30 - King's Gold (43 page)

It was not easy, Simon reflected, to find a place where no one else would hear Sir Richard’s booming voice.

‘Are ye sure?’ the knight said in what he fondly assumed to be a quiet tone.

Simon nodded, looking down into the castle’s court at the men milling about there. The place had settled into a new routine in the last few days since the departure of Lord Berkeley and his men. Now there were three men sitting out at the entrance to the main block where Sir Edward of Caernarfon was kept. Sir Ralph now shared the chamber with Sir Edward at all times. He was the constant companion, who shared in every meal, who watched over every visitor, and stood always between his former King and any possible danger.

If Alured was right, and Sir Jevan
was
a murderer, there were enough men here to capture him and make him safe. The garrison was reduced to a minimum, with perhaps thirty or so men, and the host of labourers was possibly larger than the garrison itself. There were only a few genuine men-at-arms, but they should be enough to help capture one man even if he were inclined to try to kill again.

‘Ye know, not all murderers are maddened fools,’ Sir Richard mused. ‘Would it not be better to speak with this Sir Jevan and see what he has to say? The man seemed reasonable enough when we met him.’

‘Perhaps. But I would be anxious that he might attack us and then flee.’

Sir Richard looked at him. ‘
Flee
? I don’t think he’d get far if we had the gates locked first.’

‘You think so?’ Simon said. ‘Those gates are so old, the lock so worn, I daresay he could pull them apart! But if you are sure, I would be happy to go and talk to him with you.’

‘There he is,’ Sir Richard said, pointing.

Down in the court Simon saw the knight speaking with the older Bardi brother, Benedetto. ‘Let’s go and tackle him, then.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Richard agreed, but his mind was elsewhere, Simon saw. The coroner was staring down past the two men towards a dark, shadowed doorway. ‘Isn’t that the other fellow?’

‘Yes. It’s Matteo Bardi,’ Simon said. ‘He’s watching and listening to them, isn’t he? And he did accuse his brother of trying to kill him. Do you think Benedetto and Sir Jevan could be in league?’

Willersey

Father Luke had never been so glad to return to his church. Travel, he thought, may broaden the mind, but for him, remaining here in his vill was infinitely better. The whole journey had been a disaster. He had learned that his bishop viewed him as a vile womaniser, just because he had tried to help a widowed parishioner in need. And then the wretched castle at Berkeley, with the lord and his men keen to steal what they could. A horse and cart were useful items – and the fact that the thief Dolwyn of Guildford had dropped them into the lord’s lap made them only more attractive.

At least poor Agatha had her note from the kindly knight Richard de Welles, and he had promised to ensure that she did recover her property later. That was good. At least that knight was honourable, Luke thought to himself.

He was in his meagre garden, weeding and pulling the snails and slugs from his lettuces. It was good to bend and work like this, revelling in the sunshine and thanking God all the while for His bounty. At last, Father Luke felt that he was regaining a little of his composure.

Looking up, he saw Jen at the door to her house, a large pail of water from the well in her hand. She looked, if anything, more pale and fearful than ever, the poor child. She had been blooming before her father’s death, but his dying had changed her for ever. Any child would miss her father if he was taken from her prematurely, but to see his murdered body, with the axe still in his head . . . that must have been traumatic.

He saw her glance in his direction – a pale, seven-year-old child, skinny from lack of food, with eyes as wide as a puppy’s waiting for a thrashing, before she quietly slipped into her house.

Yes, it was terribly sad to see her in that state. He would pray for her. No young girl should suffer so much.

Berkeley Castle

Simon hailed the two as he and Sir Richard descended the stairs. ‘Sir Jevan, Master Bardi. Could we speak with you a moment?’

Sir Richard smiled widely at the sight of the two men. Sir Jevan was a smaller man than him, but very wiry. He would be a tough opponent, Sir Richard felt sure, if they were to come to blows.

Sir Jevan snapped, ‘Yes? What do you want?’

Simon pulled a face. ‘It is a difficult question to pose. You see, I have been discussing with the good knight here a troublesome matter.’

