30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  He made his way to the great hall, and sat at the massive table on the dais with the other guests. Sir Baldwin looked disappointed at the procession of colourful dishes being paraded: he was always happier with simpler fare, Benedetto had noticed. Not so the Bailiff and Sir Richard. They were hearty eaters, content to feed on anything and everything.

  Benedetto picked at the dish before him, missing the food of his natural home. In fact, just now he missed everything about Florence. The sunshine on the flat fields, the tall trees, the sights and sounds, the wines . . . all of them called him home.

  Thanks be to God, his wound was recovered cleanly. Alured too had healed, although he still held his head at a curious angle, and his nose and cheek were badly scarred. Dolwyn would be there as a bodyguard – so his journeying should be secure.

  Senchet was in no mood to enjoy the festivities. He wandered disconsolately about the upper battlements on the walkways, brooding. He did not like this castle.

  However, if he and Harry awaited the return of Lord Berkeley, he might hire them and pay them well. A man-at-arms was not expensive in comparison with a knight, but men with the skills and abilities of Senchet and Harry did not come cheap. He had already asked that Florentine if he could join his party, but the banker had looked askance at him, as though he was some kind of felon trying to inveigle his way into an easy gull’s party so he could rob him.

  While he was on the battlements, he saw a man surreptitiously cross the yard, and head towards a little low building near a tower. Senchet himself had developed an interest in that particular building, because the little chest from the back of the cart had been stored there. It was a small building, but constructed all of stone, and the roof was strong, too. He had considered, and rejected, the idea of breaking in as impractical. There were too many men here who would come running to investigate – and it was but a short step from being investigated to hanging from a tree.

  This man, however, slipped past the door to the building, and disappeared in the shadows. That was interesting to Senchet, and he stepped silently down the staircase to the yard, leaned against a dark wall, and waited.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later the same figure returned. He stood in the shadows, his head moving from side to side, and then he hurried away back to the feast.

  Senchet watched him go, and then went the same way. He wondered if that other man might have essayed a hole in the building’s wall, in order to get in and filch the chest of coins. Not that he could do anything with it: he could hardly take the chest to his sleeping chamber and conceal it as a pillow!

  But there was no hole in the wall. When Senchet walked along the way, he found only a postern door set into the wall. He touched the lock and felt the coolness of fresh oil, but that was all.

  Why was the man coming here and making sure that the lock was oiled? Senchet wondered to himself. He frowned at it, trying to think of any reason other than the obvious one.

  None occurred to him.

  ‘Who was he?’ Harry asked as Senchet spoke of the man at the postern gate.

  Senchet had gone to the hall and attracted Harry’s attention by the simple expedient of pulling him from his seat.

  ‘One of the labourers, I think.’

  ‘A labourer going to oil the locks on a postern . . .’

  ‘At night. When all others are in the hall feasting.’

  ‘It does seem a little odd.’

  Senchet sighed with extravagant emphasis. ‘Odd, you think? Why should a man do such a thing?’

  All locks need oiling,’ Harry protested.

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘Yes, that was curious. But perhaps he was supposed to do it during the day, and this was the first opportunity.’

  Senchet looked at him.

  ‘Oh, all right. Come on.’

  Sir Richard saw the two approaching. ‘Hey, Sir Baldwin, what d’you think of those fellows? Coming to beg alms or more ale?’

  Baldwin glanced towards them, still smiling at a jocular comment from Benedetto, but his smile froze when he had heard what Senchet and Harry had to say.

  A short time later, he and Simon had joined Sir Richard at the postern. All three studied it with interest. Baldwin touched the oil, feeling it slick between thumb and forefinger. ‘It is good that the gate’s lock is eased.’

  ‘Not the time o’ day for doin’ that sort of work,’ Sir Richard commented.

  ‘No. I agree,’ Baldwin said. ‘But the fellow did not unlock or unbolt the postern. It is still secure, so it is not the work of a man who is set upon allowing strangers in immediately.’

