30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  Berkeley Castle

  Simon hailed the two as he and Sir Richard descended the stairs. ‘Sir Jevan, Master Bardi. Could we speak with you a moment?’

  Sir Richard smiled widely at the sight of the two men. Sir Jevan was a smaller man than him, but very wiry. He would be a tough opponent, Sir Richard felt sure, if they were to come to blows.

  Sir Jevan snapped, ‘Yes? What do you want?’

  Simon pulled a face. ‘It is a difficult question to pose. You see, I have been discussing with the good knight here a troublesome matter.’

  ‘My friend is reluctant to mention it,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Sir Jevan, it’s said that you were in London at the time of the rioting last year. That right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you went to have a meeting with this man, too,’ he gestured to Benedetto, ‘because you were arranging finance for the Queen, so we’ve heard. Nothin’ wrong with that. But the same day, a couple of youngsters were killed behind your house, Master Benedetto. Did you hear of that?’

  ‘Was it the same day?’ Benedetto enquired. He had a well-meaning smile on his face that Sir Richard did not trust for a moment. ‘I heard of their deaths, of course, but did not realise they had occurred on that very day. A terrible time. My brother was killed there, too.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sir Richard said without hesitation. Alured had told Simon it was the same day, and he was unlikely to have got it wrong. In one day, Alured had found rioters, seen the Bardi house invaded, found Matteo lying on the ground, and then discovered the two dead bodies. Sir Richard found such testimony convincing.

  ‘I don’t remember it distinctly,’ Benedetto said.

  ‘What of it?’ Sir Jevan barked.

  ‘There was a man seen with the two youngsters. He killed them. The witness said he wore good, Cordovan leather boots of a dark reddish-brown, with tassels to match,’ Simon said. He looked down at the tunic of Sir Jevan.

  ‘Half London wears good leather from Cordova,’ the knight said without lifting the hem of his tunic.

  ‘Perhaps so. However, half London was not in the area on that day,’ Simon said.

  ‘Do you accuse me?’ Sir Jevan said, taking a small step nearer.

  ‘I ask: was it you who killed these two young people?’ Simon demanded.

  ‘He was with me that day,’ Benedetto interjected.

  Sir Jevan eyed Simon. ‘I do not recall the details of that day, but I do remember that there were many men running hither and thither. Any of them could have been a murderer, and yet you dare to suggest I had something to do with this crime? Your presumption is astonishing!’

  ‘Do you deny it, then?’ Sir Richard demanded bluntly.

  ‘Show me the fool who dares accuse me,’ Sir Jevan said. ‘I will see him in court, and he will pay for his presumption!’

  Sir Richard watched as he stormed away.

  Simon looked at him. ‘Well?’

  ‘He did it,’ Sir Richard said without hesitation. ‘And so now I think we should be cautious, my friend. A man like him should be treated with care.’

  Simon nodded. Then, ‘I will warn Alured, too. He should beware of Sir Jevan’s temper.’

  Second Tuesday after Easter52

  Berkeley Castle

  The screams rose like those of a tormented banshee, and Dolwyn threw himself from his bench with the swift reactions of a man used to danger. He rolled to the corner of the wall, his fingers gripping his sword already, the blade a wicked grey blur in the air before him, his mouth slightly open as he listened intently.

  ‘What in God’s name was that?’ Harry whispered from the farther corner of the chamber.

  ‘My friend, I do not want to find out on my own,’ Senchet muttered from between the two.

  They had taken this room for their own after the lord had ridden off to meet King Edward III. It was a good-sized room in the castle’s keep, with the added advantage that it was far enough from the guard rooms to leave them feeling safe from a possible stab in the dark, and the door had a lock that worked, and two bolts.

  Dolwyn went to the door now, and tested the bolts. They opened smoothly. He had spread some butter thickly on them last week to make sure that he could slide them silently, and now that effort paid off. Without speaking, he pulled the door open and glanced out. ‘No one there. Come on!’ he whispered, and darted out.

