The Oath

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Bristol Castle

‘Sir Laurence! Wait, please!’

The knight turned at once, his heart still pounding painfully. Without the release of actual fighting, he felt weak, as though the explosion of rage that had flooded him had torn all energy from his soul. It was a huge relief to see that the person hailing him was David, his clerk.

‘Yes, old friend?’

‘Redcliffe, you remember? – you asked me to learn what I could. Good God, you look awful. Been back to the garderobes to get a whiff of the stench?’

‘Not now, David.’

‘Very well. The man you asked about was a merchant here in the city until he lost all his money. He was closed down some months ago. There were rumours that he was going to try to start again, but he had no money to begin.’

‘I see.’

‘There was a story I heard…’

‘What?’

‘Some say that he had been used by the King as a messenger, that he was especially trusted. He had been a purveyor of Spanish horses for the King, and used to take messages abroad for His Highness.’

Sir Laurence nodded, but he still felt numb and couldn’t quite grasp the significance of this. ‘What would that matter to Sir Roger, then?’

‘There is one possibility, sir.’ The clerk looked around cautiously before speaking. ‘This man could have been suborned by Sir Roger. If he was truly a man with access to the King, he could, perhaps, have been sent to try to assassinate him…’

‘No, surely not!’

Then Sir Laurence remembered the look on Sir Roger’s face, and thought about the latter’s strenuous efforts to be gone from here and chase after his quarry.

‘David, you keep this to yourself. Don’t mention it to anyone.’

Caerphilly Castle

In its own way, the note was thoroughly unremarkable. A short line it read simply: This man has my confidence. Give him all help. Roger Mortimer.

And yet nothing could have been more shocking to Sir Baldwin. This scrap of parchment was, in effect, a letter of safe-conduct for the man. A man who was supposed to be a loyal messenger to the King.

‘I don’t understand,’ Roisea protested. ‘How could he have something like this?’

It made no sense. Unless… ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, ‘Sir Roger Mortimer gave him free passage so that negotiations could continue?’

But he knew perfectly well that Sir Roger would be highly unwilling to negotiate with the King. There could be no discussions about how to surrender. The whole process of war for Sir Roger Mortimer was concentrated on destroying the King, utterly.

‘I don’t think so,’ Roisea said. ‘Thomas was never that close to the King. He was a merchant, that was all.’ Her face reflected her terror. ‘How could he do this? He was a traitor, wasn’t he? He must have been!’

Baldwin put a hand on hers. ‘There is nothing to say that. One line on a strip of parchment like this is not proof.’

‘What would the King say? Would he need a great deal of extra proof?’ she said agitatedly. ‘Destroy it! Please, Sir Baldwin, burn it!’

He took the strip and set it inside his chemise, passing her the purse again. ‘You keep that, and I shall keep this for now. It is nothing to do with you, and if you are asked, say you have no idea about it. You have not seen it. You do not know anything about your husband’s work.’

‘So you think he was a traitor, too.’

‘It is difficult to know what else to think,’ the knight admitted.

Jack was nearby, and Baldwin lowered his voice so that only Roisea could hear him. ‘Whatever your husband was trying to accomplish, it is too late now. He cannot be punished, and there is no point in making you suffer for his actions. So try to forget all about it, madame.’

She could not, of course. As Baldwin rode on, he could see the tears falling down her cheeks. This was the first time he had seen her weeping with such passion, he noted. The death of her husband had not affected her thus, but this discovery, which could potentially threaten her own safety, was different.

He put her from his mind. She was not important – but the note was. It showed that all he had done since meeting that evil, lying fool in Winchester had been based on deceit. He had diverted himself from his home in order to protect the man who was plotting to kill the King! Instead of bringing a messenger, he had brought an assassin. That was how he read the message, and he could see that Roisea thought the same. It was terrifying. But at least Thomas had been killed.

Which then brought another thought to his mind: if that man whom he had injured at Winchester, and then killed at the Severn, was actually determined to kill Thomas Redcliffe, then surely he had been ordered to do so by someone who was supporting the King and had learned something about the plot to hurt him. Which meant that Baldwin himself had tried to protect the assassin. If he had succeeded… A shiver of dread went through his frame.

The castle was before them now, the great keep rising up to a monstrous height. With such a small force as this, it looked enormous. So many of the King’s men had already disappeared, Baldwin wondered how long they could actually survive.

So long as he could keep silent about the note in his chemise, he would be safe. As soon as they arrived in the castle, he would seek a fire on which to burn it.

