The Oath

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Baldwin was feeling a great deal better as they drained their drinks. The talk with Simon had brought a measure of calmness. It was good just to be with a friend again. He let his hand fall to his side, resting on Wolf’s great head.

‘What will happen now, do you think?’ he said.

‘You, a knight, ask me, a mere yeoman, what I think is going to happen?’ Simon said with a laugh.

‘You have been with the people who have won the dispute,’ Baldwin reminded him. ‘I come from the losing side.’

‘Well, I do not know,’ Simon said. ‘I simply hope we may soon be permitted to leave this place and return homewards.’

‘I could wish for nothing more,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘However, I fear that there may be a desire on Sir Roger’s part to prevent my leaving any time soon.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ Simon said. ‘You have served the Queen, and the Duke her son, and even Mortimer himself in the past. Why shouldn’t we see one of them and ask that you be released?’

‘I should like to think that I could be trusted.’

‘Then let’s go and see the Duke. We can ask him for permission to leave. There can be no need for us to be held here any longer.’

The room to which they were conducted was a small chamber a little away from the hall, and here they were told to sit and wait.

Simon and Baldwin looked at each other, both of them feeling the boldness caused by their wine fade away.

Baldwin could feel that strange hollowness in his belly again. There were noises of festivity coming from the hall – singing, clattering of dishes and cheering, as though this was a warrior’s hall from King Arthur’s day. It was a strange counterpoint to the helplessness Baldwin felt.

There was the sound of marching. Soon, two men walked in and stood at either side of the door, before the figure of the Duke appeared.

Baldwin and Simon both knelt and bowed their heads.

‘Sir Baldwin, please, and Bailiff, stand. There is no need for this.’

‘My lord, I need to apologise,’ Baldwin began, but the Duke shook his head emphatically.

‘No, Sir Baldwin, you do not. You have served my father well, and you deserve to be honoured for that. You performed your duty admirably, and I am very grateful to you for it.’

Baldwin bowed his head again, and suddenly felt as weak as a new-born calf. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘And you, too, Master Puttock,’ the Duke continued. ‘I would have you rewarded for your service – but I fear that the strings to the realm’s purse are closely bound as yet.’

‘I’m content if you are happy with the service I have performed, my lord,’ Simon said.

‘How could I not be?’ Duke Edward smiled.

‘Simon has told me of your agent, Sam Fletcher,’ Baldwin said hesitantly. ‘I must apologise, Your Highness. I thought he was trying to kill the King’s own messenger. Redcliffe had told me he was the King’s man and I saw no reason to disbelieve him. And when your man tried to kill him…’

‘It is understandable,’ Duke Edward said, saddened. ‘I trusted Fletcher entirely. He was a good man, and decent. Very loyal.’

‘You should know that he and his party succeeded in killing Redcliffe,’ Baldwin said.

‘I am glad of that, at least,’ the Duke replied.

Simon cleared his throat. ‘But you should also know that Sir Roger has been asking who killed Redcliffe. He asked me to investigate personally.’

‘What will you tell him?’

‘I don’t know what to tell him,’ Simon admitted.

The Duke grunted. ‘Then tell him that it was a band of men from Hainault. They saw Sir Baldwin here, and gave chase, killing a man from the party.’

‘It was two they killed,’ Baldwin said. ‘And they injured Sir Ralph’s squire too.’

‘So much the better. There are witnesses to the deaths. You did not kill Redcliffe, after all, did you, Sir Baldwin?’

‘No. It was one of the men with your fellow Fletcher.’

‘Then there is nothing for you to fear. I will tell Sir Roger that you have investigated the affair, Master Puttock, and that you should be permitted to return home now.’

‘I am most grateful to you, your lordship,’ Simon breathed.

There was a great bellow of laughter from the hall, and the Duke’s face stiffened. ‘They executed Despenser today, and those laughing in there all witnessed his awful end. I confess, I find my appetite is somewhat curtailed.’

A step at the door heralded the arrival of Sir Roger Mortimer. ‘Your Highness, you should be in there and celebrating. Oh, you have guests, I see.’

The Duke’s chin rose slightly in defiance. ‘These friends are here to tell us of the death of a man.’

Simon hurriedly spoke. ‘Sir Roger, you asked me to find out what happened to Redcliffe. Well, Sir Baldwin here was present when he was killed.’

