‘We ain’t askin’ all this for the fun of it,’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘It’s our duty, and yours, to learn what we can about the murder of a knight.’
Alured looked at him, but he knew better than to pick a fight with Sir Richard.
‘I think you one of the least likely killers in the castle,’ Simon said. ‘But we could hardly ignore the fact that you have been seeking the man for months. If not you, who else?’
‘You know who I think it was,’ Matteo said.
‘Yes, your brother was involved with Sir Jevan, Master Matteo.’
‘If he had paid the man to kill me, perhaps Benedetto wanted to see to it that Sir Jevan could not confess and put the blame on him,’ Matteo said.
‘Your brother could be a danger to you. Be aware, and act accordingly. Keep Alured with you at all times; do not go about without a friend whom you can trust.’
‘Surely his brother will not attempt to kill?’ Alured said. ‘He had to enlist the aid of others to try to kill Matteo.’
His face suddenly froze as he realised what Simon was getting at.
‘Yes,’ Simon said gently as he watched Matteo. ‘Be very cautious, because it is possible your brother killed Sir Jevan last night. Perhaps he has no need of agents to perform his killings now. He can do it for himself.’
Second Thursday after Easter54
Berkeley Castle
Benedetto Bardi was anxious and growing all the more so, the longer he was held in this castle. To think that only a few days ago he had felt that the place was pleasing! He had spoken to Matteo about the congenial atmosphere, the efforts which Lord Berkeley was expending to make it still more delightful . . . and now he could not look about him without thinking the place was no better than a midden.
There was a definite feeling of menace. Men on the walls stared down with suspicion, whilst the servants were surly and rude. If Lord Berkeley were here, Benedetto would have demanded of him that his staff remember their duty of courtesy to a guest, but without him, he dared say nothing. Not while the soul of Sir Jevan wandered the corridors. There was far too much death and sadness in this place, he thought.
He knew why they all looked at him askance: they knew that he was guilty. The letter which should never have been written had been found. That man Sir Baldwin had discovered it, and Lord Berkeley had seen it. Clearly that was the cause of all this suspicion.
Lord Berkeley had called for him soon after the arrival of the messenger from the King.
‘Come in, sit down, my friend,’ he had said as Benedetto entered his chamber.
It was a small room, this – dark, but warm.
‘You like my private chambers? Cosy, which is how I prefer it. I don’t like to suffer if I can avoid it,’ Lord Berkeley said.
He sipped from a goblet, and held it out. The only other man in the room was his steward, who stepped forward in an instant to refill it. Oddly enough, he forgot to offer a drink to Benedetto, but the latter assumed it was merely the pressure of work that was distracting him.
Lord Berkeley peered at him over the rim. ‘So, Master Bardi. You are an industrious fellow, I know. You have the difficult task of always being on the side of the men who will be in power – a balancing act that would torment the ability of a juggler. So difficult to maintain perfect harmony while trying to win the favours of Sir Roger Mortimer as well as Sir Edward of Caernarfon.’
Benedetto’s smile was forced as he muttered, ‘I don’t know what you mean, my lord.’
‘No? I suggest you search your memory. I know of the letter your family wrote to Sir Edward when he was King. You promised him your support. At the same time you swore to provide all needful to the Queen and Sir Roger. One letter to one side, another to the other. Did you not pause to reflect that the letters must become known? No matter who was to win, someone from the Queen’s camp would be sure to find out about your letters to the King, and vice versa. And now they are discovered, and I have the interesting difficulty that I am not sure what to do with you. Perhaps I should just tell Sir Roger Mortimer and see what he would consider best.’
‘No!’ Benedetto blurted out. ‘There is no need for that. Let me aid you, my lord, and we can—’
‘ “Aid me”, you say? I think that would be a most improper course. You wish to include me in your schemes – entangle me in the web of lies you have constructed? I think not.’
‘My lord, it was Manuele who wrote and signed those letters, not me. And I was already willing the Queen to overwhelm her husband. There must be something, a service I could provide . . .’
