The Oath

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

There were so few men left that Baldwin despaired.

Along with the King there was Despenser, of course, and Robert Baldock, the King’s Chancellor. Apart from them, there were only the retainers, including Simon of Reading, who had shown himself to be devoted to Sir Hugh. John Beck, John Blunt, John Smale, Tom Whyther and Richard Holden were all there, with Sir Ralph and his two, and the cautious Robert Vyke, who rode like a sack of turnips but had proved himself to be honourable and true to his word. There were some fifteen other servants and men-at-arms, most of them riding dazed, like men in a dream. The King’s Steward in particular looked as if he had suddenly aged twenty years.

He had never believed that this could truly happen, Baldwin thought. He had spent his life in service to this King, expecting to work until the King pensioned him off, buying him a corrody in a priory or abbey, where he would be housed, fed and clothed, and now it seemed certain that his dreams of ending his work at last and finding rest were flown. If the King were forced from his throne by Sir Roger, there would be nothing for his steward or for any others.

For his part, Baldwin only hoped that they were safe from Mortimer’s men. They must be all about Wales now, he was sure. They would have set off in pursuit as soon as they could when the Abbot and the other negotiators rode out of Hereford.

He cast an eye about him, wondering where Wolf could have got to. The damned brute was always wandering off, following his nose. He wasn’t down by Jack this time. It was only when he peered ahead, over the King’s shoulder, that he thought he saw Wolf in between squalls.

And then he caught sight of the men.

‘Your Highness! Ambush! Turn about, turn about!’ he cried.

Simon felt his stomach lurch as he recognised the great black dog with the white muzzle and breast, the brown cheeks and eyebrows. He blinked away the rain, but suddenly it was over, and there was a patch of clearness – and all the men saw the King and his entourage immediately before them.

No one spoke for a second. The King gaped, his horse pawing at the soil, and Earl Henry and his men were equally nonplussed for a moment, until there was a shout from the rear of the King’s men, and with a thrill Simon recognised Baldwin’s voice; and then all was thundering hooves as the Earl’s men set their horses at the King, and shrieks filled the air, while swords slithered from their scabbards and the horses lowered their heads to pound onwards.

Simon found his own mount plunging on ahead, as it careered after the Earl’s group. It was clear that the King’s men were forming a line to hold their enemies at bay. Simon recognised a few faces here and there, but even though they wielded their swords bravely enough, there were too few, far too few to hold back so large a force. The Earl’s men went through them in no time, and Simon felt a fleeting sadness to see the King’s own steward hacked across the neck and shoulder. He fell back in a fountain of blood, and Simon saw his body in the mud at the side of the road as he rode past, blinking and mouth moving, but making no sound as he died.

Then they were past, and up ahead Simon saw the King and Despenser, along with two knights. He crouched lower, to keep up with the others.

To the loud blaring of horns from his pursuers, the King rode with a mad determination. He would not allow himself to be caught, especially not by Lancaster. He had seen Lancaster’s brother executed for his treachery, and the thought of being in Earl Henry’s custody was not to be borne. He spurred his mount onwards, lashing at his charger’s flanks with the rein-ends, teeth clenched, his muscles tensed against the threat of an arrow in the back.

There was none. He rode on, around the first curve of the roadway, the cold rain slapping him in the face like small icicles, his horse lurching and slipping in the mud, almost throwing him at one point. Beside him, his face set in an expression of horror, rode Sir Hugh.

He couldn’t let them take Hugh! Hugh was his only friend in this repugnant world. All the friends he had were always snatched from him. It was so cruel, he could weep, but there was no time for tears. He had to stay on horseback, keep on riding, escape with Hugh. He couldn’t submit, not now!

A shout, a flurry of noise to his right, and he saw a group of fresh riders pelting towards him through the thin woods. The leader was a knight, but that was all he saw before he spurred his brute to greater efforts, and pointed his charger towards a gap in a hedge a short way ahead. Two paces, a bunching of muscles, and he was in the air, over the hedge, twigs and thorns snatching at his shins and thighs, then… down on the ground once more, and thundering over the turf towards the opposite side of a good-sized pasture, sheep scattering in terror as he came. And when he cast a wild eye over his shoulder, he saw Sir Ralph and Sir Baldwin behind him, Sir Ralph’s squire near him, but the second one was gone. His horse was still there, galloping with rolling, terrified eyes and a great smear of blood and gore over his saddle and flank from the blow that had killed his rider.

‘How many more?’ he asked himself.

Baldwin saw Sir Ralph gauging the distance ahead, then they were both in the air, their beasts leaping high over the hedge and down onto the soft soil the other side. There was a broad expanse of pasture in front of them, leading down to a small rivulet which Baldwin saw sweeping across from the left, and he hoped to Heaven that the King wouldn’t be foolish enough to head for that, because the ground nearby would likely be boggy and dangerous for their mounts.

