King's Gold

CHAPTER FORTY

Monday after Easter

Berkeley Castle

It had been impossible, in the midst of the Easter feasting, for Baldwin to find a private moment with Sir Edward of Caernarfon. During the early morning, Sir Edward had been permitted to attend chapel with all the household of the castle, and afterwards he had been allowed a place at the table in the hall with Lord Berkeley. Not that he was engaged in conversation, as Baldwin saw. He was kept there as a sop to his past position as King, rather than from a desire to honour him. Nor did he eat much; for the most part, he picked at his food, seldom raising his eyes from his plate.

Today, as early as he could, Baldwin walked to Sir Edward’s chamber in the castle. In his purse he held the parchment which Dolwyn had passed to him, and so, as soon as they were alone, he handed it to the former King, saying, ‘Do you recognise this, sire?’

Sir Edward paled. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘A man in the dungeon,’ Baldwin said, and explained about Dolwyn languishing in the gaol.

‘Dear heaven! You must have him released immediately, Sir Baldwin. That man should be attempting my freedom.’

‘He is held guilty of murder. The Lord Berkeley will want him kept here until the coroner can come and witness his execution. If he had his way, Dolwyn would be dead already. It is only Sir Richard’s strong sense of demarcation that has prevented its happening.’

‘Can we not arrange for his pardon?’

Baldwin said nothing. Sir Edward was unable to provide pardons now.

He realised his impotence even as he looked at Baldwin for support. ‘Good Sir Baldwin, if that man speaks out, he could save his life by threatening mine. My gaolers would be happy to free him, if he were to speak of an attempt to save me. You must have him freed, Sir Baldwin — please! There must be some way in which the fellow can be brought from his cell.’

‘Any influence I have would compromise you,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘If I demand his release, men will immediately question why.’

‘Speak with the coroner, Sir Richard, and ask whether there is some pretext on which he can be allowed out. I beg you, Sir Baldwin. Try to have him released.’

Tuesday after Easter

Berkeley Castle

The castle was hideous to her. Agatha was staying in the vill nearby, where she and Father Luke relied upon alms from the church to eat and live, but apart from that, she spent her time at the castle.

It was some relief to know that their horse was being well looked after. She went to check on him regularly, always suspicious that one day she would find him gone, but so far there had been no cause for concern.

Today Father Luke was already at the court when she arrived, and she nodded to him as she peered over into the stables.

They were less crowded now, as the majority of the beasts had been passed out to the various farms in the area, and her own was still standing and munching happily on his hay. At least they had not lost him, she told herself. That would have been a terrible price to pay.

She could kick Ham for getting them all into this mess.

‘Agatha, I don’t know how much longer I can stay here,’ Father Luke was saying.

‘You won’t leave me?’ she said, panicked at the thought of being left here all alone.

‘Mistress, I have duties with the souls in Willersey.’ The priest was looking drawn and haggard.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I did not sleep well last night,’ he admitted. He shook his head apologetically. ‘It could be weeks before they hold a court to listen to Dolwyn’s case, and I have the vill at home in Willersey to serve. The man I asked to take my place while I was absent will be wondering what has happened to me.’

‘Why can’t they do it sooner?’ she fretted.

‘There is so much else for them to think of,’ Father Luke said. ‘And I don’t know that the Lord Berkeley wants to have it handled quickly. I expect he hopes to keep the money.’ There was a bitter note in his voice. How foolish, to think he could rescue it for the vill. The money was tainted, but he could have put it to good use in Willersey, rather than leave it here.

‘If you go, there will be no one to speak for it and to claim it,’ Agatha pointed out.

‘If he wants, he can keep us here waiting for a year,’ the priest said bleakly. He looked about the court like a man seeing it for the first time. ‘What a horrible place. Nothing is what it seems here. It is full of savagery — greed and violence. Agatha, you should come home with me — home to Jen. She will be missing her mother.’

‘I cannot,’ Agatha said. ‘How will we live without that money?’ She was about to plead with him that he should remain at least one more week when she was cut short by the sound of hooves.

A man cantered in through the gates. ‘My Lord Berkeley — urgent message for Lord Berkeley,’ he panted as he threw himself from his horse.

The shouts and rattling of hooves in the court drew Baldwin to his feet. Wolf lay by the door, and opened an eye.

On hearing the noise, Sir Edward looked over at the window, remarking peevishly, ‘There is to be never any peace in this place. What is it now?’

Baldwin was in Sir Edward’s chamber, carrying out his increasingly irksome protective duty. While Sir Edward sat quietly and read his books, occasionally staring out through his window, fingers tapping on the desk before him and sighing fretfully, Baldwin was forced to remain quiet and attentive. It was not a task to which he was suited.

