The Oath

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Two Fridays before the Feast of St Martin[32]

Caerphilly Castle

Baldwin stood in the deep recess of the doorway and stared out at the greyness. There was no possibility of seeing ten thousand men approaching in this. It was raining, with an all-encompassing fog.

He made his way out onto the slick stones of the walkway, careful not to come too close to the edge. It would be a demeaning end to slip from the wall here and tumble to his death in the inner ward. There was a hooded and cloaked figure up ahead, whom he assumed was Sir Ralph, and Baldwin put his head down and walked to him. ‘Miserable weather again, sir.’

‘Yes.’

Baldwin stopped in shock, then bowed low, about to drop to his knee. ‘My lord, accept my apologies, I did not realise in this weather…’

‘Sir Baldwin, please. No one saw, no one can guess,’ the King said. He sounded peevish from lack of sleep and from worry. Then he sighed. ‘Please, Sir Knight, you and I, out here, are no more than two knights who have found a few moments in which to enjoy some leisure. Soon our leisure will be over. Please, humour me in this.’

‘My lord, I can try,’ Baldwin said.

‘This castle was built by the Earl of Gloucester forty or more years ago. Strange – it was a cause of dispute with the Welsh even then. They stopped its construction a number of times. Of course, my father would not brook any obstruction to his plans, but he showed some patience, I believe. Even when the Welsh wouldn’t come to pay homage to him in Westminster, my father journeyed all the way out to Gloucester so that Llywellyn didn’t have to travel to London. That was when he broke with the Welsh, since Llywellyn did not deign to travel even that far. It was a humiliating insult. So my father returned, but this time with fifteen thousand spears behind him, and took the country.’

He was silent a few moments and then, when he spoke again, it was so mournfully that Baldwin felt a sympathetic lump in his throat.

‘Have I truly been so foul as King that none will support me?’

‘My liege, please!’ Baldwin said. ‘You know you have my sword at your side – and Sir Ralph’s.’

‘Yes. Two of the very best knights in my kingdom. And what will be your reward, eh? Death, I suppose – the same as awaits all the others who remain with me. My Chancellor, my closest adviser. All will die.’

Baldwin could not help but glance towards the town. ‘And the people here, my lord. They will lose all.’

The King shook his head with an enormity of sadness. ‘They called me the Prince of Wales. I suppose it is natural that I should fight my last battle with my people. But to cause so much hardship, so many deaths… better by far I should do something to prevent any more bloodshed.’

Baldwin said nothing. The King was staring out into the greyness with eyes shadowed by his hood. All Baldwin could see was a gaunt face, the beard sodden and thin, the cheeks sunken, the man’s eyes gleaming with despair.

‘My King, I wish I could do something to help,’ Baldwin said quietly.

‘My friend, there is nothing any man might do for me without men! That is what I need. I sent for them days ago. Messengers were on their way here before I even reached Gloucester, to Gruffydd Llwyd in the north, and to Rhys ap Gruffydd in the south, but neither has appeared. They were both loyal in the past – I don’t understand why they have deserted me.’

‘Perhaps they themselves have been attacked on the way here?’ Baldwin suggested.

‘Perhaps,’ the King said, and sighed. ‘It matters little. If no one comes soon, the castle will be overrun. I have demanded procurers to fetch all the food they can so that we can survive a lengthy siege here, but what is the point when there are no men to eat it? You know Bogo de Knoville? No? I pardoned him last year for supporting my enemies, in return for only a thousand Marks. He has served me well, and I agreed to rescind half the fine for his loyalty three weeks ago. For his efforts in the last week, I was to rescind the remaining half – and what has he done? He has ridden off with his men today. All of them. I fear he will join the Queen too.’

Baldwin winced. Bogo de Knoville had been the leader of the last significant force the King possessed here. Without him and his men, there was no possibility of surviving an attack even by a small force. They were stuck here, in one of the kingdom’s strongest fortresses, and to leave would be near suicidal.

‘And you know the worst, most galling fact?’ the King asked quietly. ‘Down in the undercrofts I have more than twenty thousand pounds in gold and silver. Enough money to arm all the men in Wales, if need be. Enough to reward all of them like princes, were they only to step forward. But no one comes! No one supports me any longer!’

Gloucester

Simon woke to the rattle of armour, the rasp of swords being sharpened, the tramp of boots and everywhere the squeak of harnesses and leather under strain.

