The Oath

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Bristol Castle

The castle was filled with urgent activity. The men inside began to rush about, making for the armoury as the alarm rang out, then hurrying back to the walls with polearms and helmets. One lad was tall and lanky, and his over-large helmet rattled and moved as he walked; normally, his mates would have poked fun at him, but not today.

Simon fiddled with his sword in its scabbard, pulling it loose and checking how easily it came free. It was a nervous reaction to the knowledge that there would soon, surely, be a fight. But the tension came from not knowing when, or what form it would take. Whether there would be a sudden assault or a gradual build-up of violence, he didn’t know and couldn’t guess, but he felt afraid.

It was less fear for himself and how he might acquit himself in battle, more that he was fearful for his wife and child. There was a terrible irony in his decision to bring them here inside the castle, since it was now the cause of their danger.

‘They have given up the keys of the city,’ Sir Charles said.

The men-at-arms from the Queen’s forces were striding arrogantly about the city from all the gates already. Some Captains were already standing little more than a bowshot from the castle’s walls, pointing out likely places of attack, while others brought up huge shields of timber covered with leather, and crossbowmen scurried nearer. Soon, from these safer vantage-points, quarrels would be fired at all the guards on the battlements, and there was little the garrison could do to defend themselves, other than keep their heads down.

Sir Charles turned to Simon as he was drawing his sword again. ‘I am sorry, Bailiff. I had not expected the city to give up and throw open the gates with such indecent haste.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Simon said.

‘It is, though. I should have considered how the city was likely to behave. Why should they risk themselves for the King, when Edward has already fled? Why would anyone try to hold true to him?’

Simon shot a look at him. It was the first time he had heard the knight talking in such a cowed manner; it was most unlike him. ‘We should try to ensure that as few people as possible are hurt,’ he responded.

‘You are not a friend to Despenser, are you?’

‘Not to Sir Hugh, no. But his father, the Earl, is not the same kind of man. I hold no grudge against him,’ Simon said truthfully.

‘Well, one thing is certain sure,’ the knight sighed, peering down over the battlements. ‘If we hold this castle against the men out there, it will not endear us to the Queen or Mortimer.’

‘No. What will happen to us, when they break in?’ Simon said.

‘I don’t want to think about that,’ Sir Charles said.

Bristol

Saul the Fosser felt as though he was carrying a dangerous secret with him as he made his way down the street back towards his own home. He didn’t know any smiths, and the thought of enlisting the help of a man he did not know was alarming. The fellow might just take the rubies and keep them. After all, Saul could hardly run to a law officer and complain. There was no one who could mediate for him if the things were stolen.

The fosser hobbled along with a face like a slapped arse as he considered the position he was in. His dreams of wealth were gone, his hopes for a sudden financial windfall evaporated. ‘Might just as well have left the damn thing in the soil,’ he muttered spitefully. But returning it to the grave was the last thing on his mind.

The broker had suggested one smith who was more reliable than most – a man called David, who lived nearer St Mary le Port, and Saul found that his feet were bending their way in that direction almost of their own volition. The road broadened out here, and the smithy was soon located: a man only had to follow the sound of ringing steel.

David Smith was slim and wiry, with hands callused and grey from the coals he worked with. His face was dark, but his eyes were as bright as a shrew’s. ‘I don’t do horses,’ he declared as soon as Saul appeared.

‘I don’t have a horse.’

‘Didn’t think so,’ was the response, and Saul stood a moment, frowning, trying to work out whether he had been insulted or not.

‘I have something…’ he began hesitantly.

David was gripping a length of steel in a coal forge, working a great bellows with one hand to heat the steel to red heat. Leaving hold of the bellows, he used both hands to pull the bar from the fire and dropped it on his anvil. Grabbing a hammer, he began to beat the metal around into a curve. ‘Best get it out, then,’ he said loudly over the din.

The fosser looked all around, and then pulled the dagger from his shirt. He tugged the wrapping away, and held up the hilt for the smith to see.

David whistled. Reaching out for it, he motioned to the steel which he still gripped. ‘Take this.’

Saul reached for it, passing the dagger at the same time. His hand closed around the end of steel, and he watched as the smith held the item up to the light. Suddenly realising that his hand was burning, he dropped the bar with a little yelp. Seeing the smith’s disgusted face, he hastily picked it up again in a fold of his jack, and held it back on the anvil with his good hand, while he surreptitiously blew on the injured one.

The smith held the dagger up to the light, eyeing the two bright stones in a cursory manner, and then peered at the blade shaking his head and muttering. Then he rubbed at the top of the blade with his rough old thumb, and peered closer. He walked to his anvil and took a fine-graded stone, dampened it, and began to rub at the metal.

Saul, forgetting to blow on his scorched hand, craned his neck. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Seeing if there’s a mark here. Polish away the old metal at the side, and you’ll see the print more clear.’

