King's Gold

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Tuesday after the Feast of the Annunciation

Near Warwick

It had been a long journey, and as Simon and Sir Richard rode along the main road towards Warwick, they were too tired to talk.

Over the last day or two they had spent much of the time chatting quietly, sometimes even the normally taciturn Hugh joining in with a comment or two, but now, all fell quiet.

For Simon, the peace was a relief. He did not dislike the knight — on the contrary, he was fond of the man — but Sir Richard’s taste in humour ran to quantity rather than quality, and so much delight from such a kindly, generous, but above all exceedingly loud companion, was very wearing. He had memories of travelling with Baldwin — long hot rides in the sun and torrential rain — yet, never was he so worn down as now, with Sir Richard.

Hugh, he could see, was more resilient. The servant always complained about his poor riding skills, but for a man who was raised on a little farm in Dartmoor, who had spent his early days on the moors with the sheep, that was no surprise. Few peasants would ever be able to afford to ride a horse, whether their own or a borrowed one, because by and large, horses were for the wealthy. Men like Hugh were lucky to see anything more than an ox to work the farm, and perhaps a donkey for journeying. Not that the folks about Drewsteignton were likely to be a able to use donkey. The paths and tracks there were so poor that even packhorses found the going troublesome.

It was as they reached a little crossroads that they met the men.

Near Tidintune

Senchet and Harry were glad to have found the cottage.

The woman who lived there, Helen, had been very helpful, especially since there could have been few widows who would have welcomed three men to feed, but she told them that they were her guests, and if they needed food, she could provide them with some for one night.

Dolwyn had been weak when they arrived, but the following morning, while Senchet was hitching the horse to the shafts and settling the reins along his back and up to the cart, he heard Harry bellow. He sprang from the cart’s bed and ran to the cottage. Inside, Helen stood wringing her hands beside Dolwyn’s prostrate body.

‘Help me, Sen,’ Harry called, and Senchet hurried to his side.

‘He tried to get up, and collapsed after two paces,’ Helen said. ‘He looked all right when he stood, a little rocky, perhaps, but now look at him. He is not well, gentles. Not at all well.’

‘Helen, I think we will need to impose upon your hospitality a little longer than we had hoped,’ Senchet said, his hand at Dolwyn’s forehead. ‘Ah, the poor fellow is burning up. Feel his brow — here, see? His body is afire.’

Harry wrinkled his face. ‘Ach! He has a fever.’

‘That is bad,’ Senchet said. He glanced down at Dolwyn’s flank, where the knife had penetrated. ‘We should look at the wound.’

Harry nodded, and reached out for the man’s tunic.

‘No,’ Helen said. ‘Leave me with him. I shall nurse him to health, God willing. You two must make yourselves useful. Fetch wood for the fire and fill my pot with water. You will have to make a pottage. There are plenty of leaves in my garden. Go and seek out what you may. And one of you, can you find some meat?’

Senchet nodded and hurried out to the vegetable garden. It was difficult to know what to fetch for the best. He knew the physician’s favourites for an invalid: hot plants or cold, dry or wet, to suit the different humours. But he had no idea whether this man was choleric or phlegmatic, sanguine or melancholic. Without that most basic information, it was impossible to decide what would be the best remedy for his illness. Probably best just to fill the poor man’s belly, he decided, and took some handfuls of the leaves from the meagre vegetable garden.

When he returned, Harry had already filled the pot from the well outside, and was lighting the fire. Soon the room was filled with the clean odour of scorched bark as Harry blew on his tinder.

Senchet left him to it, wandering outside and looking for some means of capturing a bird or rabbit. There were nets in a small pile in an outside house, and he looked through them with a frown. Perhaps suitable for catching rabbits if he had a ferret, but nothing else. What he really needed was a bow to shoot a pigeon from a tree.