‘My friend is reluctant to mention it,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Sir Jevan, it’s said that you were in London at the time of the rioting last year. That right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you went to have a meeting with this man, too,’ he gestured to Benedetto, ‘because you were arranging finance for the Queen, so we’ve heard. Nothin’ wrong with that. But the same day, a couple of youngsters were killed behind your house, Master Benedetto. Did you hear of that?’

‘Was it the same day?’ Benedetto enquired. He had a well-meaning smile on his face that Sir Richard did not trust for a moment. ‘I heard of their deaths, of course, but did not realise they had occurred on that very day. A terrible time. My brother was killed there, too.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Richard said without hesitation. Alured had told Simon it was the same day, and he was unlikely to have got it wrong. In one day, Alured had found rioters, seen the Bardi house invaded, found Matteo lying on the ground, and then discovered the two dead bodies. Sir Richard found such testimony convincing.

‘I don’t remember it distinctly,’ Benedetto said.

‘What of it?’ Sir Jevan barked.

‘There was a man seen with the two youngsters. He killed them. The witness said he wore good, Cordovan leather boots of a dark reddish-brown, with tassels to match,’ Simon said. He looked down at the tunic of Sir Jevan.

‘Half London wears good leather from Cordova,’ the knight said without lifting the hem of his tunic.

‘Perhaps so. However, half London was not in the area on that day,’ Simon said.

‘Do you accuse me?’ Sir Jevan said, taking a small step nearer.

‘I ask: was it you who killed these two young people?’ Simon demanded.

‘He was with me that day,’ Benedetto interjected.

Sir Jevan eyed Simon. ‘I do not recall the details of that day, but I do remember that there were many men running hither and thither. Any of them could have been a murderer, and yet you dare to suggest I had something to do with this crime? Your presumption is astonishing!’

‘Do you deny it, then?’ Sir Richard demanded bluntly.

‘Show me the fool who dares accuse me,’ Sir Jevan said. ‘I will see him in court, and he will pay for his presumption!’

Sir Richard watched as he stormed away.

Simon looked at him. ‘Well?’

‘He did it,’ Sir Richard said without hesitation. ‘And so now I think we should be cautious, my friend. A man like him should be treated with care.’

Simon nodded. Then, ‘I will warn Alured, too. He should beware of Sir Jevan’s temper.’

Second Tuesday after Easter
⁵²

Berkeley Castle

The screams rose like those of a tormented banshee, and Dolwyn threw himself from his bench with the swift reactions of a man used to danger. He rolled to the corner of the wall, his fingers gripping his sword already, the blade a wicked grey blur in the air before him, his mouth slightly open as he listened intently.

‘What in God’s name was that?’ Harry whispered from the farther corner of the chamber.

‘My friend, I do not want to find out on my own,’ Senchet muttered from between the two.

They had taken this room for their own after the lord had ridden off to meet King Edward III. It was a good-sized room in the castle’s keep, with the added advantage that it was far enough from the guard rooms to leave them feeling safe from a possible stab in the dark, and the door had a lock that worked, and two bolts.

Dolwyn went to the door now, and tested the bolts. They opened smoothly. He had spread some butter thickly on them last week to make sure that he could slide them silently, and now that effort paid off. Without speaking, he pulled the door open and glanced out. ‘No one there. Come on!’ he whispered, and darted out.

He stepped quietly along the narrow passageway, listening. The screams came from farther up, and he moved cautiously, his feet finding the stone flags and testing each before he continued. The hairs on his neck rose, and he felt as though there was a band of steel wrapped about his breast, contracting with every step until to breathe was an agony.

Another ungodly shriek. Dolwyn felt sure that his lungs would burst with the strain – and then he saw a glimmer of grey in the corridor before him: a window, with the glorious bright moon illuminating the way. He pelted across the last of the stones and reached the window, feeling the cool night air flood his body, and then, as the next scream shivered through the very stones of the castle, he took courage and ran onwards, hearing Harry and Senchet close behind him.

He knew this place. It was a part of the tower where the outer walls had weakened and fallen. Below in the yard was the place where the labourers and masons slept, in tents and lean-to buildings. There were pieces of masonry all about, and he stumbled on rock chips as he went, searching for the source of those horrible screams.

