30 - King's Gold (41 page)

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ the guard interrupted. ‘That’s all I was told to say.’

As soon as the door closed, Sir Edward turned and walked to the window again – but not before Sir Ralph had seen the tears on his cheeks.

It should have been a sombre meal that evening, but as Simon walked into the hall he became aware of a holiday atmosphere.

This first service was full of ribald laughter and boasting about how those present would put paid to the ambitions of that mad felon Robert, who called himself the Bruce. He had been excommunicated and the whole of Scotland forced to suffer anathema because of his ridiculous claims that he should not be a vassal of the English King; however, no one paid him any attention. While he had succeeded in harming some English forces, he fought with a low cunning that was despised by men of chivalry.

The fighting men of Scotland preferred to hurry into England on their sturdy little ponies and commit various acts of violence upon the people of the north, harrying the peasants and farmers all the way down to York. They were a warlike, violent people, but obviously no match for the brave young English warriors, and with their new King to lead them, with the Regent at his side, the English must prevail.

That was the mood of the place, Simon saw. But it was not matched by Baldwin’s.

‘These young fellows have not fought against a desperate foe before,’ he said. ‘This war will not be so easy as they imagine. It would take three or four wars for them to become accustomed to the ways of the Scottish.’

‘Hah! You will be fine, my friend, and so will they,’ Sir Richard de Welles boomed from Baldwin’s other side. ‘These Scottish churls will be shocked to see how massive are the forces ranged against them this time.’

‘They want their freedom,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘That is something many men would think worth fighting and dying for.’

‘It all looks worthwhile fighting and dying for – until you’re standin’ in line with a wave of English clothyards
¹
aimin’ at your proud Scottish heart,’ Sir Richard chuckled.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, but Simon could see that he was not convinced.

Although he racked his brain for something that might divert his friend, Simon could think of no suitable topic to lighten the mood. It was a relief when Matteo Bardi arrived at their side and asked to speak with Baldwin.

Berkeley Castle

Simon and Sir Richard walked with Baldwin out of the court, through the open gate and out into the wide space before the castle.

‘Well?’ Baldwin asked the Florentine.

‘I am worried that I will die soon, and I would prefer that others whom I trust were told of my suspicions and fears before I am killed.’

Sir Richard snorted rudely. ‘Who’d be bothered to kill a banker?’

‘Tell us,’ Baldwin said.

Matteo glanced quickly at the castle before striding away towards the bridge over the moat.

‘This murder of the carter – it was not the first killing,’ he began. ‘You have heard that I was attacked and left for dead during the rioting in London? Well, my brother Manuele, head of our bank and our family in England, was slain that day. It did not occur to me that it was a malicious attempt to slay me at the same time. I considered it more likely that I was the unfortunate victim of the fury of the mob, and that I should forget it.’

‘But?’ Baldwin prompted.

‘The day of the attack I had been to a meeting of my family,’ Matteo said. ‘We discussed whether to throw our influence behind the Queen or the King. I was unsure, while my brother Benedetto wished to support the Queen, and Manuele wanted to remain on the side of the King. It was that same day that Manuele died and I was almost slain.’

‘You think your brother Benedetto could have stabbed you in London?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes.’

‘Hah!’ Sir Richard exclaimed. ‘That is a terrible suspicion to harbour – but you haven’t acted on it before, have you, eh? Why now?’

‘Because now I have learned that he had a meeting with the Queen’s agent that very same day,’ Matteo said. ‘With Sir Jevan de Bromfield.’

Baldwin was puzzled. ‘I do not see how that affects you.’

‘If Benedetto was so determined to throw the weight of the House of Bardi, behind the Queen, would he not also have been forced to silence all those stood in his way? Like me. And he would have wanted to remove the man dedicated to the old King: Manuele.’

‘Possibly so. But other explanations fit,’ said Baldwin. The tale Matteo told corresponded with the note Baldwin had given Sir Edward, and yet . . . ‘I was in London myself about that time, and I saw the effect of the rifflers on the city. It is quite likely that you and your brother
were
unfortunate, that it was just the mob howling for blood.’

‘Yes, it could have been – but who else had a reason to kill me, Manuele, and also my servant Dolwyn?’