Lord Berkeley looked shocked. ‘Do you mean you would offer a bribe to keep my silence?’
It was agreed in a few minutes. Lord Berkeley had very little money. So much had been despoiled when Despenser captured his castle, so many objects stolen, so much damage done to the walls, that the cost of returning the building to its former glory would be exorbitant. And Benedetto must agree to help with those costs. Lord Berkeley drove a hard bargain.
Benedetto knew from the looks which the others here in the castle threw at him that his deal was common knowledge. The steward must have spread the tale far and wide, the son of a whore! If he could, Benedetto would have him killed. Pay Dolwyn or some other fellow to slay him – or even perform the deed himself. The bastard had ruined Benedetto’s position here.
But Dolwyn was in the gaol for killing Sir Jevan. At least it meant that he was secure.
Benedetto disliked having a dangerous man like him loose.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Near Macclesfield
Baldwin felt the cool air penetrating beneath his armour, and took a deep breath, clenching the muscles of his chest and shoulders against the chill.
They were making good time, even with the ox-carts holding them up. Where a horse could walk and take rests to eat and drink, an ox had to eat, then lie down to chew the cud, before being able to walk on. They were immensely powerful brutes, but Baldwin did wonder whether their ability to haul massive wagons was not offset by their slowness.
The party was making its way north around the wild lands, and soon would turn north and east towards York. That was where the King’s Host was gathering. From what Baldwin had heard, it was clear the young King was determined to crush the Scottish. Their raids and depredations upon the innocent farmers and peasants of the north had appalled him, and he had set his heart on destroying them once and for all. He was calling upon all: Hainaulters, Frenchmen, barons, knights and squires, to join him in this great endeavour. Many had already been summoned to meet the King at York for the Monday following Rogation Sunday55 and it was thought that they would soon thereafter march on Scotland.
But to reach York would take time. All he could think of as he rode was his manor, his wife and his children. He was riding ever further from them with every passing hour. It felt as though he was being torn in two: his heart was with his family, while his head demanded that he carry on to York and to battle as a warrior. Baldwin had a duty to fight for the greater good.
They were in a broad plain when he saw a small contingent of men-at-arms veering off to the left. There were seven all told, and Baldwin frowned at the sight. There were all too many men who would ‘ride out’, foraging amongst peasants’ houses for tidbits of food or drink. It was natural that a knight would expect those whom he protected to reward him for his efforts, but some took advantage of their position and would steal and harry without mercy. Baldwin had seen it in the Holy Land, in Italy, and in France, and recently he had witnessed it in England.
On a whim, he clucked his tongue and spurred his horse. Leading Edgar and John, he rode at a moderate canter towards the men. But he had misjudged them. They were not riding out; they had simply spotted a party of men trying to hide, and had encircled them with lances at the ready.
‘What is this?’ Baldwin demanded as he approached. There were eleven all told, and well-dressed in soft wools and linens. The leader was a little younger than Baldwin. He h
ad dark hair and hazel eyes in a sunburned face that was square and as uncompromising as granite. As he eyed the men encircling him, his attention was more with the rest of the column than the men about him, Baldwin noticed.
‘You!’ he said to the man. ‘What is your name?’
‘David of Monteith. Who are you?’
‘Sir Baldwin de Furnshill,’ Baldwin said. ‘You are many leagues from home, friend.’
‘We travel south. To family in Wales.’
‘Aye?’ Baldwin eyed the men’s clothing. They had all travelled in foul weather, from the look of the mud that had splattered about their boots and up their horses’ legs. They were particularly well armed, too, but that was no surprise – travellers needed the means of protecting themselves. ‘You have met with inclement weather.’
‘What of it?’
‘Not many would carry on in the worst of weathers. They would rest themselves and their horses in an inn. You must have great need to ride so far so fast. What is the cause?’
‘We have no great urgency,’ the man insisted. His companions murmured and their sturdy horses moved uneasily.
