Michael Jecks - King's Gold

It was the same in all vills and towns up and down the kingdom, he thought. Wherever men lived, there was filth to be cleaned. In a way, he was a scavenger too, tidying up the unpleasant little problems the Bardi family preferred to keep hidden. Once he had worked for Matteo alone, but now he was henchman to the bank itself.

He couldn’t complain. His post was well paid, and he needed the job. Since losing his wife and daughter, working was the only thing that kept him moderately sane.

In the yard behind the tavern, a cockfight was about to start, and the audience was gathering. At one side of the pit were men-at-arms from the castle, while a sprinkling of locals watched sullenly from the other side.

‘There is bad feeling,’ Dolwyn commented to a neighbour.

‘What do you expect? Those prickles take everything they can, even our women. Whatever we do, they elbow their way in.’

‘It must be difficult when they’re all over the town,’ Dolwyn said sympathetically.

There was a bellow of laughter from the yard, and Dolwyn turned to see one of the castle’s men grabbing at a cockerel in the pit, and wringing its neck. The body he flung carelessly to one side, while another pair of birds were brought and armed with the vicious spurs, teased and tormented by their handlers to the point where they could not be held. Then, in a flash of feathers the two sprang into the air, trying to rake each other with spurs and talons.

‘See that squire? He’s porter of the castle, he is. A right devil. All he cares about is money.’ Dolwyn’s neighbour indicated the man who had killed the cock.

Dolwyn studied the fellow. Thick-set, short in the neck, but with an impressive breadth of shoulder, he was dark-skinned, and wore a thin beard with plenty of ginger in it. His dark eyebrows almost met over his nose, and his equally dark eyes seemed very knowing. He looked across and met Dolwyn’s stare without interest, as a man might survey a slug, before returning to the contest.

‘What money?’ Dolwyn asked.

‘He’ll take anything he can,’ the man said.

Dolwyn nodded, and finished his ale. He bought another and wandered back out to the yard, watching the men at the pit. He enjoyed cockfighting.

Feathers were flying about, and one cockerel was weakening, his head hanging a little, while blood dripped from his comb and beak. An eye was gone, and his left wing was twisted and useless. Enfeebled, he watched from his good eye as his opponent circled closer, and waited for the final assault.

There was a loud squawking. The fresher cock leaped up high, and it seemed impossible for the other to defend himself. . but then he darted to the side, and as the other came down, in a somewhat ungainly manner, he jumped just high enough, and a barb caught the other cockerel in the back of the neck. There was a sudden spit of blood, and the one-eyed bird was the victor.

Both birds were soon dead, their bodies thrown to a boy, who sat plucking them. The porter stood, wiping his hands on a cloth, but when he saw Dolwyn again, his eyes narrowed. Dolwyn was about to walk away when the porter accosted him.

‘Hey, you. You’re a stranger,’ he said.

‘Yes. I am a traveller.’

‘Where are you going, traveller ?’

‘I am on my way to Warwick from Leeds for my lord, the Earl of Chester,’ Dolwyn said mildly. Earl of Chester was King Edward III’s first title, granted long before he was made Duke.

The man studied him with his head on one side. ‘And what do you want at Warwick?’

‘The message I carry is secret,’ Dolwyn said. He did not make a move toward his sword, but was ready to defend himself. Although he had no idea what was in the message, he daren’t display it. He suspected that it would be dangerous.

It appeared that his confidence was enough to convince. ‘So you say. That is good. Is there news from the north?’

Dolwyn did not relax his posture, but nodded slightly. ‘That which all know. The Scots are attacking again, and their armies are ravaging the north. Lord Percy. . I can tell you this: he has been negotiating with the Bruce for the last month or more, but the Scots won’t listen to reason. There will be war.’

‘I see.’ It was evident that the man was persuaded by Dolwyn’s story. ‘So, you have a safe conduct?’

Dolwyn opened his purse and took out the parchment with its seal, but he did not pass it to the porter. ‘You are?’

‘I am Bernard of Oxford, Esquire. And you are?’

Dolwyn pushed the note back into his purse. ‘Travelling without attracting attention, Squire. Now, I require food enough to last me to Warwick.’

‘If you have a safe conduct, I would see it.’ Squire Bernard snapped.

‘Then you will have to kill me. This document was given to me by Lord Percy’s own man.’

‘Oh.’ The squire looked askance at Dolwyn.

‘Yes. You know what happened to Andrew Harclay when his negotiations went awry with the Scottish. He was executed. I have secret communications here which I must take urgently, or our business with the Scots may fail. Delay me, and incur the King’s displeasure. So, will you aid me, or defy me?’

In less time than it had taken for the second cock-fight to finish, Dolwyn was in the castle’s hall. He looked about him with interest as a page fetched meats and cheese and a loaf of bread. He was given a well-carved bread trencher, and a thickened stew was doled into a bowl. With the bread he soaked up as much of the gravy as possible, before attacking the meats on the trencher. The hard cheese he stuffed into his satchel, along with half the loaf.

The room was all but deserted — the men would be arriving later for their second meal of the day — and he took advantage of the quiet to look about the place. It was a newer chamber, but the fire was still placed in the middle of the floor, to his relief. He did not like fires set at the wall. They never seemed as effective, and in any case he missed the smell of the smoke.

‘This is a quiet castle,’ he commented, ‘for so many men in the garrison.’

‘The knight doesn’t like noise,’ the page said.

‘What knight?’

‘There’s only one here we call that — Sir Edward of Caernarfon. The King’s father.’

Dolwyn pretended astonishment. ‘Him? You say he is here?’

‘Aye, sir. And a more kindly gentleman you could never meet.’

Dolwyn said nothing, but scraped at his trencher and sucked the juicy bread from his spoon. ‘I’ve heard he is that,’ he lied. He licked the back of his spoon clean before carefully stowing it away in his satchel. ‘It must be an honour to have him in the castle.’

‘It’s a lot of work,’ the boy said.

‘But he’s held in a room here, not a cell?’

‘We couldn’t keep the King’s father in gaol like some common churl!’ the boy scoffed.

‘I would hope not! A man of his estate should be treated with all respect,’ Dolwyn said fervently. ‘Tell me, boy, would you like a penny?’

‘Why?’

‘Just to know where Sir Edward is held. Nothing more. I am carrying a message for his son, and I’m sure the young King would like to know his father was being held without discomfort.’

‘Twopence?’ the page demanded, and then, when Dolwyn nodded, he considered and then nodded. ‘Follow me.’

They walked over to the door, and the boy pointed across the ward to a small block of rooms. Inside, said the page, the King had two chambers, one above the other and both well-appointed. ‘And he can ride and hunt whenever he wishes. You can tell the King we see to all his father desires — even the stranger foods he wishes. In fact, we have purveyors riding all over Warwickshire for his delight.’

Dolwyn studied the building. He watched as a middle-aged woman left a chamber by the gates: from the baskets she bore on a yoke about her neck, and the steam that emanated from the room she had left, he guessed that this must be a laundress. There would be few women allowed in a castle, but she was one of the exceptions.