  ‘But could be sometime soon, was what we thought,’ Harry said. ‘If you’re seeing parties leaving the castle, the garrison will be reduced. And now it’ll take little time for a man to open the gate.’

  ‘Very true,’ Sir Richard said. ‘What d’you think, Simon? You have a good mind for subterfuge.’

  ‘I think we should mount a permanent guard here,’ Simon said. ‘Whoever did this could be opening the castle.’

  ‘Would you recognise the man again?’ Sir Richard demanded.

  ‘Yes. Without a doubt,’ Senchet said.

  Sir Richard looked at Baldwin. ‘I think we ought to have all the masons and labourers stand in front of this good fellow and see if he can identify him.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Let us go to their camp and do that straight away.’

  The labourers had moved from directly below the tower in the north-east corner of the yard, and were a little further towards the southern wall because the tower had been one of the last sections to be completed and the tents were blocking the area the masons needed for their workings.

  In the chill evening air, all the labourers and workers were made to stand and Senchet viewed each carefully before shaking his head. ‘No, it is not one of these here.’

  Baldwin thanked the master mason responsible for the works and asked, ‘Is there any man missing?’

  ‘How would I know?’ he snapped. ‘I’m not responsible for them. My own fellows are here, and that’s all I care about.’

  Baldwin and the others left him still fuming, and returned to the hall and their food. But at the doorway, Baldwin looked back. ‘I want a guard on the wall over the postern and another down by the gate itself. They will be relieved, but I want men there all through the night.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sir Richard said, and belched. ‘Damn nuisance.’

  It was a tight fit in here, but William atte Hull was glad that he had spent time constructing this little hideaway.

  The fact that the knights had gone to check where he had oiled the locks on the postern showed that someone had seen him. It was Art who saw the man walk in after William had left the dark alley. Art was a good, loyal servant of the King, and as soon as he saw Senchet down there, he had gone to warn William. And now here he was, hidden in what appeared to be a loose pile of rocks beside the southern wall. But it was not solid. He had carefully built a chamber in the heart of this pile, and now he lay in the makeshift shelter and considered what he could do to facilitate the attack.

  One thing was certain, if he was seen by that foreign scrote, he would be captured as a traitor.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Morrow of the Feast of St John the Baptist75

  Berkeley Castle

  The castle was quiet this morning, after the festivities of the night before, and Baldwin was up and on the castle’s walls before any other than a pale-faced sentry or two. One leaned on his polearm as if it was the only thing holding him upright.

  Simon was asleep still. Baldwin had left him on his bench snoring fit to crack the walls. He had kept Sir Richard company until the very early hours, and Baldwin suspected that his head would be exceedingly painful when he did wake. Which was a source of pleasure to Baldwin, bearing in mind that Simon’s snores had kept him awake for much of the night.

  From here on the walls he could see over the acres of boggy marshland. The land all abo
ut here was wild, untamed and dangerous. North was the Severn Estuary, where Baldwin could see occasional ships moving sluggishly on the water between clouds of mist. Nearer, lay the main Gloucester to Bristol road, and it was always busy. It was the reason for the castle’s construction, after all.

  Baldwin looked around one last time in the grey pre-dawn light: there was nothing to be seen yet, but he knew that the fog could conceal hundreds of men, and here in the castle they would have no idea of their presence until the enemy launched an assault.

  He passed the guard on the wall over the postern gate. The man had been up late, to judge from the look of his bleary eyes. He leaned against the battlements, casually watching the swirling mists, and Baldwin was content that at least he was awake, if not as alert as he could have been. Below, when Baldwin glanced into the court, he saw another man at the alleyway, picking his nose assiduously.

  There was nothing more he could do, he thought. He turned and was about to walk down the stairs when he heard something.

  It was faint – a metallic ‘snick’ from outside the castle. On the misty air, the sound was leaden. There was no perception of direction, not with his deaf right ear, and Baldwin turned his head so that his left ear was projected towards the noise. Nothing. It could have been his imagination, but he didn’t think so. Baldwin turned his head again so that he faced the wild heath once more. His eyes studied the mists as though he could penetrate them with his fierce glare.

