30 - King's Gold (29 page)

She had seen the tyre marks of a cart when she went and looked. The tracks were some distance from Ham’s body, but distinctive. Even days after his death, they were plain on the ground. She knew that he had done as he usually did: hobbled the horse, set the cart in a quiet, hidden place among trees, and then gone to sleep a short way away.

Someone had found the cart, or discovered the horse hobbling about, and took them, together with all the valuables on the back of the cart. Well, Agatha wanted them all back.

She heard the priest knocking on her door and calling. It took her no time at all to kiss Jen, make her promise to listen to the other adults in the vill, and to see the neighbours if she had any difficulties, then collect her food and drink, wrapped in a large square of muslin, and join the priest at the door.

‘You are sure you wish to do this, mistress?’ he asked hopefully. He would prefer to avoid another walk.

‘Of course I am,’ she snapped. ‘I have to look after us now that Ham’s dead, don’t I?’

Father Luke nodded sadly. The journey to Worcester was a long one, and he had already endured enough travelling to last him many years. Even the prospect of a pilgrimage to Canterbury, which he had until recently viewed with enthusiasm, was not to be borne. No, if he could, he would remain here in Willersey for the remainder of his days.

‘Come on!’ she called. ‘If we don’t leave now we’ll never get anywhere.’

He glanced about him at the little vill as she set off, stumping heavily up the roadway. Jen stood in the doorway, her hands on the doorpost, staring wide-eyed after her mother, like a child who feared she would soon be orphaned.

All her confidence was gone now, Father Luke saw. The little girl who only a few weeks ago had continually surprised him with her maturity and intellect, was lost. With her father gone, she had realised that the world was infinitely more dangerous than she could ever have foreseen.

He set his jaw, took his staff, and moved off after Agatha, filled with a grim resolution. He would find that damned cart, and the chest – and he would keep it. The man who had been King had no use for the money, for it would not change his life one whit, but here, in this vill, it could work a wonder. It could even save that little girl from living in fear.

Somehow, he would find that money.

Kenilworth

Matteo walked down to the yard as Lord Berkeley’s men gathered there. The lord was giving orders to his men, and Matteo bowed as he presented the indenture.

‘My lord, this is for you. It is the authorisation for you to take Sir Edward of Caernarfon to your own castle.’

Lord Thomas took the parchment and opened it. ‘Good. Where is the Earl?’

‘He is away,’ Gilbert said reluctantly. He had been standing over at the entrance to the hall, but now he stepped forward. ‘May I help you, my lord?’

‘This is an indenture for the release of Sir Edward into my hands. I am to take him to Berkeley,’ Lord Thomas said pleasantly. ‘It is signed by the King.’

‘My lord, I have no . . . Please, can you wait until my lord the Earl returns? He should only be a little while longer, and I am sure—’

‘I have urgent business,’ Lord Thomas said tersely. ‘Prepare Sir Edward for his departure.’

‘My lord, I—’

‘At once.
’

‘My lord, I do not think you should attempt to remove Sir Edward until Earl Henry has viewed the indenture,’ Sir Jevan said.

‘You are?’

‘My name is Sir Jevan de Bromfield.’

‘You are a household knight of the Earl of Lancaster? I am glad to meet you, Sir Jevan. However, I have been ordered in the name of the King to remove Sir Edward for his own protection. It seems that the defences here were insufficient. Perhaps that was intentional – I don’t know. However, my task is bring Sir Edward to safety and that, Sir Jevan, I shall do. If you wish to thwart me and my men, I think you will find it difficult.’

Thursday before Palm Sunday
³⁴

Kenilworth Castle

‘Morning, Master Puttock. How are ye this morning, eh? It’s a fine morning for a sore head, I daresay. Good God, breathe that air. Makes you glad to be alive, hey?’

Simon heard Sir Richard approach from the far side of the outer ward where the good knight had been glancing over his rounsey, and now he nudged Simon with a beaming smile. ‘Bad head, eh? I know what it’s like. You need a quick cup of strong ale to settle your stomach, man, that’s all.’

The thought was almost enough to make Simon spew again. He had already had to stick his head out of the window when he woke, and after trying to eat a little breakfast, he had resorted to running for the midden, where he had brought it all up again. It was outrageous to suggest that he should take more ale when his head was entirely due to the knight’s carousing the night before!