The smith stopped, held the blade almost to his nose, and gazed at it. Then, with a nod to himself, he wrapped the dagger in the waxed material once more, and strode from the forge.

‘Hi! Oi! What’s your game?’

His attention split between the disappearance of the valuable blade and the danger of dropping the steel, Saul put down the metal bar and hobbled painfully outside.

He could see the smith up at the top of the alley, and hurried to join him.

‘This is the one,’ the smith was saying to a short, stolid-looking man.

‘Fosser, eh?’ the man said. ‘How would one of them get his hands on a lord’s dagger like this, eh?’

‘Why? Who cares?’ the fosser said spiritedly. ‘That’s mine, that is. Give me back my knife!’

‘Your knife?’ the smith said. His hand whipped out, and he took Saul by the shoulder. Saul squeaked and tried to dart away, but the grip of a smith is not so easily broken.

‘It’s not your knife, Fosser. I know, because I made it for Squire William de Bar. But I don’t see him around here, so how did you get your thieving hands on it, eh?’

Bristol Castle

Sir Charles invited Simon to join him after he and Margaret had eaten some dinner. Simon was to be allowed to join the rest of the men in the hall while they discussed the various options open to them. The meeting had grown into a heated discussion within moments of them walking in.

‘We know what the situation is. The Queen is outside, and gives no guarantees to any,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘We have to choose: surrender or continue to hold the castle and pray that the King may return to rescue us.’

‘You dare to say that he wouldn’t?’ Earl Hugh growled.

‘No, I say nothing. I speak only as logic dictates, my lord. I am sorry if it is offensive to your ears, but we must try to be realistic. While the city held, there was the possibility of holding the assault off, because at least they had a broad target to try to breach. If they were to pick a specific point, we could see that and run to the defence. But now? We have the castle curtain wall itself, that is all. They can bring all their machines to bear at any point they wish, and there is nothing we may do to prevent them.’

‘This castle can hold. It will hold!’

‘For how long?’ Sir Laurence rasped. ‘I am a loyal subject to the King, and to the Queen, too, but first to the anointed King of our land. I would prefer not to be in this position, but this is the situation we have been placed in by God, and by His faith, I will hold this to the last man breathing if that is the feeling of the men here. But it is not a course we can take without risk.’

There was a shuffling of feet at that.

‘Are you all against me?’ the Earl roared as the men began to look away or down. ‘Listen, men, listen! The King, God bless his soul, has ordered us to hold this castle. He gave me the command of all his men, he gave me the stewardship of the city and castle. I will have any man hanged who tries to negotiate with the enemy!’

‘I am sure you do not mean that,’ Sir Laurence said sharply. ‘If this was a question of discussing with enemies, my lord, I would agree wholeheartedly. But here, sir, we are talking about meeting with our Queen and her son. That means the next King of our country! You have no authority to prevent us from talking to them. This is not treason or sedition, it is commonsense.’

‘I will not have you gainsay me, Sir Laurence! I am Commander here, damn your eyes, and I will see my orders complied with.’

‘You have overall command of the King’s forces,’ Sir Laurence countered. ‘However, I have a duty to the castle and the people of the city as well. And although it is a terrible responsibility for me, I have to execute my duty as I see fit. I will not permit the city or the castle to be laid waste just because of our interpretation of how the King would most like to see us behave.’

The Earl rose and slammed his fist on the table, making the cups and horns leap. ‘I will not listen to this bullock-turd! You say you agree I am Commander, and that is enough. I am in charge here – not you – and we shall hold this castle, no matter what.’

‘My lord Earl,’ Sir Charles said smoothly. ‘It cannot harm anybody to ask for an audience with the Queen. If we enter discussions, it does not mean we actually have to accept any terms given. All it does mean is that we know exactly where we stand. If we are informed that none of us will be allowed to leave the castle with honour, it makes all other discussions pointless. However, while we talk, we are delaying the enemy’s plans, even if by only a little. We have supplies here, so the time will not hurt us. And when the talks break down, as they almost certainly will, they will have to start from scratch with their siege machines. It is a delaying tactic, my lord.’

Earl Hugh looked at him, and in that moment Simon realised that the old man was at the end of his tether. He plainly knew that if all went foul with the King, his son must die. Sir Hugh le Despenser was the most detested man in the realm, and for him there would be no hiding-place.

What was more, if the mob tracked down Sir Hugh, they might decide to enforce the most brutal punishment. Others had suffered that final torment, of being hanged, drawn and quartered. It was the most appalling revenge society could inflict, and Earl Hugh knew that if the mob caught his son, he could expect no sympathy.

Simon looked away. It was a hideous prospect for any father. He himself was fearful that his own son might die here in the castle, but how much worse must it be for a man if his son were forced to endure ritual public slaughter? It was at that moment that he began to feel sympathy for the Earl.

The meeting ended shortly thereafter, and the Earl walked from the room like an old man; Simon noticed that none of the others in the chamber could meet his eye. It was like watching someone go to their execution, he thought. It only required the priest intoning prayers as Earl Hugh shuffled out.

