30 - King's Gold (47 page)

Whatever the reason, Baldwin was of no mind to drag him back to Berkeley if he was unwilling. He was happy to let the fellow go and continue alone with Edgar.

Simon was in the court with his servant Hugh when Baldwin clattered into the yard.

‘Good God, Baldwin!’ Simon exclaimed, his face wiped free of the look of introspection that had clouded it. ‘It is good to see you, old friend.’

In a short time they were inside the hall with mazers of wine in their hands.

‘So, what brought you back before the muster?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin told him about the fight with the Scots. ‘They were from Donald of Mar. Since they were heading south, Lord Berkeley felt that they could be gathering in order to try to free Sir Edward.’

Simon nodded doubtfully. ‘Rebels made an attempt on Kenilworth, and were slaughtered. They must be lunatic to try it here as well.’

‘But everyone will know that the garrison here has been denuded and that Lord Berkeley is away. They may well try again. So we must improve the defences in the time we have.’

‘How long is that, do you think?’ Simon asked.

‘My friend, I have no idea,’ Baldwin said frankly. ‘It could be a week, it could be a month. Not much more, though, I would think. The Earl of Mar will want the advantage of surprise.’

Simon nodded bleakly.

‘Simon, what is it that clouds your face so?’ Baldwin asked. ‘You looked glum as I rode in.’

‘Sir Jevan was slain a little over a week ago,’ Simon told him.

Baldwin gave a frown. ‘Do you have any idea who was the killer?’

Simon shook his head. ‘There was no witness, no indication as to who could have committed the crime. Only the fact that an axe was used. Perhaps that—’

But Baldwin was ahead of him. ‘Any man who sought to show it was the same person as he who killed the carter would do that. The woman and the priest from the vill are both gone, are they not?’

‘Yes.’

Baldwin nodded slowly. ‘Then I think that for now Dolwyn and his friends cannot be released. But we need not see them languish in the gloom and cold of a dank cell. We should devote our efforts to the protection of this castle, and they can help. Perhaps once that is achieved, we can return to this matter again.’

Willersey

The day was a dull one. There was no rain, but it might as well have been pouring, from the priest’s mood.

His garden had been invaded by slugs which had eaten the majority of his lettuces and peas, caterpillars had taken refuge in his cabbages, and before he could deal with any or all of them, he had been called to listen to the last confession of a farmer up in the shadow of the hill. The fool had been trying to separate a calf from its mother, and had been gored by her. Nobody thought he could survive more than a few hours.

Father Luke returned to the vill with a conviction that the world was not functioning as it ought. Only a few days ago he had been a contented man with many blessings to count, and now he felt as though his life was an abject failure. He had lost the King’s money, he had lost a pair of good fellows from his flock, and no matter what he tried, he was not able to console Jen.

Only this morning he had seen the poor child looking desolate. Perhaps, he wondered, he ought to speak with Agatha about her? But the widow was already doing all she could, and did not need his interference. No, he was better leaving her and the child alone, surely, and allowing them to find their own way to peace.

At the same time he still had John’s confession on his mind. He recalled how he had thought John such a pleasant fellow when he first met him – a cheerful soul with the smile of a rogue, he had thought. Little had he realised that John would become devoted to homicide: to murdering Sir Edward of Caernarfon.

Berkeley Castle

The discussion with Sir Richard and Simon Puttock had been intriguing to Sir Ralph. However, it was a matter of days ago now. They had not succeeded in capturing the murderer, and he wondered whether they ever would.

Sir Jevan had not been a congenial companion, and Sir Ralph did not bemoan his passing, but he took a keen interest in any issues that could lead to danger to his charge. If a murderer stalked the castle, he would wish to see the man apprehended.

Sir Edward himself was difficult in the mornings with a sore head, and grew more amiable as the day progressed. There was, indeed, little to occupy him now that the common pursuits of chivalry were denied him. But no matter what, Sir Ralph did agree with Gilbert that to allow the King to leave the castle to ride would present untold dangers.