‘Speak!’ Sir Roger said.

Baldwin told the story as briefly as he could, without embellishment. ‘I had no idea who the men were who attacked us,’ he finished. ‘I can only think that they were men from your host – perhaps Hainaulters? Certainly the man I killed was not dressed as one of your regular men, but he and the others appeared set upon stopping us from escaping.’

Mortimer nodded slowly, then shot a look at the Duke and at Simon. ‘This all true?’

‘I believe it,’ Simon said.

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’

‘Are we released, then?’ Simon asked hopefully. ‘Can we return to our homes? I want to see my wife and make sure that she is safe and–’

‘Soon, I would think,’ Sir Roger said. ‘For now, there is still much to be done. You may wait here until you are told you may go.’

‘I have already thanked Sir Baldwin for his service and assured him that he is free of any stain on his character,’ the Duke said.

‘He was with the Despenser when we caught him,’ Sir Roger said.

‘I was never a companion or ally of Despenser,’ Baldwin said coldly. ‘I am a loyal servant of the King, however.’

‘Do you mean you would serve his interests?’ Sir Roger said.

‘Absolutely,’ Baldwin said, feeling his belly churn at this statement. He had no idea how Sir Roger would respond to such a declaration. ‘I made him my oath of allegiance. I honour that vow.’

‘Good. So you should,’ Sir Roger said. He pursed his lips. ‘Come, Sir Baldwin, I believe you are a fair and reasonable man. Come with me, both of you, and share in the festivities. There is no reason for any of us to feel rancour towards each other, this day of all days.’

Sir Laurence was forced to fix a smile upon his face and raise his mazer to his neighbour as another toast was given in honour of the brave men of Hainault, as their leader, Jean, stood, braying with delight.

The hall was filled with shouting, joyous men. At the head table, Jean de Hainault sat with Sir Roger Mortimer and the Queen, while her son had been sitting near her at the end of the table. The rest of the hall was given over to merrymaking knights, squires and men-at-arms, all engaged in mutual congratulation at their part in the destruction of the King. Drinking vessels were all raised periodically in toasts, while men staggered from one table to another, as drunk as a peasant at a midsummer’s feast.

It was revolting to be forced to witness this, Sir Laurence thought. To listen to the paeans offered to these grubby mercenaries, one would think that they were the epitome of all that was chivalrous and honourable, when in reality they were nothing more than paid servants without even the merit of having given an oath. He sipped his wine, feeling the desolation of loneliness in this hall filled with happiness, and offered up his own prayer for the King, his master.

‘Sir Laurence, I hope I find you well?’

He looked up. ‘Master Puttock. You survived the capture of the King, then.’

‘Only by the merest margin, I fear,’ Simon said. His head injury was making him feel unwell, and he motioned to the bench. ‘May I join you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you know Sir Baldwin de Furnshill?’

‘I believe we have met.’

The two knights nodded amicably enough, and Sir Laurence moved along his bench to make space for the other two.

‘You were hurt in the action?’ Sir Laurence asked.

Simon winced. ‘I fell after a jump, and was caught in my stirrup and dragged a distance. I’m lucky to look this well.’

Sir Laurence whistled. ‘I had a friend who died in such a manner. You are fortunate.’

‘Yes. Thank God. Sir Charles was there,’ Simon said. ‘He saved my life.’

‘Oh,’ Sir Laurence said.

‘You do not like him?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘I mistrust those who will seek mercenary reward,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘In my youth, all men gave their oaths and were rewarded from their lords’ largesse. Now, apparently, a man’s body and soul are likewise for sale.’

‘Sir Charles was forced into it,’ Simon said protectively. ‘And surely, if you feel like that, you would not wish to go to a banker and make money from your position.’

‘No. I would not wish to do so, and would not do so in practice.’

‘Really?’

Sir Laurence glanced at Simon with some surprise. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘I’ve heard it said that you yourself were involved with projects in Bristol, and that you were close to Arthur Capon,’ Simon said.

‘Whoever said such a thing was lying to you!’ Sir Laurence snapped. ‘I scarcely knew Capon – and never had any dealings with him. I saw my position there at Bristol as a position of trust, not a venture from which to gain profit. And in any case, I have no need of money. My manors bring in plenty each year, unlike those of others.’

‘Of whom do you speak?’

This was Sir Baldwin, and there was a curious intensity about him as he asked the question.

