King's Gold

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Woods near Kenilworth

Father Luke was relieved to be moving again when they left the tavern. Soon he would see the castle in which the King was held, and so could pass over the box of florins. He wanted nothing more to do with any of it. But he also longed to reach the castle, simply so he could sit at a hot fire and drink spiced cider or ale.

Not many men would so willingly relinquish such wealth, but for Father Luke the trepidation which he had felt since hearing of Despenser’s death had steadily increased over time, as if the weight of the cash was dragging on his very soul. A hundred and fifty pounds! The box contained more than the value of Father Luke’s entire parish.

He wondered what reception he could expect at the castle. The men there would naturally be suspicious and might not let him see Sir Edward — in which case it was possible that someone there might actually steal the box. And if they did, what could he do to stop them? It was unlikely they’d take it and say, ‘Thanks, this will help pay for our garrison’s Easter feast!’ More probably they’d take it, promise to pass it on, and then the poor imprisoned King would never get to see it.

He was mulling this over, when there came a low whistle from ahead.

The purveyor turned and said brusquely: ‘Don’t worry, carter. These are friends of mine.’

Luke shot a look at Ham, and saw he was concerned. Ham cast an eye over his shoulder as though estimating the chances of turning his cart and fleeing, but of course it was too late. Luke gazed ahead and felt a sudden surprise on seeing John of Shulton and Paul of Bircheston.

The two men were on large horses, and as Dunheved came closer to them, they rode forward and slapped him on the back, laughing and chattering.

‘Thought you’d got lost until I saw you in that tavern,’ John was saying. ‘I was trying to find you.’

‘I didn’t want us to stand there chatting.’ The purveyor appeared to be less enthusiastic than the other two. ‘I need to be off out of here as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t worry yourself,’ John said. ‘This won’t take long.’ His grin was infectious, and the priest found himself smiling in return. The fellow really was attractive in a roguish way, and Luke felt he would be an excellent companion in a tavern. He would be the first to begin to sing or tell saucy jokes, and generally make any evening an event to remember.

As if reading his mind, the fellow began to whistle and then sing, a silly tale about a woman who was trying to sue a man for the paternity of her child, while the man refused to listen, and instead boasted about the other women he had bedded, and why he wouldn’t touch an old trout like her. Which was amusing enough — but the last verse told of how she was, unknown to him, the wealthiest woman in the county, and since he had rejected her and caused her son to be known as a bastard, she would marry the man’s servant instead, and elevate him to a position of significance in the land.

A fine song it was, and John managed to use different voices as he sang, with occasional lewd and bawdy gestures. It was all Luke could do not to laugh aloud at his antics.

But the joy in his heart was stopped when Paul and John moved to the back of the cart, and began to move things about.

Ham was the first to protest. ‘Hoi, don’t meddle with that stuff! It’s the purveyor’s, and I don’t want it-’

Paul stopped and stood before Ham, smiling, but with his hand on his sword’s hilt. ‘Shut up, carter.’

The purveyor called, ‘Carter, this is all right. There’s nothing to worry about. They are making room for additional stores, that’s all.’

Luke was watching John, though, as he peered at the casket on the bed of the cart. He pulled it towards him, then tested the lid. Seeing it was locked, he tried to pick it up, then made a face at the weight.

Luke felt as though the blood was rushing to his face. John of Shulton had the look of a fellow who would slit a priest’s throat for twenty shillings, and in that box, as Luke knew, there were many pounds. He swallowed, anxious, but even as he did so, Paul walked over to John and began passing him the new cargo for the cart. Luke’s eyes widened.

They were all weapons.

Near Kenilworth Castle

Dolwyn did not dare to stay in the town that night. Instead he left the castle, and then set off in an easterly direction until he came to a small farming hamlet, where he bought some ale and eggs fried with a spot of grease from a pot of bacon fat. It was delicious, and when he asked, he was permitted to make use of their little hayloft, where he slept the night in warm comfort, unworried by the rats and beetles that scurried about him.