For Sir Edward, the incarceration was tedious, but Sir Ralph was beginning to think that if he himself did not escape this chamber soon, he too would become quite mad. Being locked in here was taxing all his reserves of patience.

The only escape was to sit and consider who it was who could have killed Sir Jevan – and imagine how to defend Sir Edward, were the killer to try to assassinate him.

Minchenhamtone
⁵⁹

The little vill was peaceful as John rode in.

There was not much to the village – only a small market square, with a modest–sized chapel and a pair of inns and some taverns. It was a place which Stephen and Thomas had once told John was safe. They had relatives who owned the manor nearby and the people of the area were very keen supporters of the Dunheveds and the old King. If he had need, they said, he should make his way here.

He had greater need than ever now. Filled with depression, he felt all the miles he had covered in recent days as he reined in by an ale-house and gazed about him. The illness he had mentioned to Baldwin had not been feigned. It was a fresh manifestation of his inner desperation. If only Paul were still alive, so that he had someone with whom to discuss this whole matter. But Paul was dead, and there was no one else in whom he could confide. His desperation was caused by that very solitude that would, with luck, ensure a measure of success.

It had been hellish to travel with Sir Baldwin. All the way he had felt as though he was being studied, as though Sir Baldwin knew he was a member of the party determined to release the King. In honesty, he was unsure as to whether Sir Baldwin himself was devoted to the incarceration of the old King, or would aid his release. Perhaps he would support those determined to free Sir Edward of Caernarfon? Many might. Many would.

‘John? What are
you
doing here?’

John’s head snapped around and he found himself staring at Sir Edmund Gascelin. ‘I am glad to find you. The whole plan has been discovered.’

Sir Edmund swore under his breath. ‘How?’

‘Men of the Earl of Mar were captured and beaten. It was not their cowardice or treachery that betrayed us; the simple fact that they were men from the Earl was enough to alert Lord Berkeley. He’s convinced there’s to be an attempt to free Sir Edward.’

‘Is he returning?’

‘No, he has to attend the Muster, but he has sent a knight to warn the castle,’ John said as he swung himself down from the saddle. An ostler came to take his horse from him, and John and Sir Edmund entered the inn. Inside, John found the two Dunheveds, and he repeated his story to them.

Frere Thomas looked at Stephen. ‘Does it change anything?’

‘We have the men ready. If they aren’t going to increase the garrison as John said, we will be safe enough.’

Sir Edmund grinned. ‘In that case, the plan will go ahead. Soon we will have rescued our liege-lord from Berkeley, and there’ll be nothing anyone can do to stop his return to the throne.’

‘There will be war again,’ John said.

‘Of course there will. How else would he recover his throne?’ Sir Edmund had a savage look about him, keenly anticipating the battles to come. ‘You must return to the castle now.’

‘I can’t,’ John said dully. ‘Sir Jevan is there, and he knows me. If I go back, with so few men in the garrison he will be sure to recognise me.’

‘He’s no threat to you now,’ Stephen said. ‘William has sent a message. He’s dead.’

‘So now we can consider the battle,’ Sir Edmund said with a ferocious grin.

John nodded, but inwardly his heart sank. The prospect of thousands of deaths, in order to return the failed King to his throne, had become abhorrent to him.

Fourth Wednesday after Easter
⁶⁰

Cirencester

The little town was busy even though this was not a market day. Stephen Dunheved walked out into the sunshine with a sense that this was a good place for their efforts to begin.

He had heard that Cirencester had once been a great city, second only to London, but that was a fable to make the peasants here feel more important than they deserved. True, the local farmers had a good stock of sheep; their flocks were huge, and the fleeces they produced were very much in demand. That was the source of the town’s wealth: wool.

An apprentice barged into him, hurrying from a tavern, and Stephen swallowed the urge to clout him. He must not draw attention to himself in any way.

The sun was directly overhead when he finally heard what he had been waiting for. Hoofbeats. A cry, then a scream and shouting. He walked away from the roadside and waited near his own horse.