When he saw the body, it was only the legs at first. They protruded, still kicking, from between two walls of rock, where the man had been deposited. Blood lay all around, and Dolwyn’s feet slipped on it as the man struggled and thrashed about desperate to keep a hold of his life.

Road near Stoke-on-Trent

They had made good time in a week, John of Shulton thought as he stirred himself from his bed that morning and peered about him in the gloom of a foggy day.

He had caught up with the lord’s men in only an hour or so of moderate riding, since the column was travelling slowly with so many carts and wagons in its train. Once there, he had made his way to Sir Baldwin, as being the most friendly face he knew. The knight nodded to him amicably enough, but Edgar’s smile was a warm welcome to John, who felt so lonely still.

As he gradually eased himself upwards, he winced with the stiffness that came from sleeping in the open air.

‘You slept soundly,’ Edgar said. He was already squatting at the side of a small fire. Others in the camp had fires, too, but Edgar’s was the only one which did not spit fitfully and smoke. Instead there were good flames licking upwards from the few sticks and chopped logs, and already he was about to set a pot on top to warm some water before making some soft bread.

‘Don’t I always?’ John said with a smile.

‘Not usually, no. It seems you are easier in your mind the further you are from Berkeley. Or the monk from near Gloucester.’

John felt a little silver of ice pass down his neck. ‘Really?’

‘Friend, I have no idea what you hurry from, but now you are joining us on a different adventure. We ride to war. There is no time for doubts and anxiety in battle. So whatever you flee, you are safe here.’

John tried to take comfort in Edgar’s words, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was Sir Jevan’s face – and that was no comfort at all.

Berkeley Castle

The castle had soon been roused and almost at once men had grabbed Dolwyn, Harry and Senchet, and thrown them against the wall.

‘We found him here,’ Dolwyn protested. ‘I was just First Finder – I didn’t hurt him, nor anyone else, either. Let me go!’

But his words were in vain. As he and the other two were forced back, swords at their throats, more men arrived, gazing down in horror as the light entered the corridor with the rising sun.

‘
WHAT IS ALL THIS
?’ Sir Richard demanded as he barged his way through the press. ‘Man killed, eh? Who is it? And who did for him? Where’s the First Finder?’

It was a guard near Harry who responded, pointing to Dolwyn and describing how he was found, sword in hand, and blood all over his face.

‘What d’you have to say to that, eh?’ Sir Richard demanded, standing over Dolwyn.

‘Simply that I am First Finder. I came because this poor devil’s screams woke me, just as they did my friends here. And the man was almost dead when I got here. But my sword is clean. You look at it – no one’s been stabbed with it.’

‘Aye. Let’s see it,’ Sir Richard said.

A man indicated the sword. It lay near the body, in a pool of blood, where it had fallen when Dolwyn was forced to drop it.

‘I was made to put it down,’ he protested. ‘I can’t help that.’

Simon was crouching reluctantly near the body. ‘There is an axe here, a small hatchet,’ he said. ‘This is what killed the man.’

‘Who is it?’ Sir Richard said. ‘I haven’t looked at him yet.’ He turned to peer down at the body, and then shot a look at Simon. ‘Is it who I think it is?’

‘Yes, Sir Richard. It’s Sir Jevan.’

Berkeley Castle

Simon spent much of the morning with the labourers and masons.

The hole in the wall of the chamber in which Sir Jevan had been found had been caused by a collapse in the outer wall of the tower itself, although that facing the inner ward was still sound. Like much of the rest of the fabric of the castle, this square tower set into the south-western corner of the wall had become sadly dilapidated during the period when the Despenser had overtaken the castle, because he wanted no strong fortresses at the edge of his own territories, and had deliberately weakened the buildings and walls.

‘Did you not hear the cries in the night?’ he asked a labourer.

He was sitting on a rock, while Hugh and two castle servants brought the workers to him. The responses were shifty at best. One man shook his head in frank denial, and pointed to his ears. Simon was given to understand that he was deaf. Another stated with conviction that the screams were those of the Devil carrying a soul to hell, but for the most part the men here denied hearing anything, or if they did hear, they didn’t know where the screams came from.