30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  Simon gave him a sour look and walked over to the horses. His own beast was looking well enough after almost a day of rest, and he was glad to see that a patch where the saddle had rubbed on its withers appeared to have healed, after the groom had spread some goose fat over the area.

  ‘There he is,’ the groom said with a nod of his head towards the inner ward’s gates.

  Simon turned to see Sir Edward of Caernarfon walking past.

  ‘He looks sad,’ Simon said quietly.

  ‘He is, I expect,’ said Sir Jevan, who had been patting his own horse a short way away. He joined Simon. ‘Hard to imagine how he must feel, eh? His children won’t see him, his wife hates him, and his subjects have forgotten him. What a disaster it must seem, to see all his works set aside.’

  Simon shrugged. Perhaps the King was experiencing a little of the horror that had been visited upon the people of his realm. In his opinion, the King did not deserve any more sympathy than Despenser.

  And yet Simon still found himself feeling sorry for the man.

  There was a goodly number of men around the King as he trotted to the outer ward. Beside him was a squire, whom Simon recognised from the King’s household in Westminster, although he could not remember the fellow’s name. At the other side was the King’s Gaoler, a Sergeant called Gilbert. Then came more servants and a contingent of guards. None of them terribly prepossessing, he thought.

  Mostly they were scruffy-looking fellows with long knives, leather jerkins and toughened leather caps on their heads. Welsh, from the look of them, he thought. Mortimer had many Welsh friends, and was trusted by the Welsh, as was Sir Edward of Caernarfon himself. It made for confusion among the peoples of the Principality when Mortimer decided to rebel.

  ‘Ho! Looks like we should mount,’ Sir Richard said. He left Simon and swung himself onto his beast, settling instantly like a man born in a saddle. Simon took a little longer, and when he was seated, he saw Hugh scowling ferociously while two grooms tried to curb their amusement, holding his pony still for him while he attempted to get his foot in the stirrup.

  Watching Hugh, Simon did not pay attention to the others, and he was surprised to find that a man had ridden up close. He looked across – and felt a little of his sore head dissipate at the gladsome sight.

  ‘Baldwin! What in God’s great name are you doing here?’

  ‘Old friend, I was about to ask you the same question,’ Baldwin said, gripping Simon’s arm.

  There was a shout at the gate, a slow rumble as the great baulks of timber swung open on their huge hinges, and then amid a loud trumpet blast, Gilbert gave the order for the unruly mob to ride off. Soon all fifty men were moving, Gilbert in the lead, while the old King was surrounded by the majority of the men-at-arms behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Kenilworth

  John climbed into the saddle with a sigh of thankfulness. He had no desire to be on horseback again so soon, but anything was better than remaining here in the castle. He constantly felt the need to keep his head down. It was a relief that he had been billeted outside the castle itself, along with many of the Berkeley men. There was not room for all inside.

  It was impossible not to be worried. No matter where he looked, he saw men against whom only a few days before, he had fought. That fellow there, to the left of the main gates, he was one of those who had stood in John and Paul’s way as they tried to rush the gates; that fellow by the windlass, he was one of those John had seen in the yard. All about him were men who would be sure to recognise him at any moment. His nerves were in tatters.

  A shiver ran through his frame at the thought that this was the place where Paul had died. It was here that John himself had killed the guard at the gate. More blood, he thought, more unnecessary death.

  Already the horns were blaring their strident call, and the first of the men were beginning to walk on their horses towards the gates, led by their two commanders, Lord Thomas de Berkeley, and his brother-in-law, Sir John Maltravers, who both made a show of hardly acknowledging the presence of their charge. Lord Thomas gave Sir Edward of Caernarfon a curt nod, John saw, but nothing more. It was deeply insulting, and he seethed with indignation on Sir Edward’s behalf. Not long ago, those two men were in gaol because of their disrespect and treachery to their King. And now they felt they could treat that same man with the contempt usually reserved for a villein from their estates. For his part, he felt only sympathy and sadness. Like him, Sir Edward had lost all his closest friends and companions.

