‘This will be a difficult time for us. The King deserves our loyalty, but it will be troublesome to save him when there are so many ranged against us. It is truly in God’s hands, not ours, as to whether we succeed or not.’
‘I will do all I may,’ John said. He looked down at the floor, missing Paul. It was Paul in whom he had always placed most trust, and to think that he was dead, that he could never again utter those barbed remarks, never give John that twisted smile – and never issue that shriek of terrifying blood–lust as he rushed headlong into battle . . . It left John feeling empty. The organ on which he depended for love and loyalty appeared to have shrivelled and died within his breast.
‘You mourn Paul. I liked him, but it was always clear that he was your companion.’
‘He was my constant friend,’ John sighed.
‘But he is dead. Are you committed to our task?’
‘I will do all I may,’ John repeated.
‘Then there is something which you alone can do.’
‘Me, Frere? I will ask all my followers to join us, of course, but I do not see what more—’
‘We need a man on the inside of the party escorting our King. A man who can join with them.’
John frowned. ‘How?’
‘You must ride to Berkeley and offer your services. They will ask whence you came, and you can tell them all the truth, that you came from near Dunhead, that you are an experienced man-at-arms, and that you need a new lord since your old master has died.’
‘Why would they take me?’
‘Because there is no taint of dishonour or felony about you. You are the perfect man to join them. Ride with them, my friend, and bring the King back with you. With luck you shall return by way of Gloucester, and that means you may stop at Llantony-next-Gloucester for a night. The Lord Berkeley is fond of the priory, so you should find that easy.’
‘There is one problem,’ John said. ‘At the castle gate I saw Sir Jevan de Bromfield.’
‘You know him?’
‘He is a Lancaster man. Paul and I fought with him before. He may remember me.’
Frere Thomas reassured him. ‘The Lord de Berkeley is taking our King from the men of Lancaster. They won’t want one of Lancaster’s men on the journey. Keep from him while at Kenilworth, and you will be safe.’
John nodded. Fatalism overwhelmed him. The Dominican might be right. If not, well, John would try to escape if he could.
‘There is a man at the priory . . .’ Thomas continued, and began to speak quietly of the man that John must meet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Broadway
Dolwyn of Guildford led the horse through and past Broadway at the earliest moment. Up before dawn, he had made sure that the beast was harnessed and ready before he had eaten anything, and then he set off with a hunk of bread ready to satisfy his hunger as he walked.
The roads here were quite level and easy. There was a steady rise coming, he could see, but for all that he was content that his route was moderately fast. Much better than other parts of the country where the roads were constantly climbing or falling. With a horse and cart, leading the brute down a steep gradient was as bad as trying to make the animal climb. Carts were ungainly vehicles at the best of times. With a slow, old or recalcitrant horse in the shafts, they became a torment.
He had found the beast hobbled a short way from the cart, and it took him little time to have it in the shafts and ready. It would be foolish in the extreme to hang around, and he was on the road again in short order, hurrying on past Willersey and heading on down the road. He could see the church, the steeple rising from a mist, and he made a broad sweep around it, to avoid any early risers. He kept a wary eye on the road ahead, but a more careful watch on the road behind: that, he knew, was the direction any danger would come from.
He heard the first riders from Willersey before noon. A group of three horses galloping down the next road, their hooves striking sparks from the stones. At the sound, he ducked down, eyes scanning the hedges and the lane up behind him in case it was a posse. He had deliberately chosen these little grassy tracks, rather than a busier road. Speed had been sacrificed for concealment.
The riders were away past him in a flash, and he rested for a while, staring after them. They had been quick. He had hoped to get further from the crime before a posse had formed. He would obviously have to be very careful.
Pebworth
They were up long before Matteo was ready. He yawned and stretched when he was on his mount, but was glad that he had made time to speak with Dolwyn.
‘Master Bardi?’
Matteo turned to see Alured at his side, walking along at Matteo’s speed. ‘Yes?’
