30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  ‘I won’t have this,’ the steward declared. ‘Do you know of any crimes of which he has been accused?’

  Matteo looked despairingly at Dolwyn. No one spoke, until Dolwyn sighed heavily. ‘It was murder, Steward. Murder. I was accused of it before I served Master Matteo.’

  William had secured a place for John at a tavern in the town. It was the better option, he said, in case Sir Jevan saw him, and John felt sure he was right. If he were to remain in the castle all day long, the risk of being seen was high, and then his fate would be assured.

  William had advised him to keep away from the castle. He would be called if he were needed, but if he were to go to the castle, Sir Jevan would have to be slain first so he could not identify John. Because if John were to be seen, and his part at Kenilworth remembered, the whole project could be thrown into disarray – and that, William made clear, he was not prepared to tolerate.

  John was more than content to remain here in this tavern, away from Sir Jevan and the castle. The more he thought of it, the more terrible the idea grew of freeing Sir Edward from his captivity. As soon as he was released there would be more fighting. More battles. More blood spilled.

  John had seen enough of war and death.

  The room was silent after Dolwyn’s quiet intervention. Then the steward turned to him, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘Oh! The felon recalls now, does he? All of a sudden he remembers that he has killed before.’

  ‘I didn’t say that!’ Dolwyn declared fiercely. ‘I said I was accused. I wasn’t guilty.’

  ‘Were you found guilty in a court?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But the coroner recorded that you were.’

  ‘No, only that there were some arguments that day.’

  ‘Tell us, Master Dolwyn of Guildford, were you serving the King’s household at the time?’

  Simon looked at the accused man and would have sworn that he rocked back on his heels at those words. He had not expected to hear that, Simon guessed. The man had assumed that his past was secret. How, Simon wondered, had the truth been betrayed?

  ‘I was.’ Dolwyn’s voice sounded as though there was an obstruction in his throat.

  And who were you accused of killing?’

  Simon could feel the tension in the room as though all the people in the room were waiting, but Dolwyn did not speak.

  ‘I ask again,’ the steward said in a tone of heavy patience.

  The accused man blinked and struggled with his breath as though suffocating. Eventually he whispered ‘My wife. My child. They died,’ Dolwyn went on. ‘But it wasn’t murder. I wasn’t hanged.’

  ‘Because you ran? You abjured the realm?’

  ‘No.’ The voice was ragged.

  ‘What happened to your wife and child?’

  ‘They were in the house. I was out for the night at the tavern, and I’d had a lot to drink. When I got home, my wife was in a rage with me. I hit her.’

  ‘You killed her.’

  ‘No! I swear it! But she had been shouting at me, and all I did was punch her. And then I went out to cool my head, and when I came back the place was on fire. I tried to rescue her . . .’

  ‘You killed her. She fell into the fire, and the house caught light.’

  ‘I tried to get back inside to save her and my daughter, but the men in the vill stopped me. They held me back.’ How did this steward know of all that? Dolwyn had told Matteo, but no one else.

  ‘So this is the sort of man you are. A killer even of your own family. A danger to others. My lord, I have no more questions. Here is exactly the kind of fellow who would take advantage of a traveller, kill him, and rob him of all he possessed.’

  ‘I did nothing! My family wasn’t meant to die!’

  ‘You expect us to believe that?’ the steward spat.

  ‘What of the jury?’ Lord Berkeley asked.

  The men who stood at the wall nearest Simon fell to talking amongst themselves, and then they nodded to the steward. He asked if they had reached a conclusion. There was a muttering, and then he asked them for their decision.

  ‘He’s guilty, master.’

  The steward addressed Dolwyn. ‘You’ve heard their conclusion. What do you have to say?’

  ‘I didn’t harm him. I wouldn’t have, because I knew he had a wife and child at home. After he told me that, it would have been impossible for me to lay a finger on him. I’d not have hurt him any more than I’d have hurt them. Master Matteo, help me!’ he pleaded, turning to Matteo.

  Matteo nodded, and Simon saw him give a quick frown as if of reassurance. The gesture was so swift, Simon could almost have believed that he had imagined it, but then he saw Matteo’s hand pat his purse, and understood. The Bardi would pay to save him.