‘No,’ he said weakly.

‘Well, if you don’t want a solid cure for your head, man, you only have yourself to blame, eh?’

Simon gave him a sour look and walked over to the horses. His own beast was looking well enough after almost a day of rest, and he was glad to see that a patch where the saddle had rubbed on its withers appeared to have healed, after the groom had spread some goose fat over the area.

‘There he is,’ the groom said with a nod of his head towards the inner ward’s gates.

Simon turned to see Sir Edward of Caernarfon walking past.

‘He looks sad,’ Simon said quietly.

‘He is, I expect,’ said Sir Jevan, who had been patting his own horse a short way away. He joined Simon. ‘Hard to imagine how he must feel, eh? His children won’t see him, his wife hates him, and his subjects have forgotten him. What a disaster it must seem, to see all his works set aside.’

Simon shrugged. Perhaps the King was experiencing a little of the horror that had been visited upon the people of his realm. In his opinion, the King did not deserve any more sympathy than Despenser.

And yet Simon still found himself feeling sorry for the man.

There was a goodly number of men around the King as he trotted to the outer ward. Beside him was a squire, whom Simon recognised from the King’s household in Westminster, although he could not remember the fellow’s name. At the other side was the King’s Gaoler, a Sergeant called Gilbert. Then came more servants and a contingent of guards. None of them terribly prepossessing, he thought.

Mostly they were scruffy-looking fellows with long knives, leather jerkins and toughened leather caps on their heads. Welsh, from the look of them, he thought. Mortimer had many Welsh friends, and was trusted by the Welsh, as was Sir Edward of Caernarfon himself. It made for confusion among the peoples of the Principality when Mortimer decided to rebel.

‘Ho! Looks like we should mount,’ Sir Richard said. He left Simon and swung himself onto his beast, settling instantly like a man born in a saddle. Simon took a little longer, and when he was seated, he saw Hugh scowling ferociously while two grooms tried to curb their amusement, holding his pony still for him while he attempted to get his foot in the stirrup.

Watching Hugh, Simon did not pay attention to the others, and he was surprised to find that a man had ridden up close. He looked across – and felt a little of his sore head dissipate at the gladsome sight.

‘Baldwin! What in God’s great name are
you
doing here?’

‘Old friend, I was about to ask you the same question,’ Baldwin said, gripping Simon’s arm.

There was a shout at the gate, a slow rumble as the great baulks of timber swung open on their huge hinges, and then amid a loud trumpet blast, Gilbert gave the order for the unruly mob to ride off. Soon all fifty men were moving, Gilbert in the lead, while the old King was surrounded by the majority of the men-at-arms behind him.

Kenilworth

John climbed into the saddle with a sigh of thankfulness. He had no desire to be on horseback again so soon, but anything was better than remaining here in the castle. He constantly felt the need to keep his head down. It was a relief that he had been billeted outside the castle itself, along with many of the Berkeley men. There was not room for all inside.

It was impossible not to be worried. No matter where he looked, he saw men against whom only a few days before, he had fought. That fellow there, to the left of the main gates, he was one of those who had stood in John and Paul’s way as they tried to rush the gates; that fellow by the windlass, he was one of those John had seen in the yard. All about him were men who would be sure to recognise him at any moment. His nerves were in tatters.

A shiver ran through his frame at the thought that this was the place where Paul had died. It was here that John himself had killed the guard at the gate. More blood, he thought, more unnecessary death.

Already the horns were blaring their strident call, and the first of the men were beginning to walk on their horses towards the gates, led by their two commanders, Lord Thomas de Berkeley, and his brother-in-law, Sir John Maltravers, who both made a show of hardly acknowledging the presence of their charge. Lord Thomas gave Sir Edward of Caernarfon a curt nod, John saw, but nothing more. It was deeply insulting, and he seethed with indignation on Sir Edward’s behalf. Not long ago, those two men were in gaol because of their disrespect and treachery to their King. And now they felt they could treat that same man with the contempt usually reserved for a villein from their estates. For his part, he felt only sympathy and sadness. Like him, Sir Edward had lost all his closest friends and companions.