It was here, at the market square, that the riders came at speed. There were seventy of them all told, bold fighters from the Dunheved estates, wiry, tough Scotsmen with Earl Donald, and Welsh knifemen from the Marches, and Stephen’s brother at their head with Sir Edmund and John. They rode into the square and Thomas dismounted, walking to the middle.

‘Fellow Englishmen!’ he shouted. ‘Listen to me! They say that we are Godless people because we do not acknowledge the right of any to deprive our King of his crown. Who dares to think that a man should attempt to deny God’s own anointing? Who dares to think that God would approve of a man’s effort to overrule His judgement? This heretic and false knight, Sir Roger Mortimer, believes he has such a right. Do you?’

There was no sound from the people in the square. For the most part, they were staring about them at the force of men on horseback who stood ringing them, rather than at the Dominican.

Thomas walked in amongst them. ‘Listen to me, I say! You are in grave peril, my friends. For while you permit this traitor to rule, you are submitting to the man whom God would see brought down. You flout His laws when you honour this man who has demeaned the throne of your country, who has proved himself a traitor, and who even now commits adultery against God’s laws. Sir Roger Mortimer is a loathsome outlaw! You have a duty to rise up and overthrow him!’

Stephen could hear his brother, but it was obvious that his message was failing to attract the crowd. The townspeople here were not interested in an uprising. But no matter. Stephen had spent his money carefully and wisely.

It was as the Dominican was pleading with the town to follow him and march upon the castle, that there came a roar of support.

Stephen grinned. He had bribed with ale a gathering of thirty or more apprentices and labourers at an inn, telling them to come and join him when they had drunk his money if they wanted more. Now they were coming out to partake of more of his largesse, and there was a general movement away from them by the rest of the crowd.

Even then the situation might not have gone the way Stephen and Thomas had hoped, had not the castellan intervened.

A small force of men-at-arms appeared at one end of the square, with a knight at their head. ‘What in Christ’s name is all this noise about?’ he demanded, his horse nudging the men and women out of his way. ‘Who are you, Friar? What are these men doing here?’

His horse pushed over a woman, who screamed as she fell. The baby she carried had rolled under the feet of others, and her shrieks rose to Heaven. The noise under his horse’s hooves made the beast rear, and his men, thinking he was being attacked, brought their weapons to bear on the people in front of them, their polearms lowered threateningly. A man shouted defiance, which led to the drinkers from Stephen’s tavern to shout still louder, and while the knight battled to get his plunging horse under control, someone threw a stone that clashed against the helmet of a man-at-arms. He fell back, reeling, and that seemed to be the signal for others to begin to lift cobbles from the street and hurl them at the party from the castle.

Stephen saw a stone strike a man in the face. Beneath his steel bonnet, his features became awash with blood and he was shoved back out to safety behind his comrades.

‘Reject them! These are the same as the heretic criminal who sits behind the throne, and sleeps with the real King’s wife! Throw them from your square, people of Cirencester!’ Thomas bellowed, and suddenly the crowd began to roar. There was a forward push, and the men with the knight looked about them with fear. It was plain that they were alarmed to see this normally bovine town roused to such fury.

More stones, and then the mob was barging forward in earnest. The knight on his horse drew his sword and began to flail about him, but a rock the size of a man’s fist struck his unprotected temple, and he fell. His mount turned and bolted, and tore through the men-at-arms like a rock from a siege engine.

Stephen ran the risk of being drawn along with the people, but he stood his ground. There was a butcher’s shop nearby, and he eyed the meats on display. Next to a pair of hanging ducks was some sausage, dried and smoked, which he took. A youth in the shop asked for money, but Stephen struck him back-handed in answer, and left the lad bleeding on the floor as he walked back outside.

A full-scale riot was in progress. Men and women were screaming and baying, demanding that the group from the castle throw down their weapons, while more stones rattled about them. One of the men-at-arms was pulled into the crowd, and while Stephen watched, a maddened peasant with a cleaver took his head off, and then the rest of the men backed away, realising their danger. Stephen was sure that they would all survive – but then he saw more rocks and sticks being flung, and he knew that the men-at-arms stood no chance.