But Sir Laurence was still at the table, toying with a reed while others muttered and mingled. Simon thought that this was as good a time as any to question him.

‘Sir Laurence, may I speak with you?’ he said.

‘Are you going to call me a coward or fool, too? No? Then yes, you may speak with me.’

‘I was asked to view a body the other day,’ Simon began. ‘It was that of a maidservant called Cecily. Did you know her?’

‘Everyone in the city knew of Cecily. She was notorious as the maid whose family was butchered,’ Sir Laurence said, leaning back in his chair. He aimed the reed like a dart, and threw it at Simon. ‘Well?’

‘You were seen with her on the night she died, and I wondered…’

‘You want to talk to me about that? She had come to me to ask about the men who’d been released – Squire William and others – and I was able to tell her that he was dead. That was all.’

‘You said just that and left her?’

Sir Laurence’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are asking whether I killed her, Bailiff? I did not. I was walking around the streets assessing the barricades I had ordered to be built. I didn’t have time for her petty concerns – especially since the man she most feared was dead.’

‘The Squire – where was he killed?’

‘East of here, some miles away. Sir Stephen viewed the body.’

‘At least she would have been comforted by that knowledge,’ Simon said.

‘Yes, so you would have thought – but, if anything, she was more distraught. She only demanded that his men should be arrested in his place. Nonsense!’ Sir Laurence blew out an irritated breath.

‘So, what then did–’

But the Constable cut him off, standing abruptly. ‘Enough. I spoke with her, she left. That is all that happened, and now, master, if you will excuse me, I have a castle to protect.’

Simon sighed. Sir Laurence was short-tempered, but that was not necessarily a sign of guilt. He had a lot on his mind at the moment.

Sir Charles led Simon to the buttery where the pair drank off a quart of strong wine each, but the drink had no effect on either of them. Outside the castle, they could hear cheering and singing, and the steady beat of a drum somewhere as people in the city celebrated their release and safety.

‘What will happen?’ Simon asked him, staring at a very drunk guard who was staggering along the wall of the hall.

Sir Charles shrugged. ‘We will either fight, in which case we shall very probably die together, or we shall arrange a peace and walk out of here with our heads held high.’

‘Which do you think it’ll be?’

Sir Charles looked at him.

‘Come, Bailiff. Let us try another jug of that wine. I’m not sure it wasn’t off, eh?’

Fourth Sunday after the Feast of St Michael[27]

Bristol Gaol

The morning was, for once, blessedly dry, and even inside the repellent little chamber in which Saul the Fosser had been thrown together with three drunks, one of whom threw up for the early part of the night until he had emptied his belly, and then retched until he passed out, lying snoring in a pool of his own vomit, the difference in temperature was noticeable. Not warm, but not as icy cold as it had been.

‘Fosser? Someone wants to talk to you.’

The door was pushed open, the rusty hinges screeching. In that enclosed stone space, the sound was like a dagger being thrust between the ears. Saul climbed to his feet, then made his way out through the door, past the gaoler, with his reek of old garlic and armpits, and found himself in a small chamber. There was a man there, who stood playing with the little dagger with its two rubies.

He was a very calm, quiet man, with a peculiar slow blink of his brown eyes. His hair was very dark, while his flesh was quite pale, a curious combination. He was wearing a long, dark-green tunic of very soft-looking woven material. It made Saul feel even chillier than usual to see such a rich, warm-looking fabric.

‘You are the man who was trying to sell this?’ the stranger asked.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Saul said immediately. ‘I was trying to make a little money, my lord, not–’

The man wasn’t impressed by his assumption of his rank, nor by his protestations of innocence. ‘Know that the man who carried this weapon was a felon who deserved the full penalty of law. If you killed him, it will not be weighed against you. But, if you know where his body lies, you must tell me now. I want to see him dead with my own eyes.’

Saul considered. There was the risk that this man was lying, of course, but he had the impression that the fellow was telling the truth. There was certainly no indication of any sorrow on his part for the late departed owner of the dagger. On the other hand, Saul had no idea who the owner was, unless it was the tall knight at the graveside.

‘I don’t know who he was,’ he said, and told all he knew. About the knight watching the burial of the woman, how he threw the packet into the grave while Saul replaced the earth, and then disappeared. ‘I think he was in the castle. Perhaps he is in there now?’

‘Perhaps he is. Describe him.’

‘He was tall, with a long crimson robe, and…’ It took only a little time to describe the man standing in the cemetery.

The knight considered him without speaking for a while. Then he nodded to himself. ‘Very well. I believe you. You will remain here for a little longer, Fosser, but it’s not a punishment.’

‘Please, my lord, no! Let me go home. It’s not as if I’ll be able to run away,’ he said, gesturing at his leg, hoping for sympathy.

‘It is not in order to punish you, Fosser. It is for your protection,’ the man said.