Simon nodded doubtfully. ‘Rebels made an attempt on Kenilworth, and were slaughtered. They must be lunatic to try it here as well.’
‘But everyone will know that the garrison here has been denuded and that Lord Berkeley is away. They may well try again. So we must improve the defences in the time we have.’
‘How long is that, do you think?’ Simon asked.
‘My friend, I have no idea,’ Baldwin said frankly. ‘It could be a week, it could be a month. Not much more, though, I would think. The Earl of Mar will want the advantage of surprise.’
Simon nodded bleakly.
‘Simon, what is it that clouds your face so?’ Baldwin asked. ‘You looked glum as I rode in.’
‘Sir Jevan was slain a little over a week ago,’ Simon told him.
Baldwin gave a frown. ‘Do you have any idea who was the killer?’
Simon shook his head. ‘There was no witness, no indication as to who could have committed the crime. Only the fact that an axe was used. Perhaps that—’
But Baldwin was ahead of him. ‘Any man who sought to show it was the same person as he who killed the carter would do that. The woman and the priest from the vill are both gone, are they not?’
‘Yes.’
Baldwin nodded slowly. ‘Then I think that for now Dolwyn and his friends cannot be released. But we need not see them languish in the gloom and cold of a dank cell. We should devote our efforts to the protection of this castle, and they can help. Perhaps once that is achieved, we can return to this matter again.’
Willersey
The day was a dull one. There was no rain, but it might as well have been pouring, from the priest’s mood.
His garden had been invaded by slugs which had eaten the majority of his lettuces and peas, caterpillars had taken refuge in his cabbages, and before he could deal with any or all of them, he had been called to listen to the last confession of a farmer up in the shadow of the hill. The fool had been trying to separate a calf from its mother, and had been gored by her. Nobody thought he could survive more than a few hours.
Father Luke returned to the vill with a conviction that the world was not functioning as it ought. Only a few days ago he had been a contented man with many blessings to count, and now he felt as though his life was an abject failure. He had lost the King’s money, he had lost a pair of good fellows from his flock, and no matter what he tried, he was not able to console Jen.
Only this morning he had seen the poor child looking desolate. Perhaps, he wondered, he ought to speak with Agatha about her? But the widow was already doing all she could, and did not need his interference. No, he was better leaving her and the child alone, surely, and allowing them to find their own way to peace.
At the same time he still had John’s confession on his mind. He recalled how he had thought John such a pleasant fellow when he first met him – a cheerful soul with the smile of a rogue, he had thought. Little had he realised that John would become devoted to homicide: to murdering Sir Edward of Caernarfon.
Berkeley Castle
The discussion with Sir Richard and Simon Puttock had been intriguing to Sir Ralph. However, it was a matter of days ago now. They had not succeeded in capturing the murderer, and he wondered whether they ever would.
Sir Jevan had not been a congenial companion, and Sir Ralph did not bemoan his passing, but he took a keen interest in any issues that could lead to danger to his charge. If a murderer stalked the castle, he would wish to see the man apprehended.
Sir Edward himself was difficult in the mornings with a sore head, and grew more amiable as the day progressed. There was, indeed, little to occupy him now that the common pursuits of chivalry were denied him. But no matter what, Sir Ralph did agree with Gilbert that to allow the King to leave the castle to ride would present untold dangers.
For Sir Edward, the incarceration was tedious, but Sir Ralph was beginning to think that if he himself did not escape this chamber soon, he too would become quite mad. Being locked in here was taxing all his reserves of patience.
The only escape was to sit and consider who it was who could have killed Sir Jevan – and imagine how to defend Sir Edward, were the killer to try to assassinate him.
Minchenhamtone59
The little vill was peaceful as John rode in.
There was not much to the village – only a small market square, with a modest–sized chapel and a pair of inns and some taverns. It was a place which Stephen and Thomas had once told John was safe. They had relatives who owned the manor nearby and the people of the area were very keen supporters of the Dunheveds and the old King. If he had need, they said, he should make his way here.