Bristol Castle

It was raining when they woke. It rained as they breakfasted; it rained as they packed their few belongings; it rained as they walked to their horses and saw them saddled and bridled; it rained as they mounted in the courtyard; it rained as they waited for the Queen and Mortimer to appear with the Duke of Aquitaine. The castle was an echoing chamber as heavy drops fell on helmets, armour, leather and the tiles of the roofs.

Simon wiped a hand over his face. ‘This is going to be absolute misery,’ he grunted.

At his side, Sir Charles, wearing a broad-brimmed hat that was already absorbing too much water, nodded. ‘I can scarcely remember a storm like this. It is, indeed, very unpleasant.’

Simon waved to the group standing at the door. There, he saw Margaret and Peterkin, with Hugh and Rob behind them. It was a wrench to be going, but Sir Roger had flatly refused to countenance releasing him.

‘I need you and every other spare man, Bailiff.’

‘But I–’

‘Will not be permitted to see the King by riding on ahead, Master Puttock. If you wish to do that, you will run the risk of your wife and child being kept here for a long time. I think that is plain enough.’

Sir Roger recollected something and lifted a hand to stay him.

‘Master Puttock – I recall that you were in France with another man. A knight.’

‘Sir Baldwin, you mean?’

‘A little while ago, a horse dealer and confidential agent of mine was murdered on the banks of the Severn. Do you think you know anyone who could have been there? No? Interesting. Well, it shows how even my agents can be killed. The assassin was, I think, on his way to the King. You may try to do the same if I release you. So do I trust you? No. But this way, you come with me, and your wife and child remain here in Bristol as hostages. You will serve me until I release you, Master Puttock, and you will do so with all your heart.’

The scene came back to Simon out in the ward. He turned back to the gates as the first men began to leave. This was not what he had hoped for when he had prayed that Despenser might be removed from power. The man was a poison at the heart of government, and Simon had wanted to see him destroyed – but now that his replacement was here, Simon was beginning to wonder whether he was any better. Perhaps Mortimer would be powerful enough to make changes, but if the main difference was only a name, Simon was not sure that the fighting and deaths would be worth it.

‘What did he say when you told him about the priest?’ Sir Charles asked.

‘Only that the man must have been lying. Who else had as strong a motive to kill Squire William as Father Paul? Sir Roger said he would have him arrested and brought here, but I think he has more on his mind than a mere churchman who may have committed homicide. There are murders all over the realm just now. Most will go unpunished.’

‘I wonder how he will get all these men across the Severn,’ Sir Charles said, glancing all around as they rode up the streets of Bristol towards the northernmost gate.

‘I don’t know, but if there is one thing that impresses me about this man, it is his ability to organise. He will surely have a plan.’

They spent the morning battling through torrential rain, heading north and east towards Gloucester. The river was too formidable a barrier, especially with this weather: there was no possibility of a crossing. In normal conditions, they might have made the city by nightfall, but with this downpour, that was out of the question.

‘I wonder where we’ll stay the night,’ Simon said miserably. ‘If this weather holds, we’ll need real roofs over our heads.’

‘I think you can dream of such things,’ Sir Charles said, ‘but do not expect your dreams to come true!’

Caerphilly Castle

He had not destroyed it.

The scrap of parchment was stored in his own purse for now, but Baldwin had changed his mind about burning it, for reasons he dared not consider too deeply. The main thing was, Roisea did not still carry it about her person. She was safe.

He had installed her in a house in the town itself. The castle was no place for a woman. Not now, with the garrison filling it.

Here, within Caerphilly Castle, there was an atmosphere of scarcely restrained panic amongst the men. Some were managing to hold themselves together; this was most apparent with the smaller, close-knit groups like Sir Ralph’s men. Even though his squire, Bernard, was suffering from the wound he had received at the Severn, he and Alexander were entirely devoted and loyal to the King. The three would not falter, Baldwin saw, and he was impressed by their fortitude.

However, others were losing control. There were several cases of extreme drunkenness, especially amongst the peasants. The more that Baldwin saw of these poor fellows, the more obvious it was that they were formed for farming or other country pursuits, not for drawing steel and trying to hack at another man. Although two men did just that last night, picking a fight with each other, bickering and spitting insults until at last one drew a dagger, and the two began rolling about in the muck, trying to stab each other. Afterwards, only one was left alive. Not any longer. His body now moved with the wind outside the castle walls, his face swollen, tongue protruding, the rope tight about his throat.

Baldwin knew that the execution was necessary, for with so many men, all armed, it was essential that order was maintained. But it was shameful to see such a waste of young men. The fellows here were all terrified of Sir Roger Mortimer’s men arriving, that was all. They knew they could expect little sympathy when Sir Roger demanded their surrender: there would be no quarter for any who refused. Thus it was that they retired to the buttery and undercrofts, seeking what solace they could in the wine and ale barrels. If the attack did not materialise for a couple of days, there would be no effective troops left, Baldwin considered. They would all be drunk or too hung-over to put up any resistance.