‘Please be seated, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Edward said irritably. ‘You distract me. Can you not see that I am reading?’

‘My apologies, my lord,’ Baldwin said, striding to the doorway and peering out. Here, there were always two guards on duty, and beyond them, a small guardroom. There was movement in there, and he soon saw three men coming out, all gripping weapons. They ran along the corridor, and then out to the main court. But from this chamber there was no means by which Baldwin could see or hear what was happening.

Edgar was not permitted to join him in here during his enforced incarceration with the prisoner, because apparently Lord Berkeley did not trust Baldwin’s servant any more than he trusted Baldwin himself. Instead, Baldwin had told Edgar to remain in the court and listen and watch for danger.

There was no need. Soon after the urgent hoofbeats came hurrying in, there came the tramp of booted feet, and bellowed orders. Baldwin stood back from the door and felt for his sword as Wolf stiffened. He knew where those feet were coming: here, to Sir Edward’s room.

The sound had stirred Simon, who had been dozing in the court while Sir Richard de Welles waxed lyrical about the pleasures of such a fine castle.

All had enjoyed the fruits of the additional money supplied for Sir Edward’s confinement, but few had done so well as Sir Richard. He had the roseate glow of a well-fed fellow, for his little maid was as infatuated with her rotund knight as any maiden with a noble squire.

‘I don’t know how he does it,’ Hugh grumbled more than once, much to Simon’s amusement.

It was ridiculous that such a heavy, hoary old man should have won the heart of such an attractive little wench, but that he had was not in doubt. Whenever she came into the yard, she would look for him, and when she saw him, her face would light up like a child’s seeing her father. Perhaps that was it, Simon reflected. It was just that she saw something of her own father in Sir Richard. Not that any father would behave with his daughter in such a manner, he added to himself censoriously.

Hugh glanced over the court towards the gaol’s door. ‘I heard that the man thought to have killed the carter had killed his own wife, too.’

‘Baldwin said his wife and child died in a fire,’ Simon said quietly, eyes still shut. He knew how Hugh missed his family.

‘I’m all right,’ Hugh said grimly, ‘but I’d kill him myself if it was true.’

Before Simon could speak, he was grateful, for once, for Sir Richard’s intervention.

‘HOI!’ he called, nudging Simon. ‘Look at this, eh?’

The messenger had dismounted by the time a bleary Simon had rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and could take in the world once more. ‘What?’

‘Messenger from the King. Wearin’ the King’s colours,’ Sir Richard said, but there was no humour in his tones now. ‘Think we could be in for a little local trouble. Christ’s bones, you don’t think the King’s comin’ here, do ye?’

‘No, not while the Scots are fighting again,’ Simon said, and with that thought both stared at each other, even as the shouting and horn-blowing began.

‘Oh, God’s blood,’ Sir Richard complained. ‘Just as you get comfortable, they decide to muster us all for a damned war in Scotland, eh?’

Rumours began to fly about the castle in moments. Agatha and Father Luke heard the news from one of the grooms, who was laughing as he ran past them to his duties.

‘What is it, boy?’ Father Luke demanded, catching hold of his jerkin.

‘War, Father. God be praised! Young King Edward’s going to lead us to war. We’re to gather our belongings for the ride.’

‘Dear Heaven,’ Father Luke said with despair. ‘Not again.’ In his mind’s eye he saw once more the bodies outside Kenilworth, and heard the screams and shouts of the dying. Now he saw that same vision, magnified.

He saw John’s face too, as the man-at-arms made his confession to him in the chapel: he had confessed to killing the guard at Kenilworth, plotting to release Sir Edward, and meeting others of the same mind. John of Shulton was sunk deep in infamy. He had told Father Luke all of this — and all in the confidence of the confessional. That was why the priest was so desperate to be away from this dreadful place.

Agatha was smiling with a fiendish glee. ‘You know what that means? They will have to deal with the man now before they leave the castle, won’t they?’

Luke gazed about him. ‘I will stay one more day. But no more,’ he said. ‘I swear, no more.’

‘Simon! What is happening, my friend?’ Baldwin said breathlessly as he reached the bailiff and Sir Richard. ‘It is true that they are called to muster?’

Simon indicated the hurrying servants. ‘They’ve been ordered to the lord’s stables, to fetch his destriers, carts, wagons — everything. The garrison is to leave with him.’

‘What of the prisoner?’

Sir Richard answered that. ‘They will leave a skeleton guard here. The larger part of the men are to go with Lord Berkeley and ride to York.’

