. I believe you know Sir Ralph of Evesham?’

  ‘I do. He was with me when the King was captured. He and I were among the last knights in his service.’ Baldwin nodded his gratitude.

  Sir Peregrine said nothing more, but both men knew that a fence had been leaped and both felt better for it.

  It was obvious that Jeanne did not understand the undercurrent, but Baldwin could not explain. Not now.

  King Edward II had been Baldwin’s King for these twenty years past. Oh, Baldwin knew that his monarch had been foolish occasionally, but Baldwin was an intensely loyal man, who felt the solitude of his royal master’s position keenly. Fractious barons, the Scots, and an inclination to unsuitable pursuits had all conspired to bring him low in the nation’s esteem. Even merchants and peasants felt ashamed of a King who liked to join fishermen, who enjoyed swimming and acting, rather than more regal past times. In the eyes of his peers, he was foolish.

  However, during all the long years since Baldwin and Sir Peregrine had first met, Baldwin had known that Sir Peregrine desired the removal of King Edward’s adviser, Sir Hugh le Despenser. The latter was detested all over the realm, and yet Baldwin would not join with any plots to bring about such an outcome. He remained true to his oath.

  That Baldwin had served his King was a source of pride, because he believed in the importance of oaths and he had given his word to his King freely; yet the realisation, when he was captured, that he could be executed along with any who sought to defend the King had forced him to look back on his life and reconsider some of the decisions he had made.

  If he had died, his wife and children could have become destitute. It was not a thought which had troubled him before, because a man in full strength rarely considers his own destruction, but now, more and more, he was aware of this concern. He imagined his wife being evicted, probably raped and beaten before being thrown out on the road with only the sobbing of their children to accompany her.

  He felt as though, in seeking to serve his King, he had betrayed his own family. He could not do that again.

  Willersey

  The way that he tried to scurry from the church as soon as his service was over was enough to convince her.

  ‘Father,’ Agatha called. ‘Father!’

  He was already at the door, and seemed on the verge of bolting – but then she was at his side and he deflated like a punctured bladder.

  ‘I want to know the truth,’ she said grimly. ‘What has happened to him?’

  ‘Mistress, I don’t know,’ he protested weakly.

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ She thrust her face forward. ‘You wanted Ham to take something heavy, and so valuable that you didn’t dare leave it to him alone. You had to go with him, didn’t you? That’s what you were saying when you spoke yesterday. The money you mentioned, that Ham could have taken – did you put it on his cart?’

  Luke stared past her towards the cross. He did not know whether to tell her all, or even a part of what had happened. Surely to divulge her husband’s flight would be more cruel than allowing her to think that she was widowed? She could forget her man, continue with her life – perhaps find another husband.

  And that brought him up short. What if she did find another and came to him, her priest, to ask that he marry her again? He could not do so, not while he remained convinced that her husband was no more dead than he was himself. No! He must tell her the truth, and that right soon.

  ‘Mistress,’ Father Luke confessed quietly, averting his eyes, ‘I think that he stole my money and has fled.’

  Furnshill

  It was late that night when Jeanne heard her husband climb the stairs to their solar.

  ‘You are weary, Baldwin.’

  She saw him grin at her as he reached over to set the candle on a spike by the doorway. ‘I admit it freely, my love. I am tired.’

  ‘Was it Sir Peregrine?’


  ‘The man exhausts me. His presence is a trial in its own right.’

  ‘He is a different man since his marriage.’

  Baldwin looked at her. ‘No. He is the same man with a thin veneer of suavity.’ He sat and began to tug off his boots. ‘His marriage to Isabella has given him new interests, it is true, but his own desires were always concentrated on removing the Despenser from the heart of government. To achieve that, he knew that he must see the King replaced. Now that King Edward II has given up his throne and passed it on to his son, Sir Peregrine considers his function in the world achieved, and he is content. But he knows that my own loyalty will remain with the King anointed in the sight of God, and none other. For no other King will exist for me until Edward II is dead.’

  ‘But what does that mean?’ Jeanne asked. She felt a flicker of fear awaken in her breast. ‘You will not go against the new King, will you?’