He had greater need than ever now. Filled with depression, he felt all the miles he had covered in recent days as he reined in by an ale-house and gazed about him. The illness he had mentioned to Baldwin had not been feigned. It was a fresh manifestation of his inner desperation. If only Paul were still alive, so that he had someone with whom to discuss this whole matter. But Paul was dead, and there was no one else in whom he could confide. His desperation was caused by that very solitude that would, with luck, ensure a measure of success.
It had been hellish to travel with Sir Baldwin. All the way he had felt as though he was being studied, as though Sir Baldwin knew he was a member of the party determined to release the King. In honesty, he was unsure as to whether Sir Baldwin himself was devoted to the incarceration of the old King, or would aid his release. Perhaps he would support those determined to free Sir Edward of Caernarfon? Many might. Many would.
‘John? What are you doing here?’
John’s head snapped around and he found himself staring at Sir Edmund Gascelin. ‘I am glad to find you. The whole plan has been discovered.’
Sir Edmund swore under his breath. ‘How?’
‘Men of the Earl of Mar were captured and beaten. It was not their cowardice or treachery that betrayed us; the simple fact that they were men from the Earl was enough to alert Lord Berkeley. He’s convinced there’s to be an attempt to free Sir Edward.’
‘Is he returning?’
‘No, he has to attend the Muster, but he has sent a knight to warn the castle,’ John said as he swung himself down from the saddle. An ostler came to take his horse from him, and John and Sir Edmund entered the inn. Inside, John found the two Dunheveds, and he repeated his story to them.
Frere Thomas looked at Stephen. ‘Does it change anything?’
‘We have the men ready. If they aren’t going to increase the garrison as John said, we will be safe enough.’
Sir Edmund grinned. ‘In that case, the plan will go ahead. Soon we will have rescued our liege-lord from Berkeley, and there’ll be nothing anyone can do to stop his return to the throne.’
‘There will be war again,’ John said.
‘Of course there will. How else would he recover his throne?’ Sir Edmund had a savage look about him, keenly anticipating the battles to come. ‘You must return to the castle now.’
‘I can’t,’ John said dully. ‘Sir Jevan is there, and he knows me. If I go back, with so few men in the garrison he will be sure to recognise me.’
‘He’s no threat to you now,’ Stephen said. ‘William has sent a message. He’s dead.’
‘So now we can consider the battle,’ Sir Edmund said with a ferocious grin.
John nodded, but inwardly his heart sank. The prospect of thousands of deaths, in order to return the failed King to his throne, had become abhorrent to him.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Fourth Wednesday after Easter60
Cirencester
The little town was busy even though this was not a market day. Stephen Dunheved walked out into the sunshine with a sense that this was a good place for their efforts to begin.
He had heard that Cirencester had once been a great city, second only to London, but that was a fable to make the peasants here feel more important than they deserved. True, the local farmers had a good stock of sheep;
their flocks were huge, and the fleeces they produced were very much in demand. That was the source of the town’s wealth: wool.
An apprentice barged into him, hurrying from a tavern, and Stephen swallowed the urge to clout him. He must not draw attention to himself in any way.
The sun was directly overhead when he finally heard what he had been waiting for. Hoofbeats. A cry, then a scream and shouting. He walked away from the roadside and waited near his own horse.
It was here, at the market square, that the riders came at speed. There were seventy of them all told, bold fighters from the Dunheved estates, wiry, tough Scotsmen with Earl Donald, and Welsh knifemen from the Marches, and Stephen’s brother at their head with Sir Edmund and John. They rode into the square and Thomas dismounted, walking to the middle.
‘Fellow Englishmen!’ he shouted. ‘Listen to me! They say that we are Godless people because we do not acknowledge the right of any to deprive our King of his crown. Who dares to think that a man should attempt to deny God’s own anointing? Who dares to think that God would approve of a man’s effort to overrule His judgement? This heretic and false knight, Sir Roger Mortimer, believes he has such a right. Do you?’
There was no sound from the people in the square. For the most part, they were staring about them at the force of men on horseback who stood ringing them, rather than at the Dominican.