  He clapped spurs to his beast’s flanks and clicked his tongue, and soon he was moving off with all the others, and as he went, his worry about being discovered was blown away with the wind. Once the cavalcade was outside the gates, and away from that dread garrison of men loyal to Earl Henry of Lancaster, it would be time for him to follow with the rearguard. At that thought he felt renewed, and could look about him with his head held high once more.

  And then he saw that among the last men to leave the castle was Sir Jevan de Bromfield on his horse, and John felt his heart sink to his feet as he ducked his head down and pulled his hood over his brow.

  Kenilworth Castle

  ‘So where have you been hiding?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Hardly hiding,’ Simon grunted. They were thundering over the causeway now, and the low, grumbling sound was making his head pound still harder. ‘Sir Richard met me at Edith’s house.’

  ‘Oh, he is here, is he?’

  ‘Hence my head.’

  Baldwin smiled. A man who was abstemious himself, he rarely suffered from hangovers, but he could at least sympathise with a man in as much pain as Simon. ‘Hopefully it will improve as we ride. That is the pleasure of riding in good, clear weather.’

  ‘Apart from the dust,’ Simon pointed out grimly.

  Already, as the lead horses left the wooden causeway and trotted over the dried earth of the roadway at the other side, a fine mist was forming in the air.

  Baldwin nodded and pulled at his neckerchief. He would tie it over his face, now the dust had become worse.

  ‘When did you get here?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Three days ago,’ Baldwin said with a grin. ‘Apparently Sir Edward asked to have friends whom he could trust to join him on the road.’

  ‘Why you as well?’ Simon wondered. ‘Aren’t there enough here already?’

  ‘We’re here to help guard him from you, Simon, and the rest of the men here,’ Baldwin said.

  Simon winced. ‘I don’t think I want to hear any more.’

  ‘We will be well enough,’ Baldwin said. ‘Sir Ralph is riding with the King, and we agreed that I would have a look over the rest of the men in the escort. I would be glad if you would too, and let me know if you see or hear anything suspicious, old friend. It is good to know that you are here, and Sir Richard. If ever there was a man less likely to be a danger to the King, it would be him.’

  ‘I have heard nothing,’ Simon said. He cast a look about them, idly studying the men nearest. ‘The only fellow I have encountered here is a man called Sir Jevan. Do you know him?’

  ‘By reputation. He is one of the new breed of knight,’ Baldwin said dismissively. ‘One of those who lives by the sword and seeks only enrichment, the same as those who flocked to Despenser’s side – not that Sir Jevan was one of them. I believe he hated Despenser with a passion. Still, he is a man who thinks that the strongest deserve praise by virtue of their power.’

  ‘I was not impressed,’ Simon admitted.

  ‘Good,’ Baldwin chuckled. Then a cloud of dust rose and enveloped them and he coughed. ‘Dear heaven, this ride will be as pleasant as riding across the Holy Land.’

  ‘A little less hot, I hope,’ Simon muttered.

  ‘So do I,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘So, why does Sir Edward of Caernarfon think he needs protection?’

  ‘Because he thinks you, or someone else here who has no reason to remember him with fondness, will attempt to assassinate him.’


  ‘You jest.’

  ‘Oh, no, Simon,’ Baldwin said, and Simon saw the truth in his eyes. ‘I do not make jest at all. He believes it. And so do I.’

  South of Kenilworth

  John rode as far to the back of the mounted men-at-arms as he could, keeping his hood over his head and a strip of cloth over his mouth. Many others were covering their faces against the rising clouds of dust that clung to the inside of a man’s mouth and nostrils like flour in a mill. It was a horrible sensation, true enough, but it was not so revolting to John as the sight of Sir Jevan.

  He gritted his teeth. It would be impossible to feel safe while that bastard was with the escort. If Sir Jevan so much as caught a glimpse of his face, John was done for. It was a miracle that he had not already been recognised. Fortunately he had changed his clothing when he arrived at the castle, giving his tunic and hosen to the laundress who had joined the party, which was perhaps why he had escaped Sir Jevan’s attention so far. That, and the strategic use of his hood, had probably saved him.