  Baldwin sat back and she saw his dark eyes study her for a long while. ‘No,’ he said at last, and her heart begin to calm. ‘No, I could not involve myself in the kingdom’s politics. Not willingly. I think that I have done my part in the last five years. I am keen now to remain as I am: a lowly rural knight. I have no affectations, no ambitions. I wish to enjoy what life is left to me with my family. That is all.’

  He turned away and pulled his tunic over his head, tugged off his chemise and bundled all his clothes into a ball, setting them on top of the chest. He climbed into bed naked, and Jeanne snuggled closer. ‘Ach, you’re freezing!’

  He chuckled, pulling her towards him, and kissed the top of her head. ‘We shall be safe enough down here,’ he said comfortingly.

  Jeanne smiled to herself as he kissed her again, and lifted her head so he could kiss her mouth. She felt the familiar thrilling through her body as they began to make love, but later, when she opened her eyes again, close to sleep, she saw that her husband was staring up at the ceiling intently, like a man considering an unpleasant task.

  Last year, at the time when he had been called away to protect the Duke of Aquitaine on his journey to Paris, knowing he was to desert her, he had worn a remarkably similar look on his face.

  He looked at her now, and murmured, ‘I think I am glad I collected my sword.’

  His words were spoke lightly enough, but the look in his eyes was enough to chill her blood.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Vigil of the Feast of the Annunciation25

  Willersey

  It was no good, she couldn’t sleep. Agatha surrendered herself to the fact that she would remain awake throughout the night, and rolled from her palliasse to her feet, then shuffled in the dark towards the table. She sat on the stool and leaned her elbows on the table, chin resting on her fists.

  That prickle!

  It was the only thought that kept running through her mind. She wanted to scream and lash out at anyone who came near. But in truth, deep down, all she felt was despair at the thought that the man with whom she had expected to spend the rest of her life had deserted her.

  Her man must have told Father Luke, since the latter was so certain. Perhaps Ham had confessed in church, or when he got drunk. Ham may have found some accommodating bitch who tempted him. Perhaps that was it – not money, just a draggletail, and he was off after her like a dog. All men were the same. Even Ham.

  ‘Why now?’ she groaned.

  She could have made something of her life if he’d died years ago. When she was in her twenties, there were men who’d shown an interest in her and she could have made a good match. Instead, here she was – a raddled old wench, her face lined, her body sagging and worn. No man would want her now. She took her hands from her face and studied them: the calluses and warts, the horny skin. Once she had been pretty enough, and if she had been saved from this life of endless effort, maybe she would still be comely.

  In time, she hoped she would accept the idea that he had left her. It was terrible to think she might not. A life full of bitterness was no life at all.

  She looked over at Jen sleeping on her palliasse, her mouth dropped open, faint snores ensuing, and felt another surge of sadness, tinged with determination.

  They would survive, even if Ham had left them. They would survive.

  Ross-on-Wye

  Matteo de Bardi rode stiffly still, the pain in his back a reminder of his vulnerability. It did not matter whether a fellow was a lord or a king – if the mob decided to remove him, it would do so. A word in the right ear and a crowd would stab him to death without a moment’s hesitation.

  The thought brought another twinge of pain.

  Death had not left his mind in the last days. At Abergavenny Castle, danger had felt so close; on leaving, he felt as if he had sloughed off a heavy cloak – and with the cloak went all his fears and troubles. Outside the town’s gates he felt like a man renewed.

  ‘Are you well, master?’ Alured asked at his side.

  ‘Yes,’ Matteo smiled.

  Matteo Bardi knew he was little known outside the bank, and yet it was he who wielded much of the real control. It was the information he gathered which led to the new directions being taken by the bank. Especially since the others rarely realised that they had been manipulated.

  In recent years he had never once been in error. His informants were competent, from an Earl all the way down to a lay brother in a small priory. All knew their duties, and all were proficient if not prolific. It was the most arduous task, Matteo knew, to sift through the distraction of base rocks to search out the twinkling motes of pure gold. Other banks, even Florentine ones, were put to great effort to decide which information was accurate, which was guesswork, which was spurious or intended to cause confusion.