Edgar was at his side, and Baldwin knew that there was no need to trouble himself on that flank. Nobody would pass Edgar unless they killed him first, and that would require a more resolute man than most Baldwin had met.
‘John, ride to my Lord Berkeley and tell him there are Scottish forces riding to spy on us,’ Baldwin said calmly.
There was a moment’s silence after his words. Baldwin was filled with a heightened awareness – of the men around him, but more, of the sound of bees among the flowers and grasses at his feet, the song of larks high overhead, the wind soughing through the branches of the furze.
And then Monteith dragged his sword free and bellowed his war-cry, spurring his beast at Baldwin.
Baldwin grabbed at his sword but it seemed to take a dreadful amount of time to clear it from the scabbard. Too slow: he must be run through by Monteith’s sword, and then his new blade was out and flashing wickedly in the pale daylight. A gleam caught it, and it sparked in blue fire.
He was about to ride on to meet Monteith when Edgar flew past him, and Baldwin saw another man with a bow aiming it at him. He readied himself for the arrow, fully expecting to feel it in his breast at any moment, but before Edgar could reach the archer, Monteith was at his side, and had raised his sword. Baldwin lifted his own and parried, and as he was about to turn his steel to attack, Monteith coughed and groaned, and tumbled from his horse, the arrow planted in the back of his neck at the base of his skull.
Berkeley Castle
Simon and Sir Richard de Welles were pleased to hear the sound of horses approaching. The confinement in the castle was an intense irritation to all concerned. However, it was natural that the people of the household should remain together when a murder was discovered, so that the malefactor was prevented from running away. A killer abroad was a danger to all, because if a man would kill once, clearly he was likely to do so again. It was a basic premise of the law that a murderer should be punished by the loss of his life. Otherwise what was the point of laws? Such a man was a threat to the whole order of society. That was Simon’s belief.
The law itself was, as he knew, more pragmatic. It required that the body remain where it was when it was discovered; this also applied to the people who had been near when the man was killed, so that their names could be registered. Then, when a Justice arrived on his tourn, the correct fines could be imposed on each of them.
‘Sounds like him now,’ Sir Richard said, standing up. The maid, who had been sitting on his lap, squeaked as he unceremoniously dumped her on the ground. ‘Sorry, wench. Coroner’s comin’ and I need to have a word or two with him.’
Simon helped the girl to her feet before hurrying after Sir Richard.
He found the knight at the gateway, speaking with a slender, short man with grizzled hair and a thin, oval face. From his size and fine features, he looked more like a clerk than a coroner and knight, especially in comparison with the man behind him who travelled on a donkey. He was a clerk, from his tonsure and habit, but he had the build of a wrestler, and his black eyes were suspicious.
‘Sir Ranulf, I am well indeed. And you?’
‘My health has not been good of late,’ the coroner said, and sprang lightly from his horse. ‘I am plagued by afflictions that will, I have no doubt, carry me off before long. I must make the most of the time God has seen fit to give to me. It is not easy when you are prey to so many ailments.’
‘It must be a torment,’ Sir Richard said seriously.
‘It is. Where is the body?’
‘Come, take a little wine or ale first. You have had a long, wearisome journey, I make no doubt.’
‘It has been wearisome, yes,’ the coroner said. ‘But a man must accept the trials imposed upon him.’
‘So, food and drink first?’ Sir Richard said hopefully.
‘Sir Ranulf, if you refuse him, there could be another murder in this castle,’ the clerk said.
‘Master Rodney, kindly remember that I am the coroner, you are the clerk. I speak, you record. That is the basis of our collaboration. You recall?’
‘Oh, yes. I recall. But, Sir Knight, if you want me to record for you, you will do very badly unless I have eaten first. My reeds will all break and smudge the pages, unless your amiable, obedient servant is fed.’
‘In God’s name, what a trial this fellow is. I swear,’ Coroner Ranulf said. He eyed the clerk with a stern look. ‘Come, man, have you no sense of duty?’