At least Caerphilly was one of the new design of castles: it required fewer men to defend it. There was no single keep as in castles of old. Instead there was a powerful curtain wall, strongly protected by a series of circular towers that allowed defenders to fire weapons at attackers below. There was a second wall, lower, but with similar defensive towers, and then beyond that a large artificial lake that encircled the whole castle. It lay in a wide, flat area with hills rising in the distance.

Baldwin could appreciate the location and the strength of the place. Originally it had been built for the Earl of Gloucester, and its construction had caused the wars in Wales. The Prince of Wales, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, had deprecated the appearance of such a fortress in the middle of his realm, and eventually his resistance was to lead to Edward I’s invasion with a huge force of fifteen thousaand men.

The castle remained, and when Despenser managed to acquire the lands, he took it over as well. It was now the strongest remaining fortress upon which the King could depend. After this place, there was nothing left. The men knew that, and drank to try to forget.

Baldwin was up at the battlements of the gatehouse when the rider appeared. He was rolling in his saddle with fatigue. The challenge was given and the gates finally opened, and the man trotted into the inner ward of the castle, having to be helped down from his horse as grooms held the reins.

‘I have messages for the King,’ he gasped.

The messenger was little more than a boy, Baldwin thought to himself.

As soon as the fellow had been taken into the main hall, he and all the knights and knights banneret were summoned to hear his words.

The fellow was kneeling on the ground when Baldwin entered. Sir Ralph and Bernard were standing opposite him, not far from the King, and as the men gradually filed into the chamber, Baldwin was struck by how even this room, small by the King’s standards, did not seem to be filled. Those men left who were loyal to Edward were pitifully few.

The King himself glanced about him as the men of his household entered, and his face had taken on a tragic mask, as though he suddenly truly appreciated his predicament.

As he should, Baldwin said to himself. He felt betrayed by the King. His life had been one of service, and while he had occasionally sought to thwart Sir Hugh le Despenser, yet had he always been loyal to his monarch. Through all the tribulations of the last ten years, Baldwin had been determined to remain so. Yet on each occasion when it had been possible for the King to step back from the brink, he had pushed on. Now the last opportunities had been squandered, Baldwin felt, and while there might be a face-saving scheme that would allow the King to recover some of his royal dignity, it was not entirely up to Sir Roger Mortimer. The King simply lacked authority.

He caught the eye of Sir Ralph, and could tell that the other knight was sensing the same dejection. All the men in the room must be aware of it.

‘Your Royal Highness, I bring very grave news,’ the messenger began. He remained kneeling, his head towards the ground, as though it would protect him from the inevitable wrath.

‘Speak. You need not fear in this room,’ the King said. ‘We are all understanding of your concern, my friend, but know that here we appreciate your courage in bringing us messages.’

‘Do you have a message from my father?’ Sir Hugh le Despenser blurted out. His fingernails were bitten so badly, Baldwin could see only a quarter inch of nail on each.

‘My Lord Despenser, I am sorry. Your father was captured.’ The messenger’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘He is dead.’

‘My father? No, he cannot be dead,’ Sir Hugh said. He was shaking his head, and now he put a forefinger into his mouth, raking the nail with his lower teeth. ‘My father is an Earl. They wouldn’t dare…’

‘The garrison surrendered three days ago, my lord. Your father was executed the day before yesterday.’

The King swallowed and put a hand on Hugh’s forearm to silence him. ‘Mortimer and my son – where are they? At Bristol?’

‘They were to leave Bristol yesterday, and make for Gloucester. They will, I think, be there tomorrow, and then I doubt me not that they will come here.’

‘And what then?’ the King said mildly. ‘They plainly intend to see me dead. I can see no other outcome for me.’

There was a protest, a cry of ‘No!’ but it was a solitary one. The majority of men within the chamber were eyeing each other thoughtfully, and all were considering the same: would they be safer, were they to leave the King and join with Mortimer? One or two, like the Chancellor, Robert Baldock, and Edmund Fitzalan, the Earl of Arundel, could expect little in the way of magnanimity when they were paraded in front of Mortimer. After all, they had shown none to him.

‘Come, what then? Is there any hope? Did you hear that they will send a man to negotiate with me?’

The messenger did not look up. Slowly he shook his head. ‘I have heard nothing of that, my liege. All spoke of the Mortimer riding with his host to find you.’

‘My friends,’ Edward said, ‘we are alone in this world. We have no means of escape. In truth, I fear I am the unhappiest King that ever ruled this sad kingdom. My doom is fast approaching.’