  Matteo was happy that all that work had been done already. He paid well, and his sources knew that even if they had no information, he would still pay them. And because he did pay monthly in gold, his men continued to give him important tidbits when they had them. They trusted him.

  And they were right to do so. He would support and protect them. Until they became dangerous, in which case he would instantly remove them.

  It must have been something of this reputation which had helped recommend him to Sir Roger Mortimer. And now the latter had asked him to deliver the indenture to move Sir Edward of Caernarfon from Kenilworth. Matteo had considered it an honour, and had been happy to wait for a day while the parchment was drawn up by Mortimer’s clerks.

  However now, sitting astride his horse, he was assailed by doubts.

  Matteo knew that Earl Henry of Lancaster and Sir Roger were vying for power. Earl Henry had better contacts in Parliament and could count on winning debates there, but Sir Roger was the Queen’s lover. If Sir Roger wanted to take the old King from Kenilworth and place him in Berkeley Castle under the control of his son-in-law Lord Thomas de Berkeley, that must give Sir Roger the edge. While Earl Henry had him at Kenilworth, he could threaten to return Edward to his throne and oust Sir Roger. Without Sir Edward, his position was greatly weakened.

  At least he would be safe enough, Matteo told himself. He was a mere messenger, one who was impartial in this matter.

  Thank the Good Lord that Dolwyn had not been discovered, nor the Bardi letter found, he thought.

  West Sandford

  There were times when he hated that lazy prickle. Gurt hoddypeak26.

  Hugh scowled at the boy and aimed a kick at his backside. ‘You know ’tis not what I meant, you boinard27,’ he snarled.

  ‘How’m I to know what you mean? You never explain anything to me!’

  Rob was a whining, idle, ferret-like boy whom Hugh’s master Simon Puttock had somehow collected when he was living as Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth some while ago. The post had been intended as a reward to Master Simon, because he had served his lord, the Abbot of Tavistock, well – but the good abbot had had no notion of how devastating his kindness had been. Removed from his beloved moors, Simon had been like a fish out of water. His wife was reluctant to move to Dartmouth,
because their daughter Edith was the sort of girl who’d fall for the first fellow to come along, and the idea of her being exposed to a bunch of rough sailors was not to be borne. So the family had separated, Simon going to the coast while his family remained in Lydford.

  This little wretch had been his servant there in Dartmouth. And he still couldn’t wake up in time to make the morning’s fire.

  ‘More logs, I said,’ Hugh hissed.

  ‘Oh, “more logs, more tinder, more wine, more everything, Rob. Just do as I say, and don’t argue”!’ the lad said bitterly, mimicking Hugh’s voice. ‘You just don’t know what I—’

  He broke off as Hugh hurled a short stick at him. ‘I said, more logs. I want a fire for the master when he returns.’

  ‘You need a slave, that’s what you need,’ Rob grumbled.

  ‘Shut your noise, boy, and fetch the logs,’ Hugh rasped, and watched from black brows as the lad sulkily dragged his feet out through the doorway.

  Hugh made a small pile of twigs in readiness, then held a hand over the ashes of the night’s fire in the hearth. There was some heat in one corner, and when he blew gently on it, he saw a faint glimmer, but when he set a twig in it there was not enough heat to make it smoke.

  Instead he took a little charred cloth and set it on his lap, preparing flint and steel, and then striking down sharply with the flint. The spark was so tiny, it might have been a mote of dust. He struck again, then four more times rapidly, until he saw the gleam of red on the black material.

  Quickly picking it up, he blew to make it glow strongly and surrounded it with some wisps of old man’s beard and some fine twigs and birch bark. Soon smoke was rising, and he carefully set it down over the hottest part of the ashes, placing the handful of twigs overtop, and blowing soft but steady into it. There was a flicker of flame and he nodded, satisfied.

  Hugh had been born not far from Drewsteignton, on a farm that was noted for its sheep. There, as a boy, he had grown wild with the animals. He had cared for few people, only his sheep and his dog, and it was not until Simon Puttock took him on that he discovered the pleasure of companionship. He had never regretted joining with Master Simon, although he wished that his own marriage has lasted longer. His wife and child had died in a fire, and many had been the times he had wished that he had died with them.