Michael Jecks - King's Gold

‘So that is why we should give our support to her now,’ Benedetto said. ‘That is your proposal.’

‘I say no!’ Manuele said heatedly. ‘We have invested too much in him.’

‘I do not say we ignore him,’ Matteo said, then paused. From the window, he could hear angry chanting in the street. ‘We should also bear in mind that the King is in need of friends.’

‘But if you are right, he will be insignificant shortly,’ Benedetto protested.

Matteo took a deep breath. He had hoped that Benedetto would understand.

‘Yes. But if he loses all for now, he may yet regain influence in years to come. He may tutor his son, he may again command the respect of some barons, perhaps win back the love of his Queen. . who can tell? If he ever returned to power, he would richly reward those friends who had provided support or finance to him in his hours of deepest need, would he not?’

Benedetto smiled. ‘I think you grow confused. We should support only the Queen. She is the source of power now that she controls the heir.’

‘ No! ’ Matteo growled. ‘You still don’t understand!’

London Bridge

The bridge was closed. At the road leading to it, Sir Jevan de Bromfield studied the closed and barred gates, the men standing about with polearms and axes. There would be no escape there.

All in good time. There were other gates by which a man could leave this cursed city. For now he had to hurry to his meeting. He had an urgent mission — the first serious business since his return to England.

With the force led by Sir Roger Mortimer and the Queen, Sir Jevan had spent his time in idle meandering about the countryside. That was all it had been, an amiable wandering, while the populace turned out to cheer and applaud. The mercenaries could have been liberators instead of invaders.

But that would soon change if there was no money.

The Queen had used the little wealth she had stored in maintaining herself in France. Sir Roger Mortimer had nothing, because his estates and belongings had been confiscated when he was declared a traitor and imprisoned. As soon as his death warrant had been signed, he had lost all. So now their men, mercenaries from Hainault and the Low Countries, with some adventurers from France and a few English fighters determined to take back what they had lost, were marching with empty pockets. Money was desperately needed.

That was why Sir Jevan was here, in London, to ensure that a deal was struck. If it would hasten the end of Edward’s obnoxious reign, he would treat with the Devil himself.

House of the Bardi, London

There was a crash outside the hall, and the men in the room spun around to stare at the window as though they expected to see the mob spilling into the hall.

‘What do you suggest, then?’ Manuele demanded of Matteo. ‘You speak of supporting first the Queen, then the King — I don’t follow your reasoning.’

‘An offer to the King. Of gold, or influence. Anything he needs. A letter couched in careful terms, that would give him hope, if nothing else. Money to help him in his prison. We can tell him that he can always count upon our support, that whenever he has need of us, we will aid him. If we can get that to him, he will gain confidence from it, and reward us if he ever does return to his throne.’

‘And if the Queen or Sir Roger Mortimer found it, we should be ruined,’ Benedetto snapped.

‘Brother, hear him first,’ Manuele said, his dark eyes remaining fixed on Matteo.

‘The letter would remain a secret known only to him and us. We would have a trusted messenger take it to him. And as I said, if we couch the letter in careful terms,’ Matteo explained patiently, ‘the Queen would not seek to harm us. Especially if any doubts were already assuaged by our support for her and her son. If we advance her money, she will believe us when we state our allegiance to her. We gain the friendship of both sides, and thereby assure our continued profits no matter who wins.’

There was another crash outside. ‘Matteo, can you write such a letter?’ Manuele asked.

In answer Matteo pulled the carefully written note from his purse and passed it to him. Manuele took it warily, as though touching it conferred guilt.

There was a shriek in the street, a clattering of weapons, and the men all started.

Manuele read the parchment, then, taking up a reed, he slowly wrote his name at the bottom in ink. ‘For the House of Bardi,’ he muttered to himself as he sprinkled some sand over the wet ink. Removing his seal ring, he melted a little wax in a candle-flame, and sealed the document, setting it aside to cool on the table.

‘I will see that it reaches the King’s friends,’ Matteo said, feeling the warm glow of success. With this letter the House was safe again, and with fortune, he would soon control it.

A sudden pounding on the front door interrupted their discussions. Matteo was relieved. He had feared that the visitors might have been waylaid. ‘Let them in,’ he called.

There were four men-at-arms in the party, all wearing mail and coats of plates and, from the way that they held themselves, it was clear that they had been expecting trouble on their way here.

Matteo introduced the men. ‘Stephen Dunheved, John of Shulton, Harry le Cur, and Senchet Garcie. These gentlemen are here to listen to our position regarding the King.’

‘Not only that,’ Stephen Dunheved said, ‘we are here to have your absolute declaration of loyalty to the King of England, my lord Edward II. He demands your obedience, else he will have all your House closed in England, your funds sequestered and all loans cancelled.’

Matteo reached for the signed document, but before his hand could touch it, Manuele had removed it. ‘Brother?’

‘Quiet, Matteo.’ Manuele stood slowly, the parchment in his hand. ‘You come to my house to threaten me?’ he demanded of Dunheved. ‘Do you know who I am?’

Matteo swore under his breath. He had won the day already, and if these men would only show a little respect due to Manuele, they would win all they wanted. But he could see Manuele was having second thoughts: if one of these men were a traitor who had already turned his coat to support the Queen, he dared not talk of the parchment nor ask any of these to take it to the King. The risk of betrayal was too great.

Dunheved, a weatherbeaten man with the build of a fighter, took a step forward, his hand on his sword, but before he could pull it more than half-free, there was a rush and clatter of steel, and Manuele’s servants had their own weapons drawn and ready. Three held swords at Dunheved’s throat.

‘So this is your answer, then? Betrayal and deceit?’ Dunheved hissed.

Manuele walked to him and studied him for a moment. ‘No, it is not. I will consider how best to aid your master, but I will not be treated as a churl in my own home. You will leave, and we shall speak no more of this. When I am ready, I will invite you back to discuss this with me. Perhaps.’

‘It will be too late! The Queen knows you have maintained the King. And remember that you denied her money when she was in Paris. You think she will forget that and reward you? She will ruin your House, and impoverish you!’

‘She may try,’ Manuele said suavely. He walked to his sideboard, the parchment still in his hand, and picked up a goblet of wine. Sipping, he gazed at the rich gold and enamel about the bowl. ‘You realise that my House is more wealthy than your King’s? I have more money at my disposal than he — which is why he sends to me to beg for gold. Well, I am of a mind to answer his call. But not yet.’

As though to emphasise his words, just then a rock the size of a man’s fist flew through the window, narrowly missing Benedetto. ‘Stronzi ,’ 5he snarled, his hand on his sword.