Baldwin winced. ‘The Scots, then?’

‘Yes. They must be there by Ascension Day, so they have a month and a week or so, but they have to stop at Bristol first, to collect all the armour and weaponry there, as well as commandeer wagons to transport it all northwards.’

‘It will take them almost a month,’ Baldwin said pensively. ‘What of us, Simon?’

‘Me?’ Simon said. ‘I am staying here. You too, surely. I know that Gilbert, Sir Ralph and others dedicated to guarding Sir Edward are to remain.’

‘I don’t know,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘If it is a full muster, I may be expected to join them. I shall have to find out.’

It was very soon that he learned his fate. His name was specifically mentioned on the muster.

Sir Baldwin de Furnshill was to ride to war again.

Sir Ralph was sitting in the seat facing the door of Sir Edward’s chamber, wondering what the commotion was all about. His oath had been given long ago, and he felt he had behaved honourably to the man who had been his King, but this service was irksome. He had travelled with the King all the way across to Bristol and beyond last year, and all he had to show for his duty was dead companions and the loss of his manor. After Sir Roger Mortimer saw King Edward III crowned, he had taken Sir Ralph’s lands for his son.

It would be interesting to see how the new King would cope with such a bold, avaricious adviser, he considered.

He was happy to be here, to be fed and billeted in the castle, but he did not seek companionship. Least of all with Sir Edward. His oath was still valid, but Sir Ralph would not strive to return the old King to the throne. He felt the country had seen enough of war.

‘What is all the noise about?’ Sir Edward demanded peevishly from the window.

‘Sir, would you like me to send a page down to find out?’

‘No. Someone will deign to tell me eventually. I wouldn’t have them think they had me anxious. Better to remain composed.’

‘As you wish.’

‘You are a good man, Sir Ralph,’ Sir Edward said. He dropped moodily on to his chair. ‘I am glad of your company.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘Do you think. . do you think my wife would let them kill me?’

Sir Ralph felt as though the room was moving beneath his feet. ‘Your wife?’

‘Does she truly hate me so much? I never wanted to hurt her.’

‘I am sure she wouldn’t,’ Sir Ralph said, and was relieved when there was a loud knock at the door.

A guard from the castle entered. ‘Sir Edward, Lord Berkeley wishes you to know that he is to march. The King will bring war to Scotland.’

‘When do we leave?’ Sir Edward demanded. He stood, eyeing the door keenly.

‘No, sir, you and Sir Ralph will remain here. Lord Berkeley will leave with his host, leaving a decent garrison to protect you here.’

Sir Edward said eagerly, ‘I think I shall be needed to fight too. My wife would not leave me-’

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ the guard interrupted. ‘That’s all I was told to say.’

As soon as the door closed, Sir Edward turned and walked to the window again — but not before Sir Ralph had seen the tears on his cheeks.

It should have been a sombre meal that evening, but as Simon walked into the hall he became aware of a holiday atmosphere.

This first service was full of ribald laughter and boasting about how those present would put paid to the ambitions of that mad felon Robert, who called himself the Bruce. He had been excommunicated and the whole of Scotland forced to suffer anathema because of his ridiculous claims that he should not be a vassal of the English King; however, no one paid him any attention. While he had succeeded in harming some English forces, he fought with a low cunning that was despised by men of chivalry.

The fighting men of Scotland preferred to hurry into England on their sturdy little ponies and commit various acts of violence upon the people of the north, harrying the peasants and farmers all the way down to York. They were a warlike, violent people, but obviously no match for the brave young English warriors, and with their new King to lead them, with the Regent at his side, the English must prevail.

That was the mood of the place, Simon saw. But it was not matched by Baldwin’s.

‘These young fellows have not fought against a desperate foe before,’ he said. ‘This war will not be so easy as they imagine. It would take three or four wars for them to become accustomed to the ways of the Scottish.’

‘Hah! You will be fine, my friend, and so will they,’ Sir Richard de Welles boomed from Baldwin’s other side. ‘These Scottish churls will be shocked to see how massive are the forces ranged against them this time.’

‘They want their freedom,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘That is something many men would think worth fighting and dying for.’

‘It all looks worthwhile fighting and dying for — until you’re standin’ in line with a wave of English clothyards aimin’ at your proud Scottish heart,’ Sir Richard chuckled.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, but Simon could see that he was not convinced.

Although he racked his brain for something that might divert his friend, Simon could think of no suitable topic to lighten the mood. It was a relief when Matteo Bardi arrived at their side and asked to speak with Baldwin.