All was well; better than well. He had seen the contents of the letter — and had hoped for some small reward for delivering it to Sir Edward. How naïve he had been! For now he saw how much more he could make by helping the man. While Edward’s position was not as good as once it had been, at least Dolwyn had won his confidence. And if the grateful Sir Edward of Caernarfon was ever brought back to power, Dolwyn knew that he would personally be granted a good posting himself. Perhaps become a sergeant in a royal castle, or land some cushy job in the Tower of London — something like that, something without hard work. Ideally in a place like Barnard Castle, where there wouldn’t be too many others to keep an eye on him. Then he could copy Jack the Irishman, and cream as much money as he liked off the local peasants. As a King’s official, they would have no way to refuse any demands he made.

Life, he reflected, could be sweet.

Now that Edward knew that he had the support of the Bardi, he had said he must think about how to effect his escape from this prison. It was terrible, to think that all Dolwyn’s future dreams depended upon the former King’s escape, but better that than for Edward to remain in gaol and for Dolwyn never to see the fruits of his efforts.

He would help Edward escape, he swore to himself now, and as a result, he would be elevated to a position of importance.

All that remained was to work out how this escape could be effected. That, he knew, would take some thought.

Kenilworth

They were close now. Stephen Dunheved could feel his excitement growing as they passed up the road near to Kenilworth, his eyes roving about the trees that lay at either side of the road watching for any signs of ambush — a half-concealed figure, a glint of steel.

He was riding his own sturdy pony, but his urgency to reach the castle was such that even his mount was behaving like a destrier, prancing skittishly as they proceeded over the rough roadway.

This was not the first time he had set out on a journey that would end in danger. In the last months he and his companions had forged a reputation for ruthless determination. Only two weeks ago, he and others with Sir Edmund Gascelin had stolen horses, oxen and cows, as well as a thousand sheep, from villages in Gloucester, and then they had gone on to Shilton near Coventry and taken more. The beasts were good for barter, but also for food, and the men needed food, God knew.

At the castle approached, he offered up a short prayer for success. They would need all God’s help if they were to succeed. It was a fool’s errand, this. They could only summon a tiny number of their men at such short notice, and the plan depended upon their arrival as the gates were being closed. That was when the whole castle would be thinking of rest and not the possibility of attack. He prayed again that he was not too late. The light would be fading soon, and he knew that the gates would be closed as soon as the bells rang for the curfew. He wouldn’t want to be stuck out here in the dark, easy prey, while the others all remained inside.

‘Can’t you hurry the beast?’ he shot at Ham.

Ham threw him an anxious look. ‘I’m sorry, master. The poor old nag can’t go any faster, not with this load.’ He was worried by Stephen’s snappishness, and by John and Paul riding along behind them all.

Stephen cursed to himself under his breath, avoiding the eye of the damned priest. Luke had not been overly troublesome on the way here, but he had a habit of pursing his lips every time he heard even a mild curse that was intensely irritating to a man like Stephen. Since they had collected the weapons, he had pursed his lips more and more often, and he had a wild look in his eye; he could be a risk — he could give their plot away. Perhaps he ought to be left here, and not taken on. But the trouble was, Stephen daren’t leave him unguarded, and the mere fact of his presence at the gates would reduce suspicion, surely. That was how his brother had got inside — hopefully. The others were supposed to have infiltrated the castle with the stores over the day, and with luck were in there waiting even now for Stephen and the weapons to arrive.

Until today they had made good time. Damn his stupidity! He’d thought that they would be too early, so it had been his choice to rest a while at that inn, the decision that had left them so late. He had underestimated the amount of time it would take to get here after meeting John and Paul, and that complacency could mean disaster. The others would all be ready, waiting in position. While it would have been hazardous to arrive too early, to be too late could be catastrophic.