He knew that there was some food still in the back of the cart. Rather than waste time now, he returned to it, hunting through the items on the bed while he searched for the bag with the food in it. When he had last seen it, it was just beneath the plank on which Dolwyn had sat, but when the horse was taken from the cart last night and the shafts rested on the ground, all the items in the cart had slid forward. Now he must pull the bags out of the way.

It was the first time he had looked at all the stuff in the bed of the cart. He pulled one large blanket bound about something, and frowned as he felt the weight of it. As he dragged it free, he heard the rattle of steel inside. Opening it, he realised that the sack was full of weapons, and he whistled to see the swords, axes, maces and other devices designed to kill.

Near Warwick

The sight of the three men approaching was alarming, especially when they spread out like those who are used to fighting.

Sir Jevan stiffened his back as he watched them approach. ‘Wait,’ he said to his two men-at-arms.

‘Sirs, are you bound for Kenilworth?’ he asked as Simon and Sir Richard de Welles were close enough.

Sir Richard answered. ‘Yes. Perhaps we go there for the same reasons, hey?’

Sir Jevan inclined his head, keeping his eyes on them. ‘I am with the garrison there.’

‘Aye? What are you doin’ here, then?’

‘There was an attack on the castle, and we have been scouring the lands for the men responsible.’

‘Thought you had been riding for a while. There’s a lot of mud on your tunic. You must have ridden out after the attempt to free Sir Edward-.’

Sir Jevan smiled. ‘You are observant, my friend.’

The older knight’s eyes wrinkled in delight. ‘Even an old fool like me can see when I bother to open my eyes, my friend. I am Sir Richard de Welles. Coroner to the King.’

In a few moments the men had introduced themselves. Sir Jevan rode alongside Sir Richard as if equals alone should ride at the front of the party. He gave Simon a hard stare when he joined them. It was enough to make Simon begin to fall back, until Sir Richard said, ‘Hoi, where are you going, Bailiff? You think you’re too good to join me and Sir Jevan, eh?’

‘I thought you would want to have some privacy,’ Simon said coolly.

‘Well, ye thought wrong. Now, Sir Jevan, we’ve heard that some idiots tried to grab the Ki. . Edward of Caernarfon, that is, from Kenilworth. Are they the men you were seeking?’

‘Yes. They killed the porter, Squire Bernard, and four of the garrison before they made off, but luckily we caught and slew several of them before they could escape.’

‘Must have been mad, the lot of them,’ Sir Richard said comfortably. ‘Moon-struck. The idea that a handful of men could burst into Kenilworth and do as they please was sheer foolishness!’

‘So we are all to join together to guard him on his way to another castle,’ Sir Jevan said.

‘Aye,’ Sir Richard agreed. ‘To Berkeley. Shouldn’t take long. Now, how many were there in the gang? Do ye know who any of them were?’

‘There were some who were recognised: two brothers, a man called Stephen Dunheved, and his brother, a Franciscan, Frere Thomas.’

‘You know these two, Bailiff?’ Sir Richard asked Simon. ‘You know half the felons and outlaws in the kingdom.’

‘No, I don’t think I’ve heard of Stephen,’ Simon admitted. ‘But the friar’s name is familiar.’

‘This Stephen is a renowned felon. He killed a man some years ago, and was forced to flee the realm. He abjured and travelled to France, I believe. No doubt he returned recently.’

‘If he is trying to release Edward, I greatly doubt he would have come over with the Queen’s men,’ Simon said. ‘She would not have given her protection to a man who was known as a loyal servant to her husband.’

‘I would doubt he told her so,’ Sir Richard chuckled. ‘No, a fellow like this Dunhead would have been careful to keep that matter secret, I daresay.’

‘Dunheved,’ Simon corrected him.

‘All the same to me,’ Sir Richard said blandly. ‘When his head’s off, it won’t matter much.’

‘Good,’ Sir Jevan said tersely. ‘He should die for the murder of my companions at Kenilworth. It was a foul attack.’