‘You were with Dolwyn a long time, Master Bardi.’
‘What of it?’
‘I was worried about you.’
‘You had no need to worry,’ Matteo said, feeling happier than he had in a long time. Sir Edward of Caernarfon had been glad of the letter, Dolwyn had told him, and had burned it in his presence, so there was nothing to connect the Bardi to him. If he should ever become King again, he would know that the House of Bardi had supported him; while if he failed, the family were safe.
In fact, there was only one connection to the Bardi from Sir Edward, and that was Dolwyn himself.
But Matteo did not think that Dolwyn was a risk.
Willersey
The house was neat, he had to give Agatha that, Father Luke thought as he rapped on the door. It was a good cruck house, built when Ham’s father had been young. The wattle and daub was old but it had stood up well, thanks to Ham’s annual lime-washing of the walls.
‘Agatha, how is Jen?’ he asked as he ducked under the lintel and peered about him in the gloom. The little girl had been brought home from the scene of her father’s murder, and put to bed in a fainting fit.
Agatha was seated by her daughter’s palliasse, from where she could reach the fire and stir some thickened pottage, and she stared at him, her features pale. ‘What do you want?’
‘I came to see how you were,’ he said earnestly.
There was no reciprocal warmth in her eyes, he saw, only a deep suspicion – as if she expected him to try to rape her or rob her. He was, after all, the man who had led her husband from the vill and to his death.
‘Oh really?’ she asked, her tone silky, but venomous.
‘I wished to console you both. Please, I should like to help you, mistress. Perhaps we can pray together?’
‘You think I’d ever touch your hand again, Priest?’ she screeched. ‘You lied to me about my poor Ham. You said he’d run away, and yet he came back to me! He came all the way back to me!’ She started to sob, and the girl whimpered in her sleep.
‘Mistress, calm yourself.’
‘It was me, wasn’t it?’ she said with a low, quiet certainty. ‘It was because everyone thinks me a cold, unfeeling cow who doesn’t care for anyone. You believed it too, didn’t you? You thought he would do anything to run away from me. That was it. You reckoned he’d found some whore and chose to stay with her than coming home to me. But he loved me. And I loved him. He was mine – and now he’s dead.’
‘The man who did this will be found.’ Father Luke promised. He had taken a step back against her sudden outburst, and now he tried to introduce a calming note. ‘Mistress, you are overwrought. You should rest, let someone help you and young Jen.’
‘They tried. Three maids have been here,’ Agatha said, placing a cool cloth over Jen’s brow, ‘but I won’t have them. She is my little girl, and I will look after her. Just as I shall see to my husband’s body. I will clean him and clothe him in his winding sheet as a widow should. No one else.’
‘The coroner has been sent for. With luck he will be here in the morning,’ Father Luke said.
‘So? You mean someone may be found?’
‘We will do all we can.’
She sighed, the emotion of the morning taking its toll. ‘Just bring my cart. I’l
l have to see to the horse before the poor thing collapses. At least it’s not cold up there.’
The look on Father Luke’s face made her scowl. ‘What now?’
‘Mistress, whoever killed Ham must have taken the cart. I’m sorry.’
‘No, that cannot be!’ she declared, wringing her hands. ‘It must be there.’
‘Perhaps he lost it on his way here,’ Luke suggested. ‘He could have had it stolen on the road.’
‘No! The axe – that was the one he kept on his cart.’ Agatha shuddered. ‘It must still be up there.’
‘I am very sorry,’ Luke said.
‘Stop saying that! It is there, it must be.’ Her breast heaved with dry sobs. ‘Oh, God. What will become of us?’
The priest knew that the cart would have guaranteed an income for this widow and her daughter. With Despenser’s money, he could have helped them both so much. Thinking of Jen, he glanced down at the girl on the palliasse, and to his shock he realised that she was wide awake and listening.
‘I am scared,’ Jen whispered. Her eyes were deep wells of despair and fear as she looked up at him.