He fretted, chewing at his lip. The cart was rolling along at a steady pace, but up ahead there was the castle, a red, square keep with a fearsome glow about it now in the light of the sinking sun, and it was still too far. They wouldn’t make it in time.

Stephen felt the excitement and frustration growing at the same time, anxious that he might make another poor decision. Should he carry on here, hoping to make it in time, or. .

‘The pox on them!’ he suddenly blurted out. ‘John, Paul, I’m going to ride on and make sure they don’t shut the gates. You stay with the cart!’

He set his face at the castle, then, taking his rein-end, he lashed hard at his beast’s rump while raking at the animal’s flanks with his spurs. Stung into action, the beast jolted, startled, and then sprang forward. Stephen urged it on, kicking and swearing at the brute, but the pony was already gaining speed. At a gallop, his mount bore him past the little cemetery of a chapel, past the fringes of a tiny village, and up to the bridge over the lakes. At the far end of this was the gatehouse to the castle itself, a great building in its own right, with a small tower at either side of the causeway.

It was the most imposing castle he had ever seen. All about it lay the water, an enormous lake of a hundred acres, maybe three quarters of a mile long, with one great loop to the west of the castle and second, smaller one to the south. Attack was all but impossible. The last siege here took nine months, and then it was only illness and starvation that caused the inmates to beg for terms. The best machines in the land could not harm the walls, and no one could mine them, not so close to the lakes. Miners would have drowned.

At the far side of the bridge as he rode onto the timbers, the wood echoing hollowly beneath him, he could see the Norman keep, a massive fortress in its own right built from the reddish stone of the area. It was here to subdue as well as defend, and the square, rugged outline against the sky was fearful.

Two sentries were there at the gates, and they crossed their polearms before he could pass, but he didn’t get the impression that they were serious. ‘I have food,’ he gasped, jerking his thumb behind him to point at the cart. ‘I’m purveyor — special foods for your-’

‘Get in, then. Gate’s to be shut soon,’ one of the men said, and hawked and spat.

‘Will you leave the gates until they arrive, then?’ he asked, and received a noncommittal grunt in response.

‘These your friends?’

There, behind him, he saw John and Paul riding at a trot towards the gate. It was enough to make him grit his teeth. ‘Yes.’

‘They’re bloody late!’

Stephen turned, his hooves clattering over the stone cobbles, and trotted on, reining in a little beyond the gatehouse, peering about him. Here he was in the outer ward, a wide area that narrowed to his left. There before him were soaring walls. Inside them, he knew, lay his target, on the left, at the nearer side of the ward, near the great hall in the rooms he had heard called the White Hall. Out here there were still piles of rubble about the place, and areas of wall which had been extensively patched with new stone, and he was surprised that the castle was still being renovated after the siege. That had been forty or fifty years ago, after all. From the look of the place, the catapults had done their work, even if the castle had held. After nine months, the garrison must have been starving.

A man was striding across the court towards him, a moderately tall fellow with clean-shaven face and military haircut. ‘You have food, the porter said?’

Stephen nodded as he sprang lightly from his mount. He saw a black habit behind the man’s shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief, just as the bell began to ring for curfew.

‘Yes, the cart will be here soon.’

‘Too late. It’ll have to return tomorrow.’ Squire Bernard shouted and waved at the sentries at the entranceway.

‘But he’s on the bridge already!’

‘Then he won’t have far to come tomorrow.’

‘Why not let him in now?’ Stephen demanded.

‘We have rules, and as porter of the gates, I will abide by them. He can come back tomorrow.’ He turned and bellowed a command.

The men came in from the gates, and there was a deep rumbling as the gates were closed, a rattling as the drawbridge chains were pulled in on the windlass, and men moved about in a desultory fashion before making their way to the bar to find ale.

‘Well?’ the porter said. ‘What are you waiting for?’

The cart rattled abominably. Father Luke walked alongside, his mind whirling, while the two warriors rode easily behind.