  He would have to try to keep out of Sir Jevan’s way. With so many men sprawling over so large an area, it was easy enough to remain undetected. Here at the rear, John was nearly a quarter of a mile or so behind the knight.

  The only other option was to escape entirely and leave the party. Or kill Sir Jevan.

  Kenilworth

  Simon stared at him, and then gave a guffaw of laughter. ‘Me? What, you reckon Hugh and I could try something?’

  ‘Not alone, Simon,’ Baldwin explained. ‘But think about it from Sir Edward’s point of view. He was captured, saw his closest companion hacked to pieces, and was brought there, to Kenilworth,’ he jerked his thumb at the great castle, ‘and there, while protected by a mass of men, a tiny group managed to penetrate the defences. They forced their way into the outer ward and would have got further, were it not for a little bad luck. They were discovered as the curfew was imposed, and killed.’

  ‘All?’

  ‘All those who remained in the castle. A posse was sent to capture the others outside the castle walls, but it was curfew and growing dark, and although a few were found and slain, they suspect the ringleaders escaped. Or weren’t there,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Simon grinned. ‘You’re being evasive, or merely impenetrable?’

  Baldwin chuckled. ‘No, merely I find conversation so much more elevating when I hold it with myself! Sir Edward thought that this transfer to Berkeley was a pretext. Away from Kenilworth, it would be easier to have him killed.’

  ‘Ah!’ Simon breathed. ‘You mean Mortimer.’

  ‘He did,’ Baldwin said, shooting him a glance.

  ‘But you don’t?’

  ‘Of course not! Why would Sir Roger kill Sir Edward? Killing the King must inevitably come back to haunt him, because it would be impossible to keep such a scheme secret. So the fact of the assassination would become public knowledge, and then King Edward III, Sir Edward’s son, and his mother, Isabella, must both turn upon Sir Roger. They could not support him if they learned that he had ordered the death of Sir Edward.’

  ‘But removing him . . .’

  ‘Serves no useful purpose.’

  ‘It would prevent another freeing him and installing him once more on the throne.’

  Baldwin shook his head. ‘Who would support Sir Edward? Some few, perhaps, but when it came to a battle, would his men stay at his side against his son, the King? The risks of killing Sir Edward are greater than those of holding him in comfort. The rage that Queen Isabella would show, were she to learn that her husband had been murdered – that would scare me!’

  ‘But she and Mortimer are lovers.’

  ‘I know that is the rumour. But once she loved her husband. Still, that is not important. What is important is that she is a most pragmatic lady. If it were to become thought that she had colluded in his death, she would herself be guilty of gross treason. And she would also think of the danger to her own son. If a king could so easily be done to death, her son would run that same gauntlet through his life, should a powerful baron rise against him. No, she is a French princess. She would not dream of insulting her peers and her blood in such a manner.’

  ‘So who . . .?’

  ‘There is nothing to say anyone will try to assassinate Sir Edward.’

  Simon closed his eyes. ‘My head hurts, but were it a little less painful, Baldwin, I would knock you from your horse, knight or no knight.’

  ‘It is not confusing. Mortimer may well have pretended to attack Kenilworth to show that Edward was not secure there. Kenilworth is held by my lord the Earl of Lancaster, is it not? To slander the Earl by showing that his guards and precautions are not sufficient, then to have Edward taken to another castle, which is run for Mortimer and which would keep the King under his closer control, would be perfect for Sir Roger. It upsets Lancaster at the same time, for which he would be grateful.’

  ‘Unless the guard at Berkeley Castle show themselves to be less reliable than Sir Roger thought,’ Simon guessed.

  ‘Which is not likely, since the Lord Berkeley is Sir Roger Mortimer’s son-in-law,’ Baldwin finished.

  ‘That all makes sense,’ Simon agreed. ‘So why is the King worried?’

  ‘Because all this is my reasoning, not the King’s. He thinks that there will be an ambush, and someone will attack us on the way to Berkeley.’