He saw that Alexander’s horse had lost its rider, and he winced at the thought of yet another man dead, but before he could think more, he saw Wolf, who was galloping as fast as his heavy frame would allow, his tongue dangling free as he gazed up at his master in consternation.

But just as Baldwin saw his mastiff, he became aware of the man riding towards Wolf with a spear ready to spit him. Without thinking, Baldwin turned and rode for the attacker.

Wolf had no idea what his master was doing, but in his houndlike conviction of original canine sin, he stopped and cringed, thinking Baldwin was about to clout him. During that pause, he spotted the rapidly approaching horse and, yelping, shot across in front of Baldwin, startling the pursuer’s horse and making it stop so sharply that the rider was hurled over its head to the ground.

Baldwin was already spurring his horse onwards, back to the King and his companions, but even as he did so, he saw that it was too late.

Although the main force of men was still behind Baldwin, there was a second party in front, waiting patiently, while a third, smaller group had appeared at the other side of the brook. There would be no escape that way. And when Baldwin cast a look to the right, he saw that any exit from this pasturage was obstructed by the thickly laid thorn hedge which surrounded it.

It would be for the King to decide what they must do. Before he could be cut off from them, Baldwin rode at the gallop to join the King and the others.

Simon was a little behind the group, delayed by his shock at the sight of Wolf when the others were already whooping onwards.

He urged his rounsey on, and soon was galloping off after the others. He saw them all leaping over the hedge; where there had been a narrow gap, now there was a ragged tear, and the men were piling through, their horses whinnying with fear and excitement. Simon was the last man to go, and he felt no concern at taking it at the gallop. All the others were already throwing up clods of grass at the other side, and he had to duck to avoid one large lump of earth, and then he felt the huge muscles bunch and thrust, and he was shoved against the high cantle at the rear of his saddle and using his legs to haul himself upright, filled with the thrill of the chase.

There was a flash of red on his right, and his horse shied in mid-leap, trying to swing to the left; Simon found himself lurching, thrown first right, then left – and then he was out of his saddle. There was a moment of vague surprise as he realised that he was flying through the air, with his left foot caught in the stirrup… and then the stirrup leather tightened, jerking him in mid-air, only to slam him hard to the ground. His head bounced up, and his blurred vision caught sight of a horse and rider clad in red just before his body crashed to earth again. He felt the stones, twigs and thorns shred his clothes and rip into his flesh as his mount thundered on, and then something hit his head with a crunch that drove all pain, all fear and meaning from his mind – and he was engulfed by night.

Sir Charles had landed well, and as soon as he was at the other side of the hedge, he whipped and spurred his mount after the others, but even as he leaned down over his horse’s neck and felt the mane slap damply against his cheeks, he cast a quick look to his side, looking for Simon. Nothing. He shot a glance backwards and saw the horse trying to follow; it looked odd somehow – and he suddenly realised there was no rider on it.

‘God damn the fellow!’ he muttered, and pulled on the reins. His great horse pounded back, and that was when he saw Simon being dragged along by his leg. Sir Charles slapped his beast’s rump hard to make him hurry on, and was soon able to turn level with Simon’s horse. Calming him, Sir Charles grabbed at the reins. He had to do so twice before he managed to catch them, and then he pulled on both sets of reins to slow both horses; his own and Simon’s. It was hard work, and Simon’s horse snorted and tried to pull his head free, his eyes terrified, forgetting all his training and becoming almost a wild animal.

Sir Charles stood up in his stirrups, then sat down and hauled, and gradually both horses slowed, then stopped, and as soon as they were still, Sir Charles was out of his saddle and down beside his friend’s body. He saw that the stirrup was caught about Simon’s foot, twisting the whole of his leg, and without ado, drew his dagger and cut the leather. Simon’s leg dropped instantly, and he groaned.

Rolling him over gently, Sir Charles saw how his back had been lacerated, and winced at the sight.

‘My friend, you need help – badly!’

The King reined in his horse and stared at the men confronting him. There were thirty or so in this motley band. Ten on horseback, and those on foot already had their polearms, braced.

There were men in front, men behind, and a party over the brook. ‘Sir Hugh!’ he cried in desperation, and he saw Hugh turn to him. Under his helmet, Despenser’s handsome face was twisted with anguish.

‘My King!’ he shouted, and for a moment King Edward thought his friend might throw himself on the spears of the schiltrom before them, but then he bent his head and covered his face. There was no spirit left in him to fight further.

And that was it, King Edward thought. They were all too worn with trying to gather a force to defend his reign, with hiding and running again. A month and a half of trying to avert disaster – and it had all been in vain.

Sir Ralph rode up to him, with Sir Baldwin close by.

‘Your Royal Highness, we are ready to die for you,’ Sir Ralph said quietly. ‘Command us.’

The King looked at them both, at their resolute expressions. ‘Sirs, there is no point. Fighting will avail us nothing. How many more must die?’