  Lord Berkeley leaned forward. ‘Well, this is my court, and I believe that the jury is fair and just in their conclusions. So it is my belief that you are guilty. You murdered Ham, you stole his horse and cart, and you would have made off with your booty if the brave knight here had not prevented you. I find you guilty, and my decision is that you will be hanged until you are dead. Take him away.’

  Simon looked at Dolwyn. He barely appeared to care. There was something about him that was ineffably sad. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but suddenly another voice intervened.

  ‘WAIT!’

  Simon winced at the bellow from his side.

  Lord Berkeley and his steward peered round.

  ‘Who said that?’ the steward demanded.

  ‘I did,’ declared the smiling Sir Richard de Welles. ‘You can’t do that.’

  Lord Berkeley raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? You think a lord cannot decide his own judgements in his own court?’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, me lord. No trouble at all,’ Sir Richard said with a genial smile. He pushed three men from before him and stepped over to Dolwyn’s side. ‘But you cannot send him to hang.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘You know the law, me lord. It’s illegal for you to execute any man without the approval of your local coroner. He has to be there to witness the execution and make sure all is in order.’

  ‘Oh, and you claim that privilege?’

  ‘No, I am not coroner here. You have to ask your local fellow to come. Who is he?’

  Lord Berkeley looked at his steward, then at Sir John Maltravers. ‘Well?’

  Neither knew the name of the man responsible for the area.

  ‘In that case, me lord, I am afraid you may not have this man’s head,’ said Sir Richard apologetically. ‘I’m very sorry. Be a good thing, removing an arse like this, especially since he’s a known killer. But against the law.’

  ‘Is there any man here who would stand by him?’ Sir John demanded. He was a big man, almost as tall as Sir Richard, although younger, and with a powerful, heavy body that was not fat, but accumulated muscle. He had only a couple of days’ growth of beard, which gave him a belligerent appearance.

  ‘I will,’ said Sir Richard happily. ‘Sorry, me lord, but we can’t break the King’s laws.’

  ‘I too,’ Baldwin said. ‘As a Keeper of the King’s Peace . . .’

  ‘So am I!’ Lord Berkeley stated angrily.

  ‘I was about to say, my lord,’ Baldwin finished smoothly, ‘that as Keeper of the King’s Peace yourself, you would hardly wish it known that you had deliberately flouted the King’s laws in your own court. Bring the coroner here so that he may witness the execution. That is all. It need not be a lengthy process.’

  ‘True,’ the lord said, frowning at Baldwin and Sir Richard with a baleful eye. ‘Very well. Put him back in the gaol. He can wait there until the coroner arrives.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Good Friday41

  Berkeley Castle’s Hall

  ‘I still think you are both mad,’ Simon said as he took a mess of fish cooked in a white wine sauce. ‘He was furious with you when you told him he was not allowed to execute his own felon.’

&nb
sp; ‘When you get to my age,’ Baldwin said, ‘you realise that there really isn’t much to fear about standing up for what you believe is right, Simon.’

  ‘No,’ Sir Richard said, belching behind his hand and reaching for the mess himself, decorously scooping out a large bowlful, setting it on the table before him and sighing happily. With a hunk of bread in his hand, he began to eat. Swallowing noisily, and sticking his tongue out to catch a stray drip from his moustache, he turned a beaming face to Simon. ‘And he couldn’t argue. Not with all his people there, as well as us and Sir Jevan. He knew that there were too many for him to cow us.’

  ‘Why did you both do it?’ Simon asked. ‘He is a felon, isn’t he? He did take the cart.’

  ‘Mayhap he is, but if we allowed this lord to hang a man illegally, what sort of example would that leave, eh?’ Sir Richard said reasonably.

  Simon nodded. ‘And?’