  He stepped quietly along the narrow passageway, listening. The screams came from farther up, and he moved cautiously, his feet finding the stone flags and testing each before he continued. The hairs on his neck rose, and he felt as though there was a band of steel wrapped about his breast, contracting with every step until to breathe was an agony.

  Another ungodly shriek. Dolwyn felt sure that his lungs would burst with the strain – and then he saw a glimmer of grey in the corridor before him: a window, with the glorious bright moon illuminating the way. He pelted across the last of the stones and reached the window, feeling the cool night air flood his body, and then, as the next scream shivered through the very stones of the castle, he took courage and ran onwards, hearing Harry and Senchet close behind him.

  He knew this place. It was a part of the tower where the outer walls had weakened and fallen. Below in the yard was the place where the labourers and masons slept, in tents and lean-to buildings. There were pieces of masonry all about, and he stumbled on rock chips as he went, searching for the source of those horrible screams.

  When he saw the body, it was only the legs at first. They protruded, still kicking, from between two walls of rock, where the man had been deposited. Blood lay all around, and Dolwyn’s feet slipped on it as the man struggled and thrashed about desperate to keep a hold of his life.

  Road near Stoke-on-Trent

  They had made good time in a week, John of Shulton thought as he stirred himself from his bed that morning and peered about him in the gloom of a foggy day.

  He had caught up with the lord’s men in only an hour or so of moderate riding, since the column was travelling slowly with so many carts and wagons in its train. Once there, he had made his way to Sir Baldwin, as being the most friendly face he knew. The knight nodded to him amicably enough, but Edgar’s smile was a warm welcome to John, who felt so lonely still.

  As he gradually eased himself upwards, he winced with the stiffness that came from sleeping in the open air.

  ‘You slept soundly,’ Edgar said. He was already squatting at the side of a small fire. Others in the camp had fires, too, but Edgar’s was the only one which did not spit fitfully and smoke. Instead there were good flames licking upwards from the few sticks and chopped logs, and already he was about to set a pot on top to warm some water before making some soft bread.

  ‘Don’t I always?’ John said with a smile.

  ‘Not usually, no. It seems you are easier in your mind the further you are from Berkeley. Or the monk from near Gloucester.’

  John felt a little silver of ice pass down his neck. ‘Really?’

  ‘Friend, I have no idea what you hurry from, but now you are joining us on a different adventure. We ride to war. There is no time for doubts and anxiety in battle. So whatever you flee, you are safe here.’

  John tried to take comfort in Edgar’s words, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was Sir Jevan’s face – and that was no comfort at all.

  Berkeley Castle

  The castle had soon been roused and almost at once men had grabbed Dolwyn, Harry and Senchet, and thrown them against the wall.

  ‘We found him here,’ Dolwyn protested. ‘I was just First Finder – I didn’t hurt him, nor anyone else, either. Let me go!’

  But his words were in vain. As he and the other two were forced back, swords at their throats, more men arrived, gazing down in horror as the light entered the corridor with the rising sun.

  ‘WHAT IS ALL THIS?’ Sir Richard demanded as he barged his way through the press. ‘Man killed, eh? Who is it? And who did for him? Where’s the First Finder?’

  It was a
guard near Harry who responded, pointing to Dolwyn and describing how he was found, sword in hand, and blood all over his face.

  ‘What d’you have to say to that, eh?’ Sir Richard demanded, standing over Dolwyn.

  ‘Simply that I am First Finder. I came because this poor devil’s screams woke me, just as they did my friends here. And the man was almost dead when I got here. But my sword is clean. You look at it – no one’s been stabbed with it.’

  ‘Aye. Let’s see it,’ Sir Richard said.

  A man indicated the sword. It lay near the body, in a pool of blood, where it had fallen when Dolwyn was forced to drop it.

  ‘I was made to put it down,’ he protested. ‘I can’t help that.’

  Simon was crouching reluctantly near the body. ‘There is an axe here, a small hatchet,’ he said. ‘This is what killed the man.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Sir Richard said. ‘I haven’t looked at him yet.’ He turned to peer down at the body, and then shot a look at Simon. ‘Is it who I think it is?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Richard. It’s Sir Jevan.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Berkeley Castle

  Simon spent much of the morning with the labourers and masons.