  ‘To kill him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Worcester

  It felt stifling.

  Agatha had been to Worcester several times in her life, to markets and twice to see the executions, but today was different as she continued with Father Luke on towards her goal, the huge cathedral that stood in the middle of the city.

  ‘Let us enter and pray before we go to see him,’ Father Luke said as they reached the massive west door. He looked up, she saw, as though in profound piety, like a saint about to enter his named church, but it didn’t impress her. When they had entered the city, she had seen the way that he had eyed each tavern and low ale-house. He was no better than any other man, and was as keen on a drink as her own Ham had been.

  Ham had loved coming to the market. There was always a good profit to be made, he reckoned. Not that Agatha saw it. He’d come, sell his produce, make money, and then spend it in a tavern and doze on the cart on the way home. She said he was a purse, accepting coins from one man and passing them on to another within the day.

  He had been so enthusiastic when he was young, had Ham. He had plans then, for making money. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a free man, he would say. Others had managed to build good flocks; buy houses and rent them – take a field or two and charge for pasturage. And he was right. Even the Bishop here at Worcester would be pleased with a serf who made money, for the Bishop took a tenth of everything the serf earned, as well as the best of his animals when he died. The system worked for everyone.

  But then his enthusiasm waned. He was too comfortable, that was the trouble. He liked an easy life. That was why Agatha found the idea of Ham stealing the priest’s money so believable. He would have taken that opportunity if it fell into his lap.

  In the thirty-odd miles to walk here, away from the vill and Jen, away from the daily drudge of milking, cleaning the sty, seeing to the chickens, preparing food and drink, listening all the while to Jen’s chattering, Agatha had had time to reflect, and not all her thoughts were comfortable.

  For instance, she had always bemoaned her fate, thinking that her husband had cost her a better life. Alice shone as an example of how her life could be improved. Yet now she wondered whether Ham had ever felt the same. Maybe he thought that he could have done better without her. There were women who inspired their menfolk, she knew. They would flatter and cajole, promise favours later in their beds, and in other ways persuade.

  Not all succeeded, for there were three women in the vill who were thought either to be shrews who deserved a thrashing, or foolish chits who
should be regularly beaten. In Agatha’s mind, all were equally stupid. A woman who didn’t expect her husband to treat her with respect was a fool. If Ham had ever tried to beat her, she would have made him regret it. Without a doubt some of Ham’s friends looked down on him because he couldn’t cow her. So be it. If a man tried to thrash her, she’d soon give him reason to regret his temerity!

  Father Luke was at the door now, and she came to with a start. For a moment there, she had been back in the past with her memories. Now she recalled that there was a sterner purpose to her visit here. She nodded and walked in after him, and stood in the vast, echoing nave.

  It was busy. Three merchants stood at the side, arguing loudly about a sale, while a peasant with two grey raches stood, head lowered, brows beetling as he stared truculently towards the altar. A woman knelt on the stone floor, weeping and pulling her hair while two boys and a young girl stood at her side looking baffled and anxious. A couple at the back of the church were holding hands, he pretending to be entirely unaware of the woman at his side, while she gazed adoringly up into his face. Two old men sat on the floor, backs to the wall, playing a game of knucklebones, one chuckling throatily and holding out his hand for a penny.

  A priest was trying to catch two boys who darted in and out among the congregation, but he was too fat and slow to make any headway. The boys ran laughing loudly, while the incense soared up to the roof and priests mumbled their incomprehensible words. It was enough to make a body give up on the Church, she told herself.

  They prayed, and then waited until Father Luke could speak to a cleric. Soon Luke was beckoned, and he followed the cleric out.

  Agatha did not mind. Women would not be welcome in the Bishop’s Palace, she knew, and she was content to leave Father Luke to conduct the interview. He was too simple to think of bilking her and trying to get out of the arrangement. For it was in his interests to find that money now, too. He was an old fool, to be sure, but he seemed to think he had the vill’s future to think of. He would work hard to bring the money back to Willersey.