King's Gold

CHAPTER FIFTY

Willersey

Father Luke sat at the table beside the reeve and ate, although his appetite was flown.

All he had ever wanted to do was protect the souls of his parish. He had no ambition to become a bishop; for him the greatest pleasure in life was to help to save the eternal sparks of life that existed in the people here. They were an amiable group: kindly, generous, happy. They misbehaved occasionally, but there was no rancour in it. He loved them.

He felt as though Agatha had betrayed him.

She was there at the farther end of the hall, sitting with her girl at her side, eating with gusto, as though there was nothing on her conscience. She had not confessed, and that meant that her soul was in mortal danger. If she were to fall into a well tonight, and die unshriven, she would go straight to Hell, without any possibility of redemption. He must not fail her! And yet if she refused to confess, what could he do?

He remained at the table as others drank themselves silly. There were games afterwards: two youths throwing knives at a target on the wall; three men gambling in a corner; one enterprising woman attempting to ply her trade with some of the unmarried men, while wives watched with tart disapproval and Luke with unseeing eyes.

Rising, he made his way from the room. Outside it was dark, and he looked for the moon. It was a large, silvery shape behind clouds, but there was enough light to show him the way to St Peter’s. Inside the church, he used flint and tinder to ignite a scrap or two from which he could light a candle.

‘You guessed, didn’t you?’ came a voice from behind him.

His heart pounded painfully. ‘I did, yes, Agatha. I should have realised sooner, I suppose, but I was always an innocent, as you once told me.’

‘You don’t have to tell anyone.’

That stung. He flung himself around. ‘Do you think that is in my mind, woman? Do you think I care about broadcasting your guilt? My fear is for you, for you and Jen. If you do nothing, you will burn in Hell.’

‘Huh! What do I care of Hell? You tell these stories to make men and women behave, but when have the demons come and taken away a man from the vill? You know of men who have killed, and do they receive punishment? Those men who went with you to Kenilworth, did they get their judgement?’

‘It is not punishment here on earth, Agatha — don’t you see that? After all this time, surely you realise that God is watching you all the while. No matter what you do, He is up there,’ Father Luke said, pointing with a finger. ‘Even now, He is up there, looking down upon you and hoping to save you. But you have committed a grievous crime.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I put down a useless wastrel — the same as killing an injured dog. He meant nothing to me,’ Agatha declared.

‘I don’t believe you. You grow pale as you speak. Come, sit here with me now, on the floor, and let me hear your confession, I beg.’

‘All I wanted was a better life,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘My friend managed that with her husband. What was so special about her that she could have that, while I must struggle and scrape?’

‘We cannot tell what His purpose is, but be assured that her example was there to-’

‘Alice isn’t an example! She’s just luckier, that’s all. She wedded a man who became rich, and now she has servants and maids falling over themselves to do her bidding, while I stay here and work my hands to the bones, and then that useless doddypoll Ham went with you to the castle and came back with nothing.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. It was the dog. The fool kept up his barking, and I wondered why, and then suddenly Ham was there. He walked in, said he wanted food and told me about the attack about how he’d not been paid — again — and that he might be chased. So he said he’d best disappear for a few days. And then he went. And I was in the house, looking round at the little things we had, the goose feather for cleaning, the bed rolls. . so very little. I couldn’t bear it. Got in a red-hot rage. So I followed him. Just walked out and went up after him. When I got there, he was already asleep. So I took his hatchet from beneath the cart’s seat, and I hit him until he was still.’

She stood with an expression of confusion and dismay as she spoke, as though recounting a dream.

‘Kneel with me,’ Father Luke begged.

‘And the trouble was, Jen realised at once,’ Agatha said dully, not seeming to hear him. ‘When she saw the axe in his head the next day, she knew it was me. She’d been awake when Ham came home, and she heard me go after him. So she guessed what had happened. She won’t talk to me now. She is too scared. She thinks I’ll kill her. Perhaps I will.’

She glanced at Luke, and he gasped to see the torment in her eyes. He should have seen it before!

Without saying another word, Agatha strode from the church.

Luke murmured ‘Oh!’ but it was more a sob than an exclamation. He clambered to his feet and hurried after her. She must have gone to her house. He picked up the front of his robe and ran, hammering on her door. There was no answer, and he beat once again, and this time he heard a rattling crash, then a staccato tapping. He sobbed aloud. Then, bellowing and roaring for help, he tried to prise the door open with his bare hands, but there was nothing he could do. When some villagers finally arrived, it took a hefty beam to force the door wide where she had slipped the bar across it.

She was long dead by then. The leather thong about her throat was tied to a beam, and when she kicked away the stool on which she had stood, her feet had just reached the ground to make the tapping noise.

Luke helped them cut her down, and then gave her the viaticum while his tears fell unceasingly over her bulging face.

Monday after Ascension Day

Berkeley Castle

Simon was walking about the walls and peering at the works when he saw the lone figure marching towards the castle. He was sure that he recognised the man. . and soon realised it was Father Luke, the priest who had left only a few days ago.

Walking down the stairs, he passed John, who was chatting to a labourer while leaning against the tower’s wall. Both fell silent as he darted past, but he paid them no heed. Only later did he recall that incident and think to himself that he should have paid more attention to it.

‘Father!’ he called as he reached the courtyard. The priest was at the doors, halted by a pair of guards, and Simon had to convince them that the man was not a threat.

‘I had to come,’ Father Luke declared on seeing him. ‘I hope I am not too late.’

‘For what?’ Simon asked.

‘Dolwyn did not kill the poor fellow Ham from my vill. He is completely innocent. I have learned that it was his wife who murdered him.’