‘Keep your eyes on the road ahead,’ John said with an encouraging chuckle.

His voice made Father Luke’s stomach lurch. The humour and attractiveness he had seen earlier was gone now. This man was nothing more than a killer, he was sure, and the idea that he was here, with the cart loaded full of weapons, was alarming. What on earth was the man intending to do with them?

They passed under a little spinney of young saplings, around a series of strip fields, and then confronted the enormous lake.

‘Dear God!’ Father Luke drew to a halt with his mouth gaping wide.

It was easily the largest lake he had ever seen. Acres were inundated, and it made the priest marvel to see the result of so much labour. Only after he had absorbed the sight did he turn his gaze upward and gasp again. That was indeed a wonderful castle! He wondered how old it was. From an early age he had been dedicated to his studies in the Church, and he had little knowledge or understanding of castles and their history, but Kenilworth was one of those of which even he had heard as a child. It was a fortress extended and strengthened by King John, added to by the local baron. And it had been attacked years ago in a great siege.

The cart continued on, the horse patiently clopping forwards, and the priest hurried to catch up again, studying the walls, the keep, the bridge. They were passing into a little stand of trees when there came, clear in the evening air, the slow clanging of a bell. For an instant he did not realise what it portended, but then he heard Ham swear under his breath.

‘You will have to come to confess that, Ham,’ Father Luke said sternly.

‘Sorry, Father.’

John trotted up, and this time there was no humour in his eyes as he said tersely, ‘Paul, if we don’t hurry we’re going to miss the gates.’

‘I know, but. .’ Paul said nothing more, but it was clear that he was thinking of Luke and Ham.

‘They’ll be all right, won’t you, Father?’ John said. Father Luke nodded, and John continued, ‘You come as quickly as you can, Ham. They may ignore the purveyor, but they won’t ignore me. And if Father Luke can hurry, so much the better: a priest in God’s service? They won’t lock him out. I’ll make sure they keep the gates open until you both arrive!’

And then he and Paul were off, cantering up the road to the causeway.

Father Luke was unhappy. He didn’t understand what was happening. All he wanted to do was get inside the castle and divest himself of Despenser’s gold, but he was anxious about the weapons and what they portended. He didn’t think that the garrison of the castle would need so many more. There were swords, axes, maces, and even a crossbow, he thought — not that he’d had much time to stare. He had caught Paul’s eye on him as he peered over, and looked away hurriedly. Paul was a fearsome man.

Too fearsome to ignore.

The bell was tolling again. Luke sighed and threw a fretful glance back the way he had come. It was tempting to make a run for it.

‘Best keep on,’ Ham grunted.

Luke nodded reluctantly. They could never hope to escape. If they turned, John and Paul would only have to trot to catch them within a mile. They were still some distance from the causeway, and he gave a short ‘Tchah!’ of disgust at his irresolution. His decision was made: night was coming on. He would have to stay in the castle, no matter what the possible danger from John. It was safer in there than out here in the wilds.

‘I’ll run on ahead, Ham. They won’t keep the gates shut if they see me, I’m sure. You hurry on as you may!’

He picked up the skirts of his robe, winked at Ham, and then began to trot up the road. The last days had been tedious, rather than tiring, and he was not tired. Soon he felt his muscles begin to ease, and he could pick up the pace a little, and actually run. It felt marvellous! The air was cool in his lungs, like a draught of clear water, and he felt his legs come alive. At the gates, he could see Paul and John arguing, demanding that the bridge be lowered, and the gates opened. . and then, as he reached the wooden causeway himself, he heard a hideous shriek that turned his blood to ice.

The shriek was followed by shouts of alarm, bellowed orders. . and then he heard the unmistakable clamour of battle: the rattle and clatter of steel on steel, the clash of blade against blade, the whoosh of arrows, like a formation of geese close overhead.

‘No! No!’ he shouted, and forgetting his own safety, he ran all the faster, making his way to the gates.