30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Up there,’ the man said, pointing to the roof of the passage that led from the chamber to the keep.

  ‘You didn’t tell me this before,’ Simon said irritably.

  ‘That’s because you didn’t ask me. You asked me if I’d heard the noise, and if so, what I thought it was. I told you I thought it was the Devil, but you didn’t ask if I saw Him.’

  ‘But you did?’

  ‘Something like. A figure was bounding along up there with a thick, raggedy cloak about him. That’s what I think I saw.’

  ‘You aren’t more certain?’

  ‘It was the Devil. What does it matter what I think?’

  It was cold here in his room. Benedetto Bardi stirred the fire and daydreamed about Florentine sunshine. Here all was perpetually hazy.

  The look on Matteo’s face had been truly appalling. He had been terrified at the sight of Benedetto, and then for those dull-witted tarses of his to beat up Matteo’s man – well, any fears that were already in his younger brother’s mind would hardly have been assuaged by that, would they?

  Benedetto cursed profusely. Here he was, marooned in this miserable castle, and here he must remain until Lord Berkeley came home.

  The quiet tap at his door surprised him. ‘Yes?’ he snapped, opening it. Then: ‘Sir Baldwin, this is a pleasant surprise. Please enter and join me in a cup of wine.’

  He was not alone, Benedetto saw. There was Sir Richard, and the man Puttock, too. They all walked in and stood looking at him as though he was some kind of felon.

  ‘Well?’ he prompted.

  ‘We have an interesting series of deaths, Master Benedetto,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘First one brother dies, and your other brother is almost killed. Two other fellows die near your brother’s body, all in the space of a day. And the man responsible, we think, was on his way to your house. He was an ally of yours. But now, he too is dead. It seems very strange that so much bloodshed should happen in so short a space, so near to you.’

  ‘I agree. It is most peculiar. But on that particular day in London, many people were killed. Even the Bishop of Exeter died about then, and numerous peasants.’

  ‘Did you order Sir Jevan to kill your brothers?’ Sir Richard rumbled.

  ‘Did I . . .’ Benedetto sighed. ‘No. Categorically not. I would never kill my brothers. Look at me, sirs. Do I look like the sort of man who could do such a thing? It would insult my blood, insult my mother’s memory, my father’s good name.’

  ‘I have heard of men of business who are capable of such dishonour,’ Simon said.

  ‘Well, I am not one of them. No, I think it is more likely that the killer of Sir Jevan was Alured, servant to my brother. Look at him: he is irrational. Sir Richard, Master Puttock, you both saw him entering into a fight with my men when all I wished was a word with my brother.’

  ‘But that was only a little after the death of Sir Jevan. Alured was protecting his master. Perhaps Matteo thought you guilty of killing him too?’

  ‘I say again, no.’

  Baldwin reached into his purse and pulled out the parchment. He held it up for Benedetto to see. ‘Read this.’

  ‘I . . . oh.’ Benedetto winced to see it again. It had suffered in the last months since Manuele had signed it. ‘I know this letter.’

  ‘It says that the Bardi will support Sir Edward with money and all aid. And yet you supported the Queen against him.’

  He shrugged. ‘A man of business must sometimes look to both sides.’

  ‘Even when it means seeking the death of your own brothers?’ Baldwin asked pointedly.

  ‘Never! I would do anything in my power to protect them.’

  ‘Your protestations are fascinating,’ Baldwin said. ‘However, if you did not do these things, who did?’

  ‘That madman, Alured.’

  ‘Or could it have been your brother?’

  At the thought Benedetto winced, thinking of the conversation when Matteo had accused him of trying to murder him. ‘He would be shocked indeed to think anyone could accuse him of such a crime.’

  ‘So you believe it can only be Alured?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Who else?’ He stared. ‘You are asking me to believe that Matteo could have killed our brother Manuele? No. Nothing would make me believe that.’

  ‘And yet your brother is convinced it must be you.’