He clapped spurs to his beast’s flanks and clicked his tongue, and soon he was moving off with all the others, and as he went, his worry about being discovered was blown away with the wind. Once the cavalcade was outside the gates, and away from that dread garrison of men loyal to Earl Henry of Lancaster, it would be time for him to follow with the rearguard. At that thought he felt renewed, and could look about him with his head held high once more.

And then he saw that among the last men to leave the castle was Sir Jevan de Bromfield on his horse, and John felt his heart sink to his feet as he ducked his head down and pulled his hood over his brow.

Kenilworth Castle

‘So where have you been hiding?’ Baldwin said.

‘Hardly hiding,’ Simon grunted. They were thundering over the causeway now, and the low, grumbling sound was making his head pound still harder. ‘Sir Richard met me at Edith’s house.’

‘Oh, he is here, is he?’

‘Hence my head.’

Baldwin smiled. A man who was abstemious himself, he rarely suffered from hangovers, but he could at least sympathise with a man in as much pain as Simon. ‘Hopefully it will improve as we ride. That is the pleasure of riding in good, clear weather.’

‘Apart from the dust,’ Simon pointed out grimly.

Already, as the lead horses left the wooden causeway and trotted over the dried earth of the roadway at the other side, a fine mist was forming in the air.

Baldwin nodded and pulled at his neckerchief. He would tie it over his face, now the dust had become worse.

‘When did you get here?’ Simon asked.

‘Three days ago,’ Baldwin said with a grin. ‘Apparently Sir Edward asked to have friends whom he could trust to join him on the road.’

‘Why you as well?’ Simon wondered. ‘Aren’t there enough here already?’

‘We’re here to help guard him from
you
, Simon, and the rest of the men here,’ Baldwin said.

Simon winced. ‘I don’t think I want to hear any more.’

‘We will be well enough,’ Baldwin said. ‘Sir Ralph is riding with the King, and we agreed that I would have a look over the rest of the men in the escort. I would be glad if you would too, and let me know if you see or hear anything suspicious, old friend. It is good to know that you are here, and Sir Richard. If ever there was a man less likely to be a danger to the King, it would be him.’

‘I have heard nothing,’ Simon said. He cast a look about them, idly studying the men nearest. ‘The only fellow I have encountered here is a man called Sir Jevan. Do you know him?’

‘By reputation. He is one of the new breed of knight,’ Baldwin said dismissively. ‘One of those who lives by the sword and seeks only enrichment, the same as those who flocked to Despenser’s side – not that Sir Jevan was one of them. I believe he hated Despenser with a passion. Still, he is a man who thinks that the strongest deserve praise by virtue of their power.’

‘I was not impressed,’ Simon admitted.

‘Good,’ Baldwin chuckled. Then a cloud of dust rose and enveloped them and he coughed. ‘Dear heaven, this ride will be as pleasant as riding across the Holy Land.’

‘A little less hot, I hope,’ Simon muttered.

‘So do I,’ Baldwin said.

‘So, why does Sir Edward of Caernarfon think he needs protection?’

‘Because he thinks you, or someone else here who has no reason to remember him with fondness, will attempt to assassinate him.’

‘You jest.’

‘Oh, no, Simon,’ Baldwin said, and Simon saw the truth in his eyes. ‘I do not make jest at all. He believes it. And so do I.’

South of Kenilworth

John rode as far to the back of the mounted men-at-arms as he could, keeping his hood over his head and a strip of cloth over his mouth. Many others were covering their faces against the rising clouds of dust that clung to the inside of a man’s mouth and nostrils like flour in a mill. It was a horrible sensation, true enough, but it was not so revolting to John as the sight of Sir Jevan.

He gritted his teeth. It would be impossible to feel safe while that bastard was with the escort. If Sir Jevan so much as caught a glimpse of his face, John was done for. It was a miracle that he had not already been recognised. Fortunately he had changed his clothing when he arrived at the castle, giving his tunic and hosen to the laundress who had joined the party, which was perhaps why he had escaped Sir Jevan’s attention so far. That, and the strategic use of his hood, had probably saved him.

He would have to try to keep out of Sir Jevan’s way. With so many men sprawling over so large an area, it was easy enough to remain undetected. Here at the rear, John was nearly a quarter of a mile or so behind the knight.