  The hole in the wall of the chamber in which Sir Jevan had been found had been caused by a collapse in the outer wall of the tower itself, although that facing the inner ward was still sound. Like much of the rest of the fabric of the castle, this square tower set into the south-western corner of the wall had become sadly dilapidated during the period when the Despenser had overtaken the castle, because he wanted no strong fortresses at the edge of his own territories, and had deliberately weakened the buildings and walls.

  ‘Did you not hear the cries in the night?’ he asked a labourer.

  He was sitting on a rock, while Hugh and two castle servants brought the workers to him. The responses were shifty at best. One man shook his head in frank denial, and pointed to his ears. Simon was given to understand that he was deaf. Another stated with conviction that the screams were those of the Devil carrying a soul to hell, but for the most part the men here denied hearing anything, or if they did hear, they didn’t know where the screams came from.

  That was understandable, Simon felt, looking up at the tower again. With the only window many feet above ground, and no other gap in the tower’s wall facing this way, it would be hard for a man down here on the ground to know where the cries came from.

  ‘What of you?’ he asked the latest man to be delivered to him. ‘Did you hear the cries last night?’

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t know who it was, nor where he was.’

  ‘Where were you sleeping?’

  ‘I was down here,’ William said, pointing at the tent’s canopy.

  ‘With the other masons?’

  ‘Some of them.’

  Simon looked about him. ‘Did you see or hear anything else after the screaming started?’

  ‘We’d drunk well last night. It was Samuel’s birthday, and we celebrated with a barrel of wine, so I don’t think any of us was fast to waken,’ William said. ‘But when we did, we ran up to see what was happening. We all went together.’

  Simon thanked him and sent him away. ‘That is that, Hugh. They were all out here, but so drunk they scarcely knew what was going on. Whoever did it, how did he manage to escape when all the stairs and passages were full of men coming to investigate?’

  Hugh shrugged. ‘Maybe the fellow was right, and it was a devil.’

  ‘And maybe the killer flew away, you mean?’ Simon said, staring about him at the rocks fastened with ropes, ready to be hauled up. ‘I don’t think that there was a flying murderer, Hugh. A magical killer would have no need of an axe, would he? No, this was a normal, flesh and blood murderer. Same as any. But how he did it, that’s a different matter.’

  ‘If anyone cares about the knight dying,’ Hugh shrugged.

  ‘I care,’ Simon said, but then he remembered Sir Jevan’s face from yesterday, and Sir Richard’s conviction that he was the murderer of at least two others.

  ‘I care,’ he repeated, with no conviction at all.

  Second Wednesday after Easter53

  Berkeley Castle

  Simon strode along the court from the hall where he had broken his fast, and up to the corridor.

  ‘Any sign of him?’ Sir Richard asked.

  ‘Not yet. I hope the man hasn’t gone to war with the others,’ Simon said.

  ‘Not too much risk of that, I’d think. There are enough murders down this part of the world to bring in a respectable income for the King. He won’t want to lose that.’

  They had sent for the official coroner as soon as light permitted yesterday, but so far there was no sign of the man. Instead the castle was forced to try to run itself without allowing anybody in or out, as the law demanded. When a man was slain in a manor, the people living there were to be held until the coroner had come and held his inquest. Despite being a coroner himself, Sir Richard held no warrant for this county; he could not work here unless he had permission.

  ‘Doubt if he’ll make much sense o’ this,’ Sir Richard grumbled to himself as he eyed the corpse. ‘A man killed in the middle of the night by an axe. Plenty of axes lying about here, and enough men willing to wield ’em, from what I’ve seen of Sir Jevan.’

  ‘Do you think it was Dolwyn?’

  Sir Richard cocked an eyebrow. ‘Do you think it was him? No, of course not! Blasted fellow arrived at the wrong time, that was all. And the fact that the murderer used an axe just means he wasn’t stupid. With all the rumours about the man Ham slaughtered on the way here, and people lookin’ at Dolwyn all askance, it was natural they’d think it was him.’

  ‘He was the man there when the guards arrived.’