  ‘He is a frail thing, Matteo. It is his work, sifting information all day. I think it is only natural that he sometimes has these monstrous dreams. He sees plots under every stone, assassins under his bed. Sometimes he doesn’t know what is real and what is false.’

  ‘What do you think, Baldwin?’ Simon asked as they made their way back down the stairs.

  ‘I do not know what to think,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘Or rather, I think I shall be glad to be away from here, and gladder still to see the back of Benedetto and Matteo and their men. How can we serve them, while we believe that they could be murderers?’

  He had reached the level of the wall now, and he moved to a door. It opened to the walkway, and he stepped out, peering down. ‘Ah, if someone were to run across there, over the roof, he would be visible from the ground.’

  Simon peered over to look. There was a broad wall rising from the building beneath. It lay just below the walkway, and a man could easily reach it by jumping down. And at this end there was a wide window facing into the court, where an arrow slit had been widened. ‘An easy journey,’ he agreed, cursing himself for not seeing it before.

  Sir Richard nodded. ‘But would a Devil try it?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But I am perfectly content to believe that a man might dart across there, and when he reached the keep, he could run up here to this door and get in through it.’

  Simon smiled sadly. ‘Which helps us not at all, because Matteo, Benedetto and Alured were all sleeping in the keep, as were many others. Any one of them could have killed Jevan.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Wednesday after Ascension Day68

  Berkeley Castle

  But the next day brought news that made their search for the murderer less important.

  Simon was standing guard with Hugh outside the chamber where Sir Edward of Caernarfon was being held, when the men came.

  There were four of them, all begrimed and weary, their clothing in tatters, and all with the same look of despair in their eyes.

  Simon and Sir Richard strode out to meet them, but Baldwin was already talking to them, asking questions and listening carefully.

  ‘You say there were how many in the party?’ he said.

  ‘At least fifty,’ one man said. He was the oldest of them, and his eyes were red-rimmed under the thatch of grey hair. ‘They got to us about an hour before sunset.’

  ‘How many are dead?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘All told, seven. My son, two farmers, a cattleman, the warrener and two women. Both were raped. My son and the cattleman were trying to protect them when they were killed.’

  ‘What has happened?’ Sir Richard demanded, standing arms akimbo with his chin jutting pugnaciously.

  ‘Another attack. Not a riot like Cirencester,’ Baldwin said, ‘but a raid on these men’s vill, five leagues north of here.’

  ‘Were they English?’ Simon asked.

  ‘No. For the most part these were Scottish.’

  ‘The Earl of Mar’s men,’ Baldwin said grimly.

  He ordered that the men should be given food and drink, then told Edgar to take a horse and ride about the perimeter he had set out before. ‘But take care, Edgar. No risks. If you see these devils, come straight back to tell us.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Edgar said, and was off to the stables in an instant.

  ‘Simon,’ Baldwin said, ‘I wonder whether we should consider removing Sir Edward from here. I do not like this place: it is too isolated. If we were in Okehampton, or down at Corfe, I would feel more easy in my mind.’

  ‘Corfe is hardly less isolated,’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘
I suppose not,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But at least it is farther from Scotland. I dislike these stories of men from the north attacking farms down here.’

  ‘There is certainly great danger in leaving the castle now,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I think it would be a mistake. With the men we have here, we should be able to protect the place.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Baldwin said, but as he glanced again at the rebuilding works, Simon could see that his concerns were not allayed. ‘When those men have been fed,’ he said, ‘have them work on the walls too. I want this place as secure as the Tower of London.’

  Friday before Whit Sunday69

  Benedetto paced his chamber furiously. He did not want to be here – in fact, he loathed the very sight of the place – and yet he was terrified at the thought of leaving. The land all about had become dangerous: every hedge and ditch could conceal a bowman. There were rumoured to be hundreds in the immediate area, each of them desperate to rescue Edward – or kill him.