Before long they were sitting at a bench in the hall, Baldwin and Sir Richard with them, a large jug of wine on a table with mazers. Sir Richard had seen that the priest was exhausted, and had called for a large platter of meats to refresh him, but Father Luke eyed the enormous collation with dismay as he spoke.

‘It was not your fellow who killed Ham. I realised only a few days ago while with Ham’s daughter that she was petrified of her mother. It appears that Ham went to his house on the night he died. He had been a part of the abortive attack on Kenilworth Castle, and feared that he might be followed home, so dared not stay there. Something must have been said between them, I think, for when he returned to his cart outside the vill, his wife followed him. She it was who beat him to death.’

‘With an axe,’ Baldwin murmured.

‘Yes. She took it from the cart, apparently. So presumably your man’s story is true. He came across the cart later, and the horse, and saw nobody about there to rob. So he took what was wandering loose. He should of course have come to the vill and declared his discovery, but he did not steal it. I believe Agatha left it there, hoping to collect it the following day. It was a shock to her to learn that it had gone.’

‘Dolwyn is still being held because of the murder of Sir Jevan,’ Baldwin said. He looked over at Sir Richard and Simon. ‘We have perhaps been too busy with other matters to trouble ourselves about him. Now we should review the matter.’

‘Do you wish me to release the men now?’ Edgar asked.

Baldwin considered. ‘Yes. It would be wrong to keep them locked up if they are innocent. And if the original murder of Ham Carter was not their fault, the worst suspicion that remains against them in the matter of Sir Jevan is that they were First Finders. But it could have been anyone who killed him. Simon, I will want to see this place where Sir Jevan was found. Shall we go there now?’

When he had seen Simon hurrying down to the gates to welcome Father Luke, John had felt his heart sink, for the priest was the confessor to whom he had spoken.

He should never have made his confession! The idea of admitting to a priest that he was going to help Sir Edward of Caernarfon to escape had seemed a sensible precaution when he did it. The priest was duty bound to maintain the bonds of secrecy, and he was leaving in any case. It had appeared the perfect solution to John’s predicament, requiring forgiveness as he did. He was only too aware that at any moment he could be killed during the attack on the castle, and he wanted to ensure that his soul was protected. But now Luke was back — why? Did it mean he would break his vow of secrecy? He had given it to John, and if he were to break it now, he would be breaking his oath to God.

John watched the men as they crossed the yard, heading for the hall where the three prisoners were being held. He could scarcely bear to to think that all this effort, all the plans, all the desperate acts of the last six months could be overthrown by his foolish trust of this one priest.

Senchet felt he must soon go completely mad if he didn’t see the clear sky again soon. Confinement was torture for him; he who was used to the wide open spaces of Galicia.

The boots hurried down the stairs towards their hall, and he eased himself up from his seat at the wall’s base. It was the only moderately dry part of the floor in here. Standing, he nudged Harry and Dolwyn with the toe of his boot. He had an unpleasant suspicion that this would be a short walk. They had been accused of the murder of that arse Sir Jevan, and justice in this land was all too often swift and far from just.

As Dolwyn stirred, the door’s bolts were slammed back and the door creaked wide.

‘Ah, Sir Baldwin,’ Senchet said. ‘Are you executioner now?’

‘I often sit on the bench as a Justice of Gaol Delivery,’ Baldwin said steadily. ‘I bring people from their gaols and confirm their sentences. Would you like me to do that?’

‘I think I prefer not to die today,’ Senchet said with a small bow, keeping his eyes on Baldwin as he did so.

‘I do not blame you, friend Senchet. Now come, all of you. You need not stay any longer.’

Senchet followed Sir Baldwin with as much alacrity as stiffened muscles and feeble legs would allow. He stood still at the top of the steps and stared about him with real delight, enjoying the sunshine. That it seared his eyes did not matter. It was bliss to be free.

‘Senchet, please come and sit, and you too, Dolwyn — and you, Harry.’ Baldwin picked up a bench and set it near them. A table was brought, and a large pie set on it, with ale in an immense jug placed at its side by a young maid who, Senchet noticed, only had eyes for the oldest man there, Sir Richard.

Senchet took his seat, and looked across the table without touching the food and drink. ‘Is this a ruse? You bring us up here to raise our hopes, so that you can dash them again when you return us to the cell? I do not think I like this behaviour of constant torture, gentles. I prefer to know where I belong. Are we to remain in the world of men, or not?’

‘You will remain up here for as long as you are not found guilty of any crimes,’ Baldwin said. ‘But if you are found to have committed a crime, you will return to the gaol, and you will hang.’

‘Very well. Of what are we accused now?’

‘Nothing. The original charge against you is shown to be false,’ Baldwin said. ‘This good priest has returned to tell us that the man you were thought to have killed was actually murdered by his own wife.’

‘You have proof?’ Senchet asked with some suspicion.

‘She hanged herself after she confessed to me,’ Luke said sadly. ‘She told me how and why she killed her husband. I think she wished to save herself from the stake.’

All the men present knew that there was only one punishment for a woman guilty of murdering her husband. Death by burning on a pyre.

‘So we are free?’ Dolwyn demanded.

‘As far as I am concerned, you are free to stay or go,’ Baldwin said. ‘However, I recommend that you remain here. I appreciate that the castle is not your favourite place, but the countryside is unsafe. There has been a riot in Cirencester, and many gangs of men are roaming about all the lands near here.’

‘For my part I am happy to remain, if I can believe that the good Lord Berkeley will consider me as one of his household,’ Senchet said.

‘And I too,’ Harry said.

Dolwyn shook his head. ‘I have my master already. I will go to him.’

‘Your master is the Bardi?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Yes. Matteo Bardi,’ Dolwyn said.

‘He is still here. His other servant is injured,’ Simon said.

‘All the more reason for me to go to him.’