Rubbing his eyes, he eased himself sideways from the bench on which he had slept, and sat for a while, hunched, running a hand through his hair and grumbling to himself. He had the beginnings of a sore throat that felt as though he had swallowed broken glass, and his head was heavy. To sniff made his skull ache.

‘Awake, Bailiff?’ Sir Charles enquired. He wandered over with a quart of ale and half a loaf of bread. ‘Best ready yourself, I think. It’s likely we’ll be ordered to travel on soon.’

Simon groaned. ‘I’m going to give up travelling when this is all over. Once I get home, I will stay there, I swear, and will never again try to take up arms or interest myself in any aspect of the realm. It’s nothing to do with me. All it does is give me a headache and a chill.’

‘Drink up. It’s a good ale, this. I fetched it myself. Have you some of that smoked sausage still? I’ve lost mine.’

Simon searched for his pack, and found it near the wall where someone had kicked it. Inside was a small chunk of sausage, which he cut in two, giving half to Sir Charles. His own piece he sliced thinly, chewing each morsel one at a time. At least the strong garlic and salt soothed his throat a little. ‘So what do we do today?’

‘We’ll ride to Hereford first, then on into Despenser lands. Wales – that’s where the King is now. And I dare say he will be trying to raise an army.’

‘With what?’ Simon said sourly.

‘Oh, he has money with him, and plate and gold. Despenser has plenty of coin of his own, too. You can be assured that where those two are, there is no shortage of money.’

‘Wonderful! So I must continue on this mad rampage through the countryside in the hope of catching the King, when all I want to do is investigate the murder of the man as Sir Roger instructed me to, so I can release my family.’

‘Simon, you are present at the scene of an adventure,’ Sir Charles said, hurt. ‘It is the kind of event that many would dream of experiencing.’

‘I have a cold,’ Simon reminded him, sipping some of the ale. He threw back his head and gargled with it. The ale soothed him for a moment or two, but then the glass renewed its attack, and his sinus was trickling into it too. It made him want to choke. ‘All I want is some peace.’

But there was to be none that day. The column was soon mounted and off again, this time heading north and west to Hereford, as Sir Charles had told him.

At least with the weather improving a little through the day, Simon was able to study the men about him. He was surprised to see that Otho and Herv and their group were quite rare; the rest were mostly Hainaulters, with a number of French freebooters, and he could understand only a little of what they said. Even when he was speaking in his own fluent French, he received little more than expressions of bemusement and shrugs.

It was because of this that he and Sir Charles tended to remain with the men in Otho’s little group.

‘There was a hundred of us, nearly, when we set off,’ Otho explained. ‘But there was one got run down by a horse, one fell into a well in the dark, another slashed his leg and we had to leave him, two got fevers… There’s scarce seventy of us now.’

‘Who do you march with?’ Simon asked.

‘Our lord was with Leicester. He’s a knight banneret called Sir Daniel of Henret. His is only a small manor, but he has a number of vills under his lordship.’

‘So you were marching for…?’

‘The King, until Leicester changed sides and moved to support the Queen. So now we have to be as loyal as possible to her.’

‘An easier dedication, I suppose,’ Simon said with a grin.

‘It’s all easy enough. We’re just peasants, we do as we’re commanded,’ Otho said, but with a sidelong look that proved his seriousness was false.

‘Masters, it is good to hear an English voice again,’ Sir Laurence said, riding up alongside Sir Charles. ‘Bailiff, good day to you, Sir Charles.’

‘Are you finding it hard to converse with the men here?’ Simon asked. ‘I thought it was only me.’

‘No, their speech is difficult for me as well,’ Sir Laurence said. He lowered his voice. ‘In truth, though, it is the company of Sir Stephen Siward which I find more unappealing.’

‘Ah,’ Sir Charles said.

‘Well, you can hardly trust him, can you? The man is a disgrace to the Order of Chivalry. To have run out on us and given up the city to the Queen, in denial of all his oaths to the King, was a shameful act – the act of a man who has no sense of honour.’

Simon nodded. ‘I too found it repellent. I just hope the bastard keeps away from me.’

Sir Charles shrugged like a confused Hainaulter. ‘You have to admit, he probably saved all our lives. You may choose to dislike the man for a number of reasons, my friends, but do not lose sight of the fact that you are alive now due to his cowardice. I wouldn’t consider it such a terrible fault!’