  The one thing that made him forget this was the expression on Matteo’s face when they last met. That look of loathing and terror had struck him to the core. No matter what happened, it was clear Matteo would never trust him.

  Benedetto would try to explain, if he got the opportunity. Sir Jevan was a blunt weapon, true, but he had been effective. So often he had worked for the House of Bardi and brought matters to successful conclusions. Still, if he had stabbed Matteo, he most certainly had not been ordered to do so. And those two poor youngsters – that was a shame, too. Benedetto had a heart: he could understand how Alured had been determined to find and punish the man responsible.

  The Florentine’s thoughts returned once more to his younger brother. Could Matteo not remember all the times when he had been cosseted and spoiled by Benedetto? The latter had, after all, spent much of his youth looking after him.

  There was nothing on God’s good earth that could make him hurt his little brother. Nothing at all.

  Whit Sunday70

  Berkeley Castle

  As they left the little chapel of St Mary next to the hall, Baldwin heard Benedetto Bardi calling after him.

  ‘Sir Baldwin,’ he said, and pushed through the men to reach him. ‘I would speak with you.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘I must leave this place and hurry to the King’s side. The Regent is to about to wage war on the Scottish and I should be with them, arranging finances for the King on his first war, not languishing here.’

  ‘When it is clear that Alured will recover fully, you may leave. However, I will expect you to compensate him for the damage you have done to him. And if he were to die within a year and a day of the attack on him, you could be liable with your men for his death.’

  ‘I will do all that is necessary,’ Benedetto said. ‘But for how much longer will I need to remain here?’

  ‘I would think a week. If Alured is better, then you may go, if you consider it wise.’

  ‘I think nothing about my coming here was wise,’ Benedetto said with regret.

  ‘You know how dangerous the roads are just now. There are men all over this county.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But I need to leave as soon as I may.’

  Benedetto walked away, over to the keep, and Baldwin heard Sir Richard and Simon approach.

  ‘He is not happy here,’ Baldwin said. ‘He prefers the dangers of the roads.’

  ‘Aye, well, in all truth, the man’s probably safe enough. The threat from these Dunhead fellows and the Earl of Mar has not materialised, has it? With every day that they do not attack, their strength weakens,’ Sir Richard said comfortably.

  ‘I just wish I knew what they planned,’ Baldwin fretted. ‘It would be good to be prepared.’

  ‘While it is quiet here, I am content,’ Simon said.

  But it would not remain quiet for very much longer.

  In his chamber, Alured lay trying to rest while Hugh snored over by the door.

  Every movement was painful, as it tightened his scabs, and when he shifted his position there was a tearing sensation at his face. But if he did not move, the torn muscles behind his ear would cramp and ache. That was intolerable. Better that he should move his head occasionally.

  When the door opened, he glanced up to see a young maid. She smiled down at him as she put the jug of ale and bowl of soup on the low table near his palliasse. There was a small hunk of bread beside them. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Better for seeing you, maid,’ he croaked. He dared not grin. Over a week, he told himself, and still it hurt too much to smile.

  ‘Here’s some food and drink. Do you want me to help you?’

  She had been here twice a day since his injuries, at first helping spoon pottage or soup into his mouth, but more recently she had soaked bread in it and pressed it gently between his lips as his mouth began to loosen and he could open it wider.

  ‘I would be glad of your help,’ he said.

  He was eating, Hugh rubbing his eyes and yawning, as Baldwin and Simon entered.

  ‘Master Alured, how do you feel this fine morning?’ Baldwin asked.

  Alured swallowed. ‘How do I look?’ he countered.

  ‘More lively, at least,’ Baldwin said with a smile.

  ‘I reckon I shall live,’ Alured acknowledged.

  ‘Benedetto has asked to be allowed to leave the castle. Do you object?’

  ‘The sooner the bastard’s gone, the happier I’ll be,’ Alured grunted.