He saw behind Sir Baldwin the armour and face of Earl Henry of Lancaster, and walked his horse to the man.

‘Earl. I submit.’

Llantrisant Castle

Simon was able to do little more than cling to his horse for the journey to Llantrisant, and he was fortunate that Sir Charles rode at his side all the way, for he was continually passing out and at peril of toppling off.

They rode into the castle before dusk, and the whole party entered the hall together, Sir Charles and Sir Stephen assisting Simon to walk. As soon as he was set down on a bench, he turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall, and began to snore.

It was only a small castle, this. It had been Sir Hugh le Despenser’s for some little while, but now it had been taken over by Mortimer’s men, and the place was filled with men-at-arms and their weapons. The King and Sir Hugh looked about them in astonishment to see how many men there were crammed into the place as they were taken up into the hall. While the King was given due honour, and many men tried to encourage him, Sir Hugh was set in a corner and left to his own devices. Food was brought, good simple fare, set out on wooden trenchers, but neither man appeared to have any appetite.

Sir Charles stayed with Simon for the most part of the evening, and when he saw Sir Baldwin and Sir Ralph, he beckoned them.

‘What happened to him?’ Baldwin said in a hushed tone.

‘Fell from his horse and got dragged over the ground. His back is in a bad state,’ Sir Charles commented.

‘He needs a physician,’ Baldwin muttered.

‘I will see what may be done,’ Sir Charles said. ‘There should be someone with leeching skills.’

‘I am most grateful,’ Baldwin said, sitting at Simon’s side.

Sir Ralph looked at him with some surprise. ‘You know this man?’

‘He may not look like much just now,’ Baldwin said, ‘but he is a good man, a good friend.’

Baldwin remained with Simon as Sir Ralph walked away to sit with the rest of the men held captive. Some saw Baldwin sitting quietly at Simon’s side, but most ignored him. There appeared to be a feeling of anti-climax now that they had the King in the hall with them. A few stood aimlessly with sheathed swords near Edward, as though to reinforce the fact that he was captive, but for the most part, men idled about the place, unsure what to do with him.

That changed as it grew dark. There was a rattle of hooves in the ward, then loud bellowed commands, and a short while later, three men marched inside, closely followed by Henry of Lancaster. He strode in without looking to either side, going straight to the King, and standing at his side without kneeling. It was a while before he appeared to make a decision, and he dropped quickly to one knee, then stood again, his short demonstration of respect complete.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I am glad to have you safe in my custody. You will consider yourself my guest, and I will ensure your protection. Is there anything you require?’

‘I have all I need.’

‘You will be gracious enough to tell me or my men if you require anything else. Tomorrow we shall set off for Monmouth, thence we shall travel to Hereford, where we shall meet your wife and your son. I fear that the accommodation here will be stretched to its limits, but I can at least provide you with the solar block, if you wish some solitude.’

‘No. I will remain here with my men.’

‘Very well. I will leave a guard here for your safety, and hope that you rest well, my lord.’

The King nodded. His reverse of fortunes, while expected, had still come as an appalling shock, and he glanced at Sir Hugh as though expecting his friend to chastise those who had taken him and now held him in this demeaning way. But Sir Hugh had nothing to say.

As the Earl made to walk from the room, he said, ‘Sir Baldwin! I hope you are well?’

‘As well as a prisoner may be,’ he answered. He held no malice for those who had caught him, only trepidation. All could be executed for remaining at the King’s side, if Mortimer wanted. It was a distressing situation, but not so worrying as the thought of how Jeanne would survive without him. His only consolation was that Edgar, his Sergeant from his Templar days, was still with her and would ensure her safety, if it were humanly possible. ‘Thank you for not binding us.’

‘There is no need with honourable men. Is that the Bailiff? Was he with you?’

‘No, my lord. The good Bailiff was with your men, but when your fellows charged through the hedge, he was knocked from his saddle and dragged along by his mount. His back is sorely lacerated. Sir Charles of Lancaster has gone to fetch a leech for him, and I will stay at his side, if my captor will allow it.’

‘For my part, Sir Baldwin, if you give me your parole not to try to escape, that will be good enough for me.’

‘I so swear.’

‘I will have wine brought for you both. I hope he will recover. Is there anything else I can do for you?’

Baldwin saw that Sir Charles was returning with a fretful-looking cleric hurrying along behind him. ‘Only that you tell your men that if the clerk asks for hot water, or anything else they might have here for treatment of wounds, that they fetch it for him. I am worried that Simon is sleeping. A man with a broken head will sometimes sleep and snore, and I fear his injuries may be worse than I realised.’

‘I’ll tell them. You make sure that he recovers.’

The clerk stood at Simon’s side, gauging his injuries, but when he tried to cut away the clothing to look at Simon’s back, the Bailiff suddenly woke, staring about him in a state of shock. ‘Settle yourself, my son,’ the priest said, wincing at the sight of his back. ‘This will take time.’