‘What of him?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Just this: is it not curious that the man who carried a note from the House of Bardi to the King should be the same man to find this horse and cart? Perhaps someone heard he was passing that way, and decided to have him killed. By accident the wrong man was found and slain. Maybe the carter was asleep, and the assassins found him snoring, and slew him thinking he was the messenger they sought.’

Baldwin’s face screwed up as he considered the implications of Matteo’s words. ‘You assume that someone was able to track the man that efficiently, and yet miss him and kill the wrong one? And it follows on from an assumption of the possible guilt of your brother, which is itself dubious at best.’

‘These are only my suspicions, but if I die,’ Matteo said, ‘please do me the service of enquiring after me.’

‘Very well,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Now, is there anything else you would like to tell us? Because if not, my friend, we should return to the celebrations.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Matteo said disconsolately. His head was low on his shoulders, a picture of abject gloom. ‘I am sorry to have troubled you. But remember what I have said, sirs. I believe my life may be the next to be taken.’

Wednesday after Easter
⁴⁸

Berkeley

‘Simon, I am sorry to leave you here,’ Baldwin said.

‘I am sad you are to ride off,’ Simon replied. There was much he wanted to say, but the only words that came to mind were platitudes that had no place in their friendship. ‘Do you want me to take a message back to Jeanne?’

‘No. I hope I shall be able to speak to her myself,’ Baldwin said with a smile, but he was tense as he listened to the shouted orders from the front of the column.

Sir Ralph was in the ward, and he strode to Baldwin’s side.

‘I hope you have good fortune, my friend.’

‘And I you,’ Baldwin said. ‘Good luck with your charge, my friend. You must look after him as best you can. If you need aid, speak with my friend Simon. He is reliable, honest and trustworthy.’

‘I shall. Godspeed.’

‘Sir Baldwin? It is time,’ Edgar said. He was seated on his great rounsey, who pranced and chewed his bit, eager to be off.

Baldwin nodded. ‘Aye. We must away, Simon.’

‘Godspeed you back, Baldwin,’ Simon said.

His friend gave him a quick grin, and turned to his horse. He patted Wolf, and was about to mount, when he saw Sir Richard. Quickly, he crossed to the latter and had a brief word, then mounted, waved once, and was off with the rest of the cavalcade.

The whole rattling mass was deafening. Cooking pots and pans, dangling from carts, clashed and clanged; iron–shod wheels thundered and hammered against the cobbles, while the hooves of many horses together produced a cacophony of noise that was painful on the ears. Simon knew they would be lucky to manage twenty miles each day. More likely, they would only complete about fifteen, what with the ox-wagons lumbering along at the rear. The huge creatures needed so much time to rest each day, and the party must travel at the speed of the slowest.

Simon was about to re-enter the castle, when he saw Agatha hurtling from the gates, her face a tragic mask.

‘My cart! They’ve taken my cart!’

It was a disaster. To think that only yesterday she had been upset at the thought that the priest might leave her here, and now her family’s most valuable possession had been taken. It was hard to think of anything worse, other than that her house might collapse with her and Jen inside.

‘What will become of us?’ she wailed, and fell to her knees. ‘I am ruined! No man to run the house, no cart! How can I provide for my little girl?’ She began to sob with great racking gulps.

The man she knew of as the bailiff was walking towards her. ‘Mistress?’ he called, but she didn’t pay him any attention.

‘Mistress, come,’ Simon said, and put his hand out to her.

‘Get off me!’ she snapped, and beat at his hand. ‘You don’t know what this is like. How could someone like you understand? I have nothing! How can I provide for my little girl, when everything is gone?’

‘I have suffered too,’ Simon said. ‘I lost my house, my daughter . . . But all is well again.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she wept.

Simon looked up at the men of the castle who were standing about, and caught Sir Richard de Welles’s eye.

Behind the loud, obstreperous exterior, Sir Richard had a kindly soul. He stood over the woman with a stern expression, and trumpeted, ‘Woman, how far is it to your home?’

‘Many miles.’