  Baldwin nodded. ‘We do have an interesting conundrum, you appreciate. Someone killed Sir Jevan. It could have been Benedetto, but the knight appears to have been an ally of his. Why should he seek to murder his own accomplice? But the alternative to his slaying Sir Jevan means it may well be you or your master who was responsible.’

  ‘As to me, why would I bother? I told you of my suspicions. If I was going to act anyway, why should I tell you first? No, it would not make sense for me to kill him.’ Alured took another mouthful of soup.

  ‘Your master?’

  ‘Signor Matteo could have wished vengeance on the man who might have stabbed him, but I was asleep before his door all night. He wouldn’t have been able to pass by me without my knowing.’

  ‘You sleep lightly?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘And you remained there on your bench until your master opened his door, you said?’

  Alured began to nod; it hurt and he winced. ‘Yes. I was there until he came and asked what the noise was all about.’

  ‘So you were asleep until he opened the door?’

  ‘I . . .’ Alured was still for a moment as he considered. ‘Perhaps. I must have heard the screams and then, when I turned he was there.’

  ‘So he was there in the doorway.’

  ‘Well, I suppose so.’ Alured’s brow was creased with the effort of recall.

  ‘Was the door actually open?’

  Alured’s eyes gazed at him blankly.

  ‘You realise what this could mean,’ Baldwin said gently.

  Alured did not need to nod.

  ‘What was he wearing?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘A loose cloak. It’s quite old and tatty.’

  ‘I see. What happened to it?’

  ‘He opened the door and threw it inside.’

  Baldwin sighed. ‘And that is that,’ he said. ‘Let us find this man.’

  Matteo saw them leaving Benedetto’s chamber. Had they accused him? It was as clear as day that he had been the one responsible for all the mayhem and murder. They must remove him.

  Matteo decided he would go and check on his brother. The corridor outside Benedetto’s room was quiet. There was not even a guard. Matteo tapped lightly upon the door and listened. Hearing his brother invite him in, he froze. Just for an instant, he had thought that the men with the grim faces might have killed Benedetto.

  He opened the door and walked in. And Benedetto immediately backed away as though he feared him.

  ‘What is it, brother?’ Matteo asked.


  ‘I will not lie, Matteo. I am scared of you. How could you kill so many?’

  ‘Well, how could you try to have me murdered in a London street?’

  ‘I swear that was not me. I am innocent. We are brothers!’

  ‘Yes, I believe you,’ Matteo lied. It was clear that Benedetto had convinced the others, but Matteo was trained in intelligence. He could see through the falsehoods put forward by others – and today he knew that his brother was desperate to see him killed.

  ‘You always feared me, Benedetto, didn’t you? You must have thought I was just a bit too clever for my own good. I was always the bright one in our family. That’s why I ended up with the job of intelligencer – sifting all the lies and deceptions to reach the truth. I did it so well, day in, day out, that Manuele was scared of me. And when he died, you realised the only way to keep the power to yourself was to kill me.’

  ‘No. I took over because poor Manuele died. That was all.’

  ‘So you should thank me for that, at least.’

  Benedetto’s jaw fell open. ‘You couldn’t have! Not Manuele! Why? All he ever did was try to help you, Matteo!’

  ‘He would have ruined the bank – I couldn’t allow that. And you were little better. The pair of you, niggling at each other, while the bank was collapsing! You two could not see further than your own ridiculous ambitions. The House of Bardi needs a stronger man in control of it. Someone who can demonstrate good leadership.’

  ‘Why did you kill Sir Jevan?’

  ‘You used him to assassinate me. He tried to kill me.’

  ‘No! Look, Matteo, that day in London there were rifflers all over the city. It was one of them who caught you and stabbed you.’

  ‘No, brother,’ Matteo said, and in his face there was a sad understanding.

  For a split second Benedetto saw his childhood in that face – those happier times when they were all young – and he saw the tear that formed in Matteo’s eye as he held out a hand to him. Benedetto felt a surge of relief to see his brother returned to him. He moved forward, and too late saw the blade that flashed to his chest.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Berkeley Castle