‘My duties are to Him. And He would see me fed!’
‘Ach! Then yes, Sir Richard, we will break bread with you. You can tell us about the man found dead while we eat, if you would be so kind.’
Near Macclesfield
John watched the body slump and tumble to the ground. When he was a lad and had helped the local warrener net and kill his rabbits, John had seen bodies fall like that. Not a twitch, not a sign of the passing spirit, just one moment alive, the next dead. The arrow must have penetrated his spine to kill him so swiftly, he thought, and he stared down in shock at the sight of David Monteith’s body lying on the grass.
The rest of the Scottish knew as soon as their leader fell that their own position was hopeless. The archer sat in his saddle with his bow still in his hand, incapable of speech. Instead he stared at the body on the ground.
Baldwin rode over and took the bow from his unresisting fingers. ‘You will come with us. Edgar and John, place the dead man on his horse. We shall take his body to Lord Berkeley. You, archer, what is your name?’
‘I’m James, sir.’
Baldwin looked at the fellow. He was young, probably not yet twenty summers old. He had been aiming at Baldwin, John knew, and steeled himself for the knight’s anger.
But he did not kill the boy. Instead, to John’s amazement, Sir Baldwin put his hand on the archer’s. ‘You are to come with us. You have done enough in this war. Your arrow was directed by God.’
John was troubled as they rode back to the column. He knew that Monteith’s men were due to join the Dunheveds at Berkeley. If Lord Berkeley spoke with James, he might learn of their plan to save Sir Edward of Caernarfon.
He listened as the men were questioned, and when James was released from Lord Berkeley’s interrogation, badly beaten, he knew he must warn the Dunheveds.
A short while later, Lord Berkeley came and spoke to Sir Baldwin.
‘Sir, you have an interest in protecting Sir Edward of Caernarfon, I think.’
‘I feel it my duty,’ Baldwin said levelly.
‘I have a task that should be to your taste, then. I require you to ride back to Berkeley and warn the castellan that there are men gathering about the castle. These fellows would tell us nothing about their reasons for travelling, but I think that itself is an indication.’
‘I don’t understand, my lord.’
‘Monteith was a vassal of Donald, the Earl of Mar. You kn
ow of him?’
‘Yes.’
He would be known by all, John thought. A strong, fearless and resourceful Scottish knight, he was intensely loyal to King Edward II.
‘He was at Bristol, I heard, before the city was captured by Queen Isabella,’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes, but he escaped. He rode to Scotland to demand aid for Sir Edward,’ Lord Berkeley said, ‘and if his men are riding down here, away from York, avoiding larger towns and cities, Mar is near too. I can see no other purpose in his journey but the rescue of Sir Edward.’
Baldwin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse my bluntness, my lord. You know that I am devoted to Sir Edward of Caernarfon, yet you tell me to ride with messages to ensure that he will be kept confined?’
‘Sir Baldwin, I do not wish it said I colluded in the murder of Sir Edward! Imagine, were a band of thieves, cut-throats and outlaws to raid my castle, what would happen to Sir Edward? He would try to escape, and entering the mêlée be cut down or shot full of arrows. My little castle may not be the largest in the land, but it is sufficient as a defensive fortress. I would not have him die there. I know your loyalty to Sir Edward, and you know your duty. Protect him. Ride to Berkeley, ensure they are aware that the castle is at risk, and you may save Sir Edward’s life.’
Baldwin nodded, and glanced about him. ‘Edgar, we return south,’ he said wearily.
John had no wish to return to Berkeley, but he must. Someone had to warn the others that their plot was unravelling. He cleared his throat. ‘Sir Baldwin, you may need a spare man if the castle is attacked. May I accompany you?’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, and now those dark, intense eyes were turned upon John. It felt as though the knight could see through to John’s heart.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Berkeley Castle
The little hallway in which Sir Jevan’s body lay was beginning to stink. Simon, walking behind the two coroners, was struck by the odour long before they reached the corpse. Flies were everywhere.
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