He tried to imagine how terrible it must be, to lose a father at such a tender age, and by such violent means. ‘There is no need to be,’ he said gently. ‘You will be safe here.’
Jen looked up and gripped his hand. ‘I want my father back,’ she wept.
And the priest knew that no words of his could comfort her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Exeter
‘You want me to go with you where?’ Simon said. ‘No. Absolutely not!’
The older man sat back and leaned against the wall. ‘Come, Bailiff, it is not so far as your journey to France last year. You can easily travel that distance.’
‘I am not going anywhere,’ Simon asserted. ‘It’s ridiculous! I’ve only just got back to my home after all the troubles last year, and you want me to head off with you again now?’
‘Not me alone. It’s a small force, but there are a few other fellows to ride with us. I swear I shall return you here to your home as soon as the King’s father is safely ensconced in his new home.’
‘And where will that be?’ Simon demanded bitterly. ‘Halfway to Scotland? I don’t want to ride all the way to Kenilworth only to take the King’s father on a long journey north!’
‘We won’t be going north from there, I promise you,’ Sir Richard said smoothly. ‘Hah! Can you see me travelling all that way? Still, we have been asked to go and there’s not much we can do about it.’
Hugh had walked in now, and stood in the corner of the room with a dour expression on his face, as was his wont. Simon threw him a look. ‘And what about you? I thought I told you to stay and guard the house. Dear heaven, you haven’t left that fool Rob alone, have you?’
‘Old Penny has gone to stay there with him,’ Hugh muttered.
‘Penny, eh?’ A local man, Penny was a farmer to his fingertips – so he would know all the tasks Rob should be doing. And he was a brawny fellow, too, more than capable of protecting the place.
‘So, Simon, we shall have to leave in the morning.’
‘I cannot leave my wife again.’
Margaret clucked her tongue. The thought of Simon riding away had filled her with distress when Sir Richard had first mentioned it, but now she took a deep breath. ‘Husband, please do not worry about me. I am perfectly content to be in Devon again. If Edith does not object, nor her husband, I will stay here with them until your return. It would be good for me to spend time with our grandson, and I may be able to help Edith, too.’
‘Would you, Mother? That would be wonderful,’ Edith said.
Simon scowled, eyeing them both suspiciously. Margaret smiled at him; it was plain enough that she would be overjoyed to remain here longer. He threw a look at Sir Richard. ‘I don’t know . . .’
His wife had suffered badly last year. He had been separated from her then, and the result had been a near disastrous brain-fever. She had survived the Siege of the Tower of London, only to become enclosed in Bristol as the Queen’s men encircled the city, and Simon’s departure so soon afterwards had weakened her. It had taken all this time, four months, to get her back to her usual good health.
‘I am perfectly well now,’ she told him. ‘Now I know that Edith and Henry are fine – well, that eases my mind. As it should yours, too. You go and help Sir Richard. You don’t want to refuse to obey the new King, do you?’
‘This is truly a request from the new King?’
‘Yes.’ Sir Richard lowered his voice. ‘I think he suspects that his father could be in danger, were the party sent to guard him to be chosen by another. There are many who might seek to have Sir Edward permanently removed, if you see what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Simon stared at the floor, thinking it all through. Then he made his decision. ‘Very well. I’d best join you. Hugh, you will come with me. Since you’ve developed a taste for travelling, even when you’ve been told to stay at the house, you can join us on the ride to Kenilworth.’
Hugh said nothing. His dark glower spoke for him.
Morrow of the Feast of the Annunciation29
Exeter
The next morning was one of those perfect March days in which the world appears a better, kinder place. Margaret woke in the chamber below her daughter’s solar to the sound of her grandchild demanding milk, beside a gently snoring Simon, and smiled at his relaxed face.