  And then there was a swirl as a breeze moved them, and he saw through the mists a column of men.

  ‘Guards! Guards! Alarm!’ he bellowed at the top of his voice, even as the mists began to clear and he saw the massed men outside the castle.

  Simon heard the roar of his friend’s voice through the blanket of sleep that had so fully bound him. He tried to leap from his bench, only to stumble over his clothes on the floor. Quickly pulling on his chemise and tugging on his hosen, tying them quickly, he shrugged himself into his aketon, and thrust his feet into boots before buckling his sword about his waist.

  Outside, the shouts were increasing, and he stood taking stock. The guards and men-at-arms were already pelting over the court to their allocated places, most of them looking the worse for wear after the feast last night. One youngster was throwing up at the corner of a wall. Simon gave him a buffet over the back of the head. ‘Get to your place, boy!’ he snarled. The sight and stench of vomit made him want to puke too. He had drunk far too much last night. His head was thudding painfully, and the thought of fighting in this condition did not fill him with confidence.

  The men on the wall were already hurling abuse at the men below, one or two throwing rocks. There was a supply of stones left over from the mason’s works, and these were employed to good effect. Three men had crossbows, and they were calling down for more bolts to shoot. Simon was about to bellow for men to fetch them, when he saw two of the labourers grab bags of rocks and some staffs, and hurry up to the wall.

  Simon had enough to think of. He was crossing the yard when he glanced up at the wall. To his astonishment, he saw fighting. Then, ‘Watch out! We have them inside already!’ he shouted as he ran to the wall himself. Some of the labourers had taken their sticks and knocked down the men from the walls. One crossbowman was thrown to the court, landing on his head. He didn’t move again.

  Now Simon looked about him, he saw other little groups fighting, and he stood in the midst of the mayhem, sword in hand, trying to see which men were fighting for the castle, which were against it. It was almost impossible. Then he saw a man dart down that alley towards the postern, and felt his scalp crawl at the thought of more men entering.

  He ran without thinking, and was at the alley as the man reached the gate. He had already shoved the key in the lock, and Simon gave a hoarse cry and threw himself forwards. The fellow darted to one side, but then he had a knife out. He had the look of a fighter, and Simon was wary, aware of his own slowness this morning. His sword-tip did not waver, and he thrust quickly, only to see his blade miss the mark. Back to circling. Simon panted slightly, his mouth open as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the fellow.

  There was a crunch on his head, and he slumped in the same moment, falling to his knees. Behind him, he heard a man cry to the other to open the postern, and Simon fell, rolling over, recognising John standing over him, a great truncheon in his fist. It was fortunate he had not grabbed for a sword, Simon thought as he succumbed to the blow and felt the waves of nausea washing through his body. They seemed to rise from his feet with a tingling, pins-and-needles sensation until it reached his belly. He rolled over again, to the base of the wall, and was heartily sick even as he heard the postern flung wide and the triumphant roar of the enemy’s troops as they poured in.

  On the walls, Baldwin had no idea what had happened to Simon, but when he saw the labourers attack the crossbowmen, he realised the danger posed by the masons and labourers, and shouted to Edgar, who was even now running up the stairs to the wall.

  ‘No! Edgar, watch the stone workers! There are traitors among them. Stop them!’

  Edgar said nothing, but lightly sprang down to the ground again. There was a mason with a sword beating at a man-at-arms, and as Edgar passed him, he casually rammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s head. The mason collapsed.

  Baldwin saw his sergeant walk to the masons’ area, and on his way, he collected Senchet and Harry and a bemused Hugh to join him. They seemed keen to help, and Baldwin hoped that they would not show themselves traitors too. He heard a loud roaring, and realised too late that it must be the exultation of men entering the castle. Peering over the wall’s edge, he saw that already thirty or more men were inside, and he swore with bitter futility at the sight. He was the wrong side of the castle to get to Sir Edward. The great keep was across from him here, and he would not reach it before the men below, no matter how fast he ran.