  ‘He was the man who slept nearest, so naturally he would have been first to wake and first to get to the body. More to the point is, what was Jevan doin’ here anyway? What made him get out of bed in the night and walk over to that place?’

  ‘Got lost on his way to the garderobe?’ Simon wondered.

  ‘And happened to meet a maddened axeman on the way? I doubt it, Simon.’ Sir Richard sighed. ‘Did you speak with Alured last night when you said you would?’

  ‘Yes, but I incline to the view that he wouldn’t have done this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he seems devoted to the law and justice. He’s a constable, not a maddened axeman.’

  ‘Whoever killed Jevan,’ Sir Richard said thoughtfully, ‘was seeking to deliver justice. We must talk to Alured, Simon.’

  When Simon and Sir Richard enquired, they learned that Alured was in the hall with his master, Matteo di Bardi.

  ‘Signor Bardi,’ Simon said as they walked to them. ‘I am sorry, but we would like to speak to your man.’

  ‘There is nothing you can say to him that you cannot tell me,’ Matteo said.

  He was sitting on a bench next to Alured like a pleader, Simon thought. All pale and thin, like the clerk he was. Simon had heard much about this man, how he would gather news and use it for the benefit of the bank. It reminded him of how Despenser had used informers all over the country. Simon disliked the idea of spying. Those who were supposed to be loyal should be so, to his mind. There was little point in giving an oath of loyalty if a man was going to renege immediately for Florentine money.

  ‘Alured, you know what I want to speak about,’ Simon said.

  ‘Yes. Master Matteo may as well hear it too,’ Alured said. ‘He should be aware.’

  ‘Tell us again, then, about Sir Jevan.’

  Alured looked at Matteo as he answered, ‘The day you were stabbed, master, a short way from you lay two more bodies. Just youngsters, they were. The girl had her head cut off, while the boy was stabbed. It happened while I was with you. I heard something and ran up the alley – and there they were, poor souls. I found a witness – a man who had seen the killer hurrying away.’

  ‘You told me this. But he saw no face
,’ Matteo said.

  ‘No. He was very drunk and lying at the side of the alley, but he did see reddish-brown Cordovan leather boots – like the ones Sir Jevan wore. And the style of death – the girl’s head cut cleanly from her body – that was the act of a man-at-arms, not a peasant. The lad too was stabbed twice about the heart. I think he died in an instant, which also speaks of a killer experienced in war and killing. And Sir Jevan was that.’

  ‘So?’ Matteo said.

  ‘A man could easily have stabbed you, then flown up the alley and stood there waiting to see if he was pursued. And if some youngsters came along unexpectedly, he might have killed them before making his way to his meeting.’

  ‘His meeting – with my brother?’ Matteo said, and his stomach lurched. ‘So my brother did try to kill me. I had suspected it for so long, but to hear this . . .’

  ‘Not your brother,’ Alured said. ‘Sir Jevan. He was on his way to see your brother, you told me, but he could have stabbed you and then the couple I found before he got there.’

  ‘My brother . . .’ Matteo said again, his face a mask of tragedy.

  ‘There is no proof he’s involved,’ Sir Richard said with his low, rumbling voice. ‘He may be completely innocent. Come, Master Bardi, I think before you contemplate an accusation you should be careful to consider the implications.’

  ‘The “implications”?’ Matteo echoed. ‘The only “implications” I see are that I risk death whenever I see Benedetto!’

  ‘Meanwhile, Alured,’ Simon said, ‘I would like to know where you were last night.’

  ‘I slept on a bench outside my master’s chamber,’ Alured said. His expression told what he thought of the arrangement. ‘I was there all night.’

  ‘Was anyone with you?’ Sir Richard asked.

  ‘You think to accuse me of the murder?’ Alured said. ‘I deny it. I was on my bench and asleep from an early hour. I was tired – I still am!’

  ‘I heard the screams and opened my door and he was there,’ Matteo confirmed.

  ‘So, will you arrest me too? You have three men in gaol. Why not make it a quartet?’ Alured asked cynically. ‘You can never have too many suspects, can you?’