Thomas walked in amongst them. ‘Listen to me, I say! You are in grave peril, my friends. For while you permit this traitor to rule, you are submitting to the man whom God would see brought down. You flout His laws when you honour this man who has demeaned the throne of your country, who has proved himself a traitor, and who even now commits adultery against God’s laws. Sir Roger Mortimer is a loathsome outlaw! You have a duty to rise up and overthrow him!’
Stephen could hear his brother, but it was obvious that his message was failing to attract the crowd. The townspeople here were not interested in an uprising. But no matter. Stephen had spent his money carefully and wisely.
It was as the Dominican was pleading with the town to follow him and march upon the castle, that there came a roar of support.
Stephen grinned. He had bribed with ale a gathering of thirty or more apprentices and labourers at an inn, telling them to come and join him when they had drunk his money if they wanted more. Now they were coming out to partake of more of his largesse, and there was a general movement away from them by the rest of the crowd.
Even then the situation might not have gone the way Stephen and Thomas had hoped, had not the castellan intervened.
A small force of men-at-arms appeared at one end of the square, with a knight at their head. ‘What in Christ’s name is all this noise about?’ he demanded, his horse nudging the men and women out of his way. ‘Who are you, Friar? What are these men doing here?’
His horse pushed over a woman, who screamed as she fell. The baby she carried had rolled under the feet of others, and her shrieks rose to Heaven. The noise under his horse’s hooves made the beast rear, and his men, thinking he was being attacked, brought their weapons to bear on the people in front of them, their polearms lowered threateningly. A man shouted defiance, which led to the drinkers from Stephen’s tavern to shout still louder, and while the knight battled to get his plunging horse under control, someone threw a stone that clashed against the helmet of a man-at-arms. He fell back, reeling, and that seemed to be the signal for others to begin to lift cobbles from the street and hurl them at the party from the castle.
Stephen saw a stone strike a man in the face. Beneath his steel bonnet, his features became awash with blood and he was shoved back out to safety behind his comrades.
‘Reject them! These are the same as the heretic criminal who sits behind the throne, and sleeps with the real King’s wife! Throw them from your square, people of Cirencester!’ Thomas bellowed, and suddenly the crowd began to roar. There was a forward push, and the men with the knight looked about them with fear. It was plain that they were alarmed to see this normally bovine town roused to such fury.
More stones, and then the mob was barging forward in earnest. The knight on his horse drew his sword and began to flail about him, but a rock the size of a man’s fist struck his unprotected temple, and he fell. His mount turned and bolted, and tore through the men-at-arms like a rock from a siege engine.
Stephen ran the risk of being drawn along with the people, but he stood his ground. There was a butcher’s shop nearby, and he eyed the meats on display. Next to a pair of hanging ducks was some sausage, dried and smoked, which he took. A youth in the shop asked for money, but Stephen struck him back-handed in answer, and left the lad bleeding on the floor as he walked back outside.
A full-scale riot was in progress. Men and women were screaming and baying, demanding that the group from the castle throw down their weapons, while more stones rattled about them. One of the men-at-arms was pulled into the crowd, and while Stephen watched, a maddened peasant with a cleaver took his head off, and then the rest of the men backed away, realising their danger. Stephen was sure that they would all survive – but then he saw more rocks and sticks being flung, and he knew that the men-at-arms stood no chance.
‘Brother, we should leave,’ Thomas said to him, eyeing the furious mob with a certain trepidation.
‘Your sermon appears to have achieved what we hoped.’
‘If it helps bring Mortimer to justice, it is worthwhile,’ Thomas said, and the two hurried off to their horses.
Fourth Friday after Easter61
Berkeley Castle
With the assistance of Sir Richard, Baldwin had managed to instil a sense of urgency into the men in the castle. In place of the leisurely rebuilding works, there was now an atmosphere of febrile activity. The stores had been replenished, and the wall and keep prepared for attack.
‘There are plenty more sections of wall that would benefit from repairs,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Looks like a group of choristers could push it over in places.’