  He must do something!

  Harry stood nervously with Senchet as the masons glowered back at them. Edgar appeared unconcerned by their anger, and eyed them with an easy nonchalance, his sword swinging lazily in his hand, but to Harry the sight of twenty or more strongly built men who were used to handling large rocks and heavy hammers was deeply troubling.

  When the rush came from the postern gate, all changed in an instant. Edgar heard the pounding of feet, and was immediately off towards the tumult. Harry and Senchet took a look at each other, and then back at the masons.

  ‘What now?’ Harry said.

  One mason pointed at the fighting at the gate. ‘Fellows, if those bastards get in here, they will undo all our work. Who’s with me to protect the castle?’

  Senchet grabbed a hammer, and weighed it meaningfully in his hand. ‘Friends, I think you should stay here.’

  The mason who had spoken looked at him contemptuously. ‘You aren’t going to stop me protecting my works, boy. Out of my way.’

  And behind him the other labourers grabbed weapons and rushed towards the gate. Soon Senchet could see them grabbing at the men attacking, hurling them to the ground and beating them with hammers.

  ‘My friend,’ he said to Harry, ‘I think soon we shall have a chance to help ourselves.’

  Sir Richard had been at the hall seeing whether the little serving wench could rustle up some breakfast when the first roars came from the yard, and he stood, torn between hunger and duty, before sighing sadly and turning from the room.

  At the stairs he saw the fight degenerate into a number of smaller battles. There were the small clusters on the battlements, and he saw Baldwin opposite, fighting like a berserker, while there were groups of men-at-arms brawling and bellowing in front of the gates, and then he saw the masons and labourers slam into the side of the fellows who had entered by the postern, led by Edgar, and nodded approvingly.

  His maid appeared beside him with a platter. She almost dropped it as she took in the scene outside, and he caught the cold chicken leg before it could fall. ‘Careful,’ he admonished.
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br />   ‘They’re storming the castle!’

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed pensively. ‘Think they are, at that.’

  He gave her a quick kiss. ‘Lock the door, little flower. I’ll be back in a while,’ he said, gently pushing her inside and closing the door. He waited until he had heard the bar fall into place at the other side, and gave it an experimental push to make sure it was secure, before descending the stairs, sucking the meat from the bones. His sword was still in his hand, and as he passed a pair of fighting men, he peered into their faces. One was recognisable, the other unfamiliar, so he waited until there was a suitable moment, and brought his gloved fist round to the man’s face. He felt bones snap and shatter, and looked down with wistful irritation at the mangled chicken in his fist. ‘Bugger.’

  Continuing to the keep, he had to pause while three men passed in front of him, herded by the grinning Edgar. All were armed, but none dared confront the man-at-arms. It was apparent that Edgar needed no aid. He was happily slashing and thrusting with speed and agility. There was a shriek, then a whimper, and one fell. Edgar advanced on the other two with renewed vigour, and as Sir Richard watched, a second collapsed with a sigh as Edgar’s blade punctured his breast. The last man dropped to his knees and threw his sword away, and Edgar tutted then smashed his pommel into the man’s skull before going in search of fresh targets.

  Sir Richard found a group of four at the keep’s door. They were all unknown to him, so he wandered over to them. ‘Tryin’ to get inside?’ he enquired.

  There was no word from them. All turned to him and he found himself faced by three swords and a war-hammer. His sword was already up, and the third man to spin spitted himself on the point. Sir Richard pulled it free as the fellow tumbled, sobbing, hands to his belly, and knocked the second sword away, slashing back to cut off the man’s hand with the sword still gripped tightly in his fist. The man with the hammer sprang away, and Sir Richard lifted his brows enquiringly at the remaining swordsman. He looked at Sir Richard with the terror making his face clench, and then he dropped the sword and slid slowly to the ground.