‘What of this Franciscan?’ Sir Richard said, throwing a look at Simon. ‘You say you know of him?’

Simon racked his brain. ‘I seem to remember hearing about him when I was at court with Baldwin. Wasn’t it Frere Thomas who was sent to Avignon to meet with the Pope? Our King used him as a messenger.’

‘It was said that he was sent by Despenser,’ Sir Jevan said, ‘and told to arrange a divorce between Edward and Queen Isabella. Our Pope refused to consider such a plea, so the fellow was forced to return empty-handed.’

Simon nodded. ‘Any others you know of who were involved in the plot?’

‘No, not by name, but there are some I would recognise by sight,’ Sir Jevan said with cold certainty. ‘And when I see them, I will kill them. One I hunted for miles to the south, and almost caught him, but he escaped because my men and I were thwarted by a peasant with a cart. I should have executed the churl there and then for his stupidity! Blocking the roadway, he allowed the man to escape. I hope to find him again soon, though. I am sure his face was familiar to me,’ he added thoughtfully.

‘He’ll be far away by now,’ Simon said. He shot a look at Sir Richard and caught a shrewd flickering in his eyes. It was enough to reassure Simon that Sir Richard did not like this stranger knight either. There was something about him that Simon instinctively mistrusted.

‘No. He was heading up here,’ Sir Jevan said. ‘I think that there is another plot being schemed to release Sir Edward. We needs must be vigilant. Very vigilant.’

Kenilworth

Baldwin and the rest of his party arrived at the castle in the middle of the afternoon, and it was a great relief to meet with Sir Ralph of Evesham once more.

‘My friend,’ Baldwin said, offering his hand, but then the two embraced and Sir Ralph beat Sir Baldwin’s back for a moment.

They had endured privations in the last year while both served the King in his last days of freedom. Those had been difficult times, with many of their companions being killed, while they were hunted all the way from Bristol to Caerphilly and beyond. Baldwin had a feeling that they were closer as a result than many men would understand. The bonds between these two warriors after their period of mutual danger were deep; their joint suffering had forged shackles neither could remove.

Sir Ralph had enjoyed the last months, from the look of him. ‘You are heavier than when I last saw you,’ Baldwin said.

‘I don’t think your waist is as fine as once it was, either,’ Sir Ralph rejoined.

He was a man of a little more than middling height, with strong shoulders and arms, and a square, pugnacious jaw. Yet his grey eyes were calm, and because he blinked more rarely than other men, he gave the appearance of great concentration.

‘How is the King?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Sir Edward is well enough, for a man who suffers so gravely the loss of all,’ Sir Ralph said, his face growing sombre, adding, ‘Please, be careful how you address him in this castle of enemies. Come, he will be pleased to see you.’

As they walked to the King’s chamber, Baldwin and he spoke of the other men they had known. Sir Ralph’s squire was recovered from a sword-blow that had scarred his arm, and two others with whom they had marched and fought, were joined with Sir Ralph, replacing two men whom he had lost.

Baldwin listened with half an ear, but as they reached the door to the chamber, and he saw the two guards outside, he gritted his teeth. These men should have been inside the chamber, guarding Sir Edward from attack, and instead they were here to guard him as gaolers.

‘Your swords,’ one of them said.

‘What is your name?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I am Sergeant Gilbert.’

‘Then, Sergeant, you will know better than most that a knight will not relinquish his sword for no reason. What reason do you give?’

‘I would not have Sir Edward of Caernarfon in danger, sir,’ Gilbert said stoutly.

‘Nor would I, which is why I will carry this sword with me in his defence,’ Baldwin said.

‘I have orders.’

‘And I have a fixed determination. Sir Edward has asked to see me. Open the door.’

Gilbert looked at him as though about to argue, but then he shot a glance at the other man at the door. That fellow shrugged, and Gilbert reluctantly stood aside.

Baldwin knocked. ‘My lord?’