Sir Laurence smiled thinly. ‘You are incorrigible, Sir Charles. Master Puttock, may I ask if it is true that you have been asked to investigate a homicide?’

‘Yes, Sir Roger asked me to look at the death of a man called Thomas Redcliffe,’ Simon said. ‘Why?’

‘I have no idea whether it is relevant, but he used to be a successful merchant who imported destriers and other horses for the King. The King used him as a confidential messenger occasionally into Aragon.’

‘But Mortimer said he was a trusted friend of his!’ Simon said, confused.

‘Perhaps the man was a friend to both sides,’ Sir Laurence considered. ‘I thought you would be grateful to hear.’

‘I am, and I thank you,’ Simon said.

‘Well,’ Sir Charles breathed as Sir Laurence trotted away. ‘So, was there anyone this merchant was not friendly with?’

Two Saturdays before the Feast of St Martin[33]

Caerphilly Castle

In the end, Baldwin was not sure whether it was compassion or the urge to flee that weighed most heavily in the balance.

The King was almost silent the night before at the evening meal, and left soon after to return to his little portable altar, communing with God as best he might. After he left, the men in the hall were subdued. A couple grew quietly drunk in a corner, but even they were moderate in their language, and neither tried to draw steel. It was as though everyone in the castle realised that their situation had indeed grown hopeless since the departure of Bogo’s men.

Sir Ralph was feeling the strain too, Baldwin saw. The lines at the sides of his mouth were graven more deeply, and there were bruises under his eyes. This was not mere tiredness from lack of sleep, it was the lassitude of a man who had been driven too far. While riding and preparing to fight, a man could retain a semblance of his former fortitude, but when those pursuits were removed and he was left to wait for an attack, even a knight would grow fretful.

Thus it was that the news that they were all to leave the castle came as a surprise – and a most welcome one.

The castle was to be left in the hands of Sir John Felton and Sir Hugh le Despenser’s oldest son, Hugh, who was sixteen years old and would need Sir John’s help. It was stocked with provisions enough to survive a siege lasting many weeks. All the King’s unnecessary belongings, even his chamber book which recorded all his expenditure, were to remain, and he and a small force of men would make their way west to Neath via Margam. King Edward had a desperate hope that he might still meet with some of the men from North or South Wales, and enlist them in his support.

Only a small number of men were to join him – the remainder of his household knights, Despenser, Baldock and some few others. Their intention was to ride away at speed and outrun the slower host of Mortimer, which would almost certainly be hauling large weapons of war with them.

The King appeared in the inner ward when all the others were prepared and ready. At the steps to the hall, he went to the son of Sir Hugh le Despenser and Sir John Felton, offering his best wishes for their security and insisting that they held on to the castle and did not surrender it shamefully. Then he gave his thanks to all the men in the castle for protecting him so well, and reminding them that he was their lawful King, the one who had been anointed with God’s holy oil.

With that, and as the men all shouted their approval, he strode to the mounting block and easily threw his leg over his horse. Always athletic, he looked like King Arthur now in his armour, and Baldwin, for all his usual cynicism, felt his heart thrill a little at the sight.

The King’s standard-bearer hefted his great flag, and the King’s banner opened out, displaying the royal arms of gules, three lions passant gardant in pale or, armed and langued azure. As soon as the bearer’s horse began to move, a little wind caught the flag, and the lions rippled on the bright red material, their blue claws and tongues catching the light.

Baldwin waited in turn until he too was at the gate, and suddenly, as he rode beneath the massive gatehouse, he felt as though some of the worry of the last few days was at last dissipated. He looked across at Jack, who wore a fretful expression, as though wondering whether he would ever stop this aimless travelling about the country. Wolf was at his left foot, his allegiance apparently switched from Baldwin to the boy. And in the distance, Baldwin was sure that he could see a familiar slim figure: Roisea.

Yes, action was enough to remind him that he was a man, not a caged animal, and as his horse’s hooves thundered over the timbers of the bridge across the moat, Baldwin could have sung for joy, just for the fact of being on horseback and free once more.

Over the bridge, Despenser paused and Baldwin saw him look back towards the castle. And in his eyes, Baldwin saw genuine tragedy.

Sir Hugh le Despenser knew he would never see his son again.