It was good to see him so at ease. In the last year he had been kept away from their home, and the vile Sir Hugh le Despenser had given both Simon and Margaret great heartache. He had cost them their new home in Lydford, he had almost cost them their daughter, and all for the sake of his ambitions.
When she thought of how close Simon had come to breaking down in Bristol, she shuddered. To have seen her strong, reliable husband nearly in tears, was shocking. She remembered his face as he stammered, his drawn features, his sudden, apparent old age. At the time it had scared her.
No longer. From the unglazed window she could hear birds singing merrily. The sunlight was already bright, and when she got up and walked to the window, she could see the sky was perfectly clear.
Simon snored again as she pulled on a tunic. She went to kiss him, and smelled the sour odour of stale wine. He and Sir Richard had sealed their compact last night when Simon finally gave in and agreed to join the knight. It was always an error, she knew, for Simon to drink with Sir Richard. The man had a stomach that might have been constructed by an armourer.
The baby was giving that sobbing cry that always sounded to her as though he was demanding ‘Mi-i-i-ilk’ over and over again. It had been a call she had adored with her own babes, because it meant she was needed. Those moments were all too fleeting.
Children grew so swiftly. It seemed only weeks since Edith was a gangly little girl of seven or eight, and yet here she was now, a woman of seventeen, with a husband and her own child. The time flew past, and before a woman knew it, her children were old enough to lead their own lives, and the task of the mother was done.
Margaret knew that at her age many other mothers would be dead already, many of them in childbirth. At almost thirty-six, she too could still be killed by another baby, but she considered the likelihood with equanimity. There was no point in becoming disturbed by death. All a woman could do was work for her family and place her faith in God.
Leaving the solar, she walked through to the parlour, and found a grim-faced Sir Richard poking the fire.
He looked up. ‘Morning, mistress. That wench is no good at lighting a fire. When I was a lad, it was the first thing you were taught: how to make a fire so your lord could have a hot drink. Now, the youngsters seem to think that all they need do is lay a few twigs and show them a spark, and the fire will take hold, just like that. Hah!’
‘How is your head?’
‘Me head?’ He looked up with such obvious bafflement that she had to laugh.
‘My husband is snoring s
till, and I doubt not that when he wakes he will be like a bear at the baiting. How much did you drink?’
Sir Richard blinked and set his head to one side as he calculated. ‘Oh, I don’t know . . . Perhaps a pair of quarts of wine, but then the maid told us that supplies were low and begged us to try her ale. It was good, too,’ he added reflectively. ‘I could do with some of that now. Oh, and there was some cider. A little harsh, that was. I needed another ale to take away the taste.’
‘You shared all that?’
‘Shared?’ he repeated, an expression of bemusement on his face. ‘No: each, me dear.’
She eyed him with renewed respect. For a man to drink so much and be able to wake the following morning was, she felt, rather admirable.
‘You needn’t worry about your husband, Madame Puttock,’ he said, and she was about to protest that she was not concerned, merely deciding to leave him to sleep off his hangover, when Sir Richard nodded seriously and continued, ‘I’ll look after him.’
‘I am most grateful,’ she said quietly, trying to control the urge to giggle. If there was one man whom Simon would not wish to have looking after his interests, it was this one, she felt sure.
Simon, she knew, would feel like death on waking.
Near Broadway
John sat up with a jerk, staring wildly about. In his dreams, he had been enjoying a drinking session in an ale-house in London with Paul, a little before the sudden rise of the London mob, and waking here under the branches of an elm left him feeling completely disorientated.
The memory of that dream stayed with him. All had been on tenterhooks at the time. The knowledge that Queen Isabella was raising a host of men from Hainault was enough to make all the men of Sir Hugh le Despenser’s household anxious. Many were the discussions about their future prospects.
In the ale-house, John had been sitting and drinking by the fire with Paul, and the men around them were singing and laughing, teasing the three wenches serving ale while trying to negotiate for their company. One woman was soon dallying in the farther corner of the inn with a guard, and Paul eyed her sadly.
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