  Baldwin grinned, dropped his bread onto his wooden trencher and said, ‘There was an indecent haste about the way Lord Berkeley convened his court to investigate the murder of a complete unknown. The lord himself will never have heard of this “Ham”, after all – so why the need for such speedy justice? Because the lord feels anger at a peasant’s death? I doubt it. Because he loathes the sight of this man Dolwyn? Why should he? Or is it because Dolwyn is a threat to him? Again, that would be hard to believe. But perhaps the lord wanted to make a point. To cow someone else?’

  ‘Dolwyn’s master?’ Simon guessed.

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed, and a faraway look came into his eyes. ‘But there was a striking lack of support from Bardi, wasn’t there? I cannot help but wonder whether there is something going on between the Bardi and Lord Berkeley.’

  Simon had to agree with that. He too had noted that Matteo had appeared reluctant to support Dolwyn, his servant. ‘You think the Florentine had reason to desert his servant?’

  ‘I’ve never known a banker do anything unless it was in his interests,’ Sir Richard said with certainty.

  Baldwin smiled at his comment, but he looked round at the sight of Harry and Senchet being brought into the hall. ‘Look. The Lord Berkeley decided they were innocent, after all.’

  ‘Good,’ said Simon. ‘From all I’ve heard, they had nothing to do with the murder, no matter what the facts about Dolwyn.’

  ‘There, I believe you are correct. About those Bardis, though,’ Baldwin said. ‘I should not trust such men. What sort of interest could such bankers have in the fate of a servant like Dolwyn?’

  Sir Richard guffawed and poked Baldwin in the flank with a finger as thick as a sausage. ‘Hah! You are too innocent, sir. If one of my servants was to open his mouth and babble to a clerk, I’d worry. And so would half the women in west Devon, I’d be bound! You may not be a fellow for the women or for the delights of the chase, but perhaps the fellow Bardi has a happy wife and a happier mistress, eh? A wise man tries to keep them apart, but it would only take a word or two from an old retainer to bring a little more fire into the home than a man might like, eh?’

  Baldwin set his head on one side. ‘ALondon man would scarcely be anxious about his wife’s hearing something in Berkeley,’ he argued reasonably. ‘If there were cause for him to be alarmed, it would be his business, not his love affairs. Perhaps he has been less than scrupulous over his accounts. He was the old King’s banker, and a man like him could be tempted to perhaps hold on to a little more of the King’s gold than he ought, during a time of civil war. Suppose Bardi kept back monies that should have passed to the new King and his mother? That would be a cause for great embarrassment, were a reliable servant to announce such news to the son-in-law of the King’s Regent.’

  Sir Richard’s mouth stopped moving as he absorbed that. ‘D’ye think the foreign bretheling42 would dare a trick like that? We’d have his ballocks if he did!’

  ‘If he was discovered,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Simon judged.

  ‘It is one possibility, in any case,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps we should ensure that the gaol is watched? It would be a great shame were the Bardi to insinuate a weapon into the gaol. Or poison. His servant may well be the only witness to another crime, and I would not have him slain because his master sees him as an embarrassment.’

  ‘What will you do, then?’ Simon asked. ‘Go and question him?’

  Baldwin sipped wine from the mazer before him, pulling a face at the flavour. ‘Not today. I will pay the gaoler to stop men visiting the prisoner, and plan on seeing him tomorrow. If there is an attempt upon his life, we may catch the culprit. In any case, he will have spent four days in prison by then. Time for him to have realised how unpleasant his life could become, were he to remain there. Yes, tomorrow I shall speak with him.’

  Matteo had seen the knights talking at their table, and felt a certain quivering in his belly at the sight. It would be better if Dolwyn was dead. The man was a danger to the bank, and to him personally. And Matteo had no idea how to deal with him.

  He walked about the yard, musing over his servant, and thinking too about his brother. There was so much danger it was hard to isolate the greatest threat. But as he walked, he saw Benedetto, and he felt certain that this was the time to seek to resolve one issue, if he could.

  Benedetto had taken power so quickly after Manuele’s death, he reminded himself. Now he bent his steps towards his brother.

  ‘Benedetto, I would have a moment,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ his brother answered, waving away the two guards who were always behind him. ‘This is a magnificent castle, is it not? Who could wish for a more comfortable and congenial home? And the lord keeps it in such splendid condition, especially with all the reworkings. They will enhance it, I have no doubt. I think . . .’ He noticed at last the expression on his brother’s face. ‘Why, what is it, Matteo?’