‘I was thinking of no one in particular,’ he answered. ‘But if you must have an example, I would say that the best is a man your companion here knows only too well. I am sure that it’s the reason why he sold the city and castle of Bristol.’

‘Sir Stephen, you mean?’ Simon said.

‘Yes. It is no secret that his manors have failed him, and that he cannot maintain the standard of expenditure that once he managed. There was a time when he was among the wealthiest in the land; now he is almost penniless. He needed money desperately badly, and I am sure he was counting on the gratitude of Mortimer when he opened the city gates.’

Second Tuesday after the Feast of St Martin[50]

Hereford

The next morning, Simon and Baldwin sat down to breakfast together in a small building near the hall. It was cold, but was at least quieter than the main hall, where many of the men had not bothered to sleep, and instead continued drinking through the night.

‘Interesting that Sir Laurence denied anything to do with the moneylender,’ Baldwin said. ‘From all you said before, I had thought that he would be a more vain, self-conscious man.’

‘Me, too’ Simon thoughtfully kicked a pebble from under the table and watched it roll across the floor to strike the wall. ‘If he is right, Sir Stephen is more likely to have seen Capon, but then Sir Stephen is the man he most detests in the world, because he surrendered the city at Bristol, and directly led to Sir Laurence being forced to give up the castle as well.’

‘Well, all I know is that I shall be inordinately glad to be home again,’ Baldwin said as he drank a little of the weak ale. He bit into a crust of bread and pulled a face. ‘Dear Heaven! Someone made this from a piece of moorstone, not flour.’

Simon smiled as he chewed at his own. ‘Anyway, surely it’s a fact that the men who killed Capon weren’t motivated by money.’

‘No, not if you are right,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘That was a matter of a simple family dispute. There are enough cases of men who kill their wives, whether by accident or intentionally.’

‘Yes, although it’s rarer for them to kill their parents as well,’ Simon said.

‘True enough. But not unknown,’ Baldwin shrugged.

They finished their meals in comparative silence. Only when they were done did Baldwin look across at his friend with a pensive frown.

‘Simon, did Sir Roger actually say that we could leave now? I am not sure that he did, and yet that was the implication, was it not?’

‘So far as I could tell,’ Simon said.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, ‘we should ask for a letter of safe-conduct for ourselves, just to make sure.’

Simon agreed, and soon they presented themselves to the clerks who were serving Sir Roger in a chamber in the castle’s keep.

‘Safe-conduct? Why would you need them?’ the harassed senior clerk demanded. ‘If you are attached to remain here, remain here. If you haven’t been taken, then go, if you want. It’s nothing to do with me, but if you think I have the time to get my boys here,’ he waved his hand, taking in the seven middle-aged clerks behind him in a belligerent sweep, ‘to write foolish notes for all and sundry, you have another think coming!’

‘I am Sir Bald–’

‘You could be the Holy Father from Avignon, and I’d give you the same answer. I have suddenly discovered that I am the senior clerk to the King, the Queen, their son and heir, and the kingdom, as well as Sir Roger Mortimer, so begone. Now!’

And to their surprise, Simon and Baldwin found themselves pushed unceremoniously from the hall.

‘That cheeky…’ Simon said, and would have returned into the chamber, had Baldwin not taken his arm and begun to laugh.

Simon glared at him, until Baldwin’s mirth communicated itself to him, and soon the two men were helpless, Simon leaning against the wall, while Baldwin wept with the tears falling down his cheeks, while he held his stomach to try to stop the pain of so much amusement.

‘What is the matter with you two?’ the clerk demanded, throwing the door open. ‘If you don’t bugger off, I’ll call the guards to have you arrested immediately. Did you hear me? I’ll have you arrested, I said!’

Simon tried to hold his gaze, determined but the sheer incoherent fury on the clerk’s face forced him to turn away and face the wall, his whole body jerking with the gales of laughter that enveloped him.

‘You must be moon-struck. Madmen the pair of you,’ the clerk sniffed disdainfully, and then, unsure that they were not deriving much of their delight from his own discomfiture, he slammed the door again.

‘Simon, Simon,’ Baldwin protested weakly, ‘my belly aches so much!’

Simon sniggered again, wiping at his eyes. ‘I think we are safe to leave, don’t you?’

‘First, old friend, I think I need another pot of wine!’