‘We shall have to do the best we may,’ Baldwin said. He looked about him at the defences and felt a twinge to see so much more that needed to be done.
‘We’ll be prepared enough,’ Sir Richard said.
‘Perhaps.’
It was while they were still on the wall, talking about the need for supplies of arrows, that they saw the approaching dust.
Baldwin narrowed his eyes. His sight was not as keen as it once had been. ‘Who is that?’
‘No idea. Soon find out, though,’ Sir Richard said.
They descended the stairs and reached the yard a short while before the rider appeared.
‘I must see the castellan,’ the lad panted.
Baldwin eyed him. This was no messenger of the King; it was a youth of perhaps sixteen mounted on a rounsey. ‘You can tell us. I am Sir Baldwin, this is Sir Richard de Welles.’
‘Sirs, a group of men led by a Dominican Friar and his brother Stephen Dunheved caused a riot in Cirencester the day before yesterday. The whole town’s in an uproar, and three were killed. I’ve been sent to warn you that they may come this way next. They have a large company with them.’
‘Aha!’ Sir Richard boomed. He looked about at Baldwin. ‘Well, maybe we’ll get a chance to test our defences sooner than we’d expected, eh?’
Second Tuesday before Ascension62
Berkeley Castle
Their efforts were bringing results, Baldwin reckoned. The labourers seemed to appreciate the dangers and were working well. The walls where the worst of the dilapidation had taken its toll were already patched and mended. Enhancements to the defences were being added wherever possible, and there were additional items designed to ensure the King’s safety. The smith from the nearby town was commissioned to make new bars and bolts to keep Sir Edward safe in his chamber, and there were new keys for his door, four of them, of which Baldwin took one, and Sir Richard another. Then there were new locks for the door to the Chapel of St John in the tower, and for a postern gate that
faced Alkington. After looking about the defences, Baldwin and Sir Richard also agreed to have a new lock and hinges with reinforcing bars fitted to the chamber over the outer gate. This gave them three secure locations in which to hold off attackers.
Baldwin hoped that they would not be necessary, but in these times it was not possible to be sanguine about their chances of keeping the King safe if they did not take all precautions. The rioting in Cirencester showed all too clearly that the Dunheveds were still a force to be feared. There had come reports of the Dunheved gang raiding other places about Berkeley. Wandering men were robbing travellers, while riders were out stealing cattle and sheep to feed their growing numbers. Meanwhile there had been a pair of murders in the last two days, and one hideous rumour of a woman who was raped repeatedly, while her farm was torched with her husband tied up alive inside it, but Baldwin had not been able to substantiate that.
It was in part due to this last story that Baldwin had taken to riding out across the country with Edgar. He had established a perimeter of farmsteads and villas at about a mile and a half distance all around the castle, and he would visit this each morning to ensure that all was secure. If incursions began to affect these places, he would become more concerned and close up the castle. Fortunately, so far there had been no signs of additional violence within his boundary.
However, for the last few days the atmosphere in the castle had grown more tense. All were aware of the potential for disaster, were the Dunheveds and their gang to get inside. While there was no outbreak yet of complete panic, there were some signs of growing alarm. Baldwin recalled that there had been a similar mood within Acre during the siege. His secret fear was that the men within the castle might themselves react by rebelling.
For his part, at least Sir Edward of Caernarfon appeared to be calm enough. Sir Ralph reported that he sat in his chamber: quiet and unemotional, drinking a quart of wine each afternoon. A kind of fatalism had settled upon him.
Baldwin spent as much time as he could with the man who had been his King, relieving Sir Ralph when possible, but it was wearing. It was one thing to sympathise with a man who knew he was soon to be executed, but quite another to sit with a drunken man. A one-night vigil was sad, but this was a vigil without end. Edward had not been openly condemned to death, but he retained the conviction that someone would kill him, and the strain showed. His face, for all its supernatural calmness, was lined and haggard. His appetite was gone, and without exercise his body was losing its fine tone and strength. It was a relief that Sir Ralph was staying with the King every night and much of the day too. Baldwin would have found the duty too onerous.
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