‘Your daughter is there waiting for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you should return home to her. But before you go, I will give you a note which will confirm that your cart and horse have been taken by the lord’s purveyors. It is clear that you will have to have a receipt to mark the confiscation. And when the lord’s men return here, if you have any difficulty with them in terms of giving back your cart, you need only speak with the steward here.’

‘They won’t do as I need!’

‘Madam, they will do anything you ask if it means they will not have to answer to me,’ Sir Richard said with calm certainty.

‘I thank you,’ she said, wavering. It was only when she saw Father Luke that she hurried off to tell him too.

Simon eyed the knight with a grin. ‘Can you do that, or were you raising her hopes?’

‘It’ll do her and her daughter no good to be separated. And as coroner, if I tell her that I’ll try to recover her property, so be it. I will.’

‘What was it Baldwin said to you when he was about to ride off?’

Sir Richard’s smile faded. ‘He told me the King – Sir Edward, that is – wants the man Dolwyn freed if possible. God Himself knows why.’

‘You don’t think he was innocent?’

‘Simon, that fellow may not be guilty of this particular crime, but I’d lay odds that he is guilty of others. I doubt not he’s a thieving, murderous scrote who deserves the rope and will get it before too many years are past. So no, I am
not
happy that Sir Baldwin wants him freed to please Sir Edward. If I could, I’d probably have him hanged as Lord Berkeley wanted in the first place.’

‘
You’ve
changed your tune!’

‘Eh?’

‘It was only a few days ago that you decided to save his life.’

‘I did no such thing, Simon. No, I simply stopped him from being hanged without the officer of the law being there to witness and ensure that all was done in accordance
with
the law.’

He sighed and looked at the near-empty courtyard. There were a few men loitering, three grooms having a morning wet after their efforts preparing the horses for their journey, and over towards the gate Simon saw the older Bardi with that stern-looking knight, Sir Jevan. Both were in heavy conversation, their eyes following the dust cloud that obscured Lord Berkeley’s men.

‘I just hope we don’t regret this,’ Sir Richard added in his quietest voice.

‘What do you mean?’ Simon saw Sir Jevan turn and meet his look with a cold indifference. The arrogance of the bastard, Simon thought to himself, and then he saw Sir Jevan’s face change. A scowl of recognition seemed to pass over his features, and when Simon shot a glance behind him, he saw the man-at-arms, John. What had that fellow done to upset him? he wondered.

‘Well? What do you think?’ Sir Richard said.

Simon had not heard his comment. ‘Eh?’

‘If this fellow gives his oath, d’you think we can rely on his word?’

‘Yes. For what good it’ll do.’

‘Does he understand making an oath on the Gospel?’

‘Of course he does. Do you think him a fool?’

Sir Richard nodded. He turned to John. ‘You! Go and fetch me the gaoler. I want a word with him.’

Dolwyn stumbled out into the sunshine with a baffled, anxious look about him. He was glad to be out of the gaol. Senchet and Harry joined him a moment or two later, brought from the chamber in the main keep where they had been held since their release from the gaol itself.

‘
DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND ME
?’ Sir Richard roared. ‘I am releasing you on your own oaths. You can help about the castle as best you may, you can walk about the court here, and if you want, you can wander outside a little. But every night you will return to us here and take your beds in the keep. You will be locked in, and released in the morning. It is possible that one or two of you,’ he added, staring ferociously at Harry and Senchet, ‘may try to escape the castle and run. If you do, you will be called to court and, I swear, you will be declared outlaw for your bad faith. If you run, I will personally hunt you down, and I will have your heads as outlaws. You understand me?’

All three nodded dumbly. Dolwyn felt his ears ringing from the man’s bellowing voice, but he did not care. It was so good to be outside once more.

‘You have been found guilty of murder, Master Dolwyn,’ Sir Richard continued. ‘It was a legal court, and the Lord of the Manor has declared your offence. That means you are living under sentence of death now. If the coroner agrees with the sentence, you will hang. But there’s little need to keep you in the castle’s dungeon since it would only hasten your end. So you have some freedom for a little. Use your time wisely. You two – I hold you responsible for him,’ he barked at Hary and Senchet. ‘If he escapes, you will be taken and held in the gaol. You understand me? You are his gaolers now. So look after him!’