  He had grown more confident in his position, Matteo saw. From a young age, Matteo had lived in two worlds. One was that of the business, in which he knew he was a crucial part of the entire structure; but in the family, in which he was the youngest member, he had a constant battle to remind himself that he was now a grown man. But it wasn’t him alone, he knew. His brother Benedetto was also aware of the disparity in their ages. Benedetto was the older and would for ever have the increased maturity that age conferred. In the family, Matteo would always submit to Benedetto’s whims. A part of him was still the little boy who could be bullied.

  It should not be so. Matteo was an adult now. Such foolishness hampered his clarity of thought.

  ‘Benedetto. I am worried.’

  ‘Yes? And by what?’

  ‘You.’

  Benedetto stopped and eyed him with surprise. ‘What do you mean, little brother?’

  For Matteo, that term was confirmation of the contempt in which he was held by his brother. He said sharply, ‘I may be younger than you but without my efforts, our bank would be out of business. You would have joined Manuele in supporting the old King, and the House of Bardi would have collapsed, as did his reign. So don’t call me “little brother”, like some idiot child. I am the head intelligencer for the bank. Treat me as such.’

  ‘Of course, Matteo,’ his brother said with a touch of injured aloofness.

  ‘What I mean is, I have had a lot of time to think since my injury.’ Matteo said, ‘and I must know. Did you send a man to kill me that day?’

  ‘Me!’ Benedetto cried. There was no mistaking his hurt.

  ‘You disappeared so quickly. I was stabbed a moment or two after seeing our brother die. It was almost as though someone paid the mob to kill us both. That would have left you with total control of the business.’

  ‘Matteo, listen to yourself,’ Benedetto said pleadingly. ‘I had to return to my house because I was due to meet a man. I was gone from the bank in great haste. I did not see Manuele’s death because I was already halfway home. How can you think that I would do such a thing? I am your brother, Matteo, and that means as much to me a
s it does to you! I couldn’t plot your death. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Whom did you have to see? Someone from the King’s household?’

  ‘No. It was Sir Jevan. He wished to confirm that the money needed by the Queen would be sent to her. It was as we had discussed in the meeting.’

  ‘You had already decided?’ Matteo said, eyes narrowing. ‘You had plotted with her before we had the meeting?’

  Benedetto grimaced. ‘You know how things were that day. It was clear to all that the Queen was going to win, and that the King’s power was on the wane. What would you have expected – that I should have waited for Manuele to agree before guaranteeing the security of the bank? The only thing I could do was ensure that we were safe by speaking with the Queen’s agents. I am not ashamed of it. I would do it again.’

  ‘Sir Jevan?’ Matteo muttered. ‘He was an agent of the Queen?’

  ‘You are our best intelligencer, and didn’t know?’ Benedetto chuckled. ‘Yes, Sir Jevan was there that day. I agreed that we should support the Queen above all others. It did lead to our being involved right from the first . . . You look worried, brother. What is it?’ His face suddenly fell. ‘You think that because you were discussing your letter to Sir Edward, I sent a man to kill you? Matteo, we are brothers. If a man may not trust his own blood, how can he trust any man? I could not hurt you any more than you could hurt me.’

  Matteo nodded, and when Benedetto threw his arms about him, he did not even flinch.

  Saturday before Easter Sunday43

  Berkeley Gaol

  Dolwyn squatted on the floor, waiting with a patience that was close to madness. He was alone in this dark, dingy chamber. There was one little sewer that ran along the length of it, a mere trench cut in the rock, which fed into a small pit at the farther end. From there the moisture sank somehow into the soil beneath the castle, he assumed. This cold, befouled prison was the most noisome and repugnant he had ever seen.

  He had no idea what would happen to him. They had not dragged him out to die, since that knight’s words. The coroner had postponed his death, thank God! Otherwise he would have been taken out and pulled up by the neck until he was strangled, as that block-headed ribald44 of a lord had wanted.