Michael Jecks - King's Gold

‘We were asleep,’ Harry said simply. ‘It was his screams that woke us.’

‘All we did was go to help a man being attacked,’ Senchet agreed.

‘What of you, Dolwyn?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘I was in my bed, same as these. We were all woken by the screams.’

‘When you reached the body, then — is there anything more you can tell us?’

‘Sir Richard, if there had been anything I could have said to aid my defence, I would have told the coroner at the inquest.’

Sir Richard nodded and looked across at Simon.

Simon shrugged dispiritedly. ‘Ach! I wish Baldwin were here,’ he said.

Near Stockport

Baldwin rose with the sun. He and Edgar worked in a companionable silence as they saddled and bridled their horses. Both knew their work, and had spent so many years together that there was seldom need for a word to pass between them. Much as John had been with Paul. It made him feel even more lonely to see them — he felt like an intruder.

Yet he had to get back with them to warn the Dunheveds that the plan was already known and risked disaster, were they to continue. The words of Lord Berkeley were not idly spoken; he clearly knew that there was to be an attempt upon the castle. Sir Edward of Caernarfon would be at risk: he could well die.

‘Sir Baldwin,’ he said as they trotted along the road, ‘do you think that Lord Berkeley knows something about the men guarding the old King?’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin stated. His tone was rough, as though he hated to speak such words.

‘Why?’

‘If I had to guess, I would think that the castle has a man or men inside it whose task it is to ensure that the good Sir Edward never leaves it alive,’ Baldwin said gruffly. ‘And if I were to speculate, I would guess that it was not my Lord Berkeley’s man, but another’s.’

‘Whose?’

Sir Baldwin looked at him as if measuring him. Speaking too plainly to someone who was not a close companion was always dangerous. There were men willing to spy for others at all levels in the nation. But Sir Baldwin was not a man to be fearful of speaking what he believed to be the truth.

‘At a guess, I would think Sir Roger Mortimer’s,’ he said. ‘No one else would be as easy to command as a man loyal to Sir Roger.’

Sir Edward of Caernarfon’s chamber

‘Bring me wine,’ Sir Edward demanded.

The days were inexpressibly tedious. His new books had not arrived, and all his other activities were curtailed, so that his hours were spent staring at the whitewashed walls overwhelmed with self-pity.

One of the few pleasures left to him was wine. At least when he was drunk he was less aware of Sir Ralph’s pained expression. He knew that Sir Ralph considered him a spent force. Gilbert was as bad. He sat on a stool near the door with the look of a man who had bitten into an apple to find half a maggot.

His entire life had been spent under the gaze of others. In his role as law-maker and judge, every moment had taken place in public, and even his private existence was observed. He had never known true peace, except those glorious hours spent alone with his closest companions: Sir Hugh le Despenser, and before him Sir Piers Gaveston.

Now, all his friends were gone. In their place were these glum churls.

The sound of a man rapping at his door made him sigh heavily. More fools come to pester him, or insult him, no doubt.

He motioned and the guard nearer the door opened it to show Sir Richard de Welles and Simon Puttock.

‘Yes?’ Sir Edward demanded.

‘We came to ensure you were comfortable, Sir Edward,’ Sir Richard rumbled.

Sir Edward waved a hand about him. ‘Look at my marvellous accommodation, and the cheery company. Surely I could wish for nothing more.’

The sardonic tone was painful to hear, and Simon looked about him to avoid Sir Edward’s gaze, while Sir Richard turned and ordered Gilbert and a steward from the room. They demurred, and it took a threatening glower from Sir Richard to finally get them to leave. Sir Ralph remained.

‘Sir Edward,’ Sir Richard began, ‘we have had a murder in the castle. A knight called Sir Jevan.’

‘He broke his oath to me; I will not mourn him.’

‘You won’t be alone in that. Some believe Master Dolwyn of Guildford killed the fellow.’

‘What do you think?’

Sir Richard said. ‘There are others with more reason to want to kill him.’

‘Such as?’

‘Benedetto di Bardi,’ said Simon, and explained about the murder of the two youngsters, as described by Alured.

‘But,’ Sir Edward said, ‘the Bardis are good, loyal servants of the Crown. They would not seek to support a murderer.’

‘Sir Edward,’ Simon interposed, ‘you know, I think, of the letter that this man Dolwyn carried?’

‘I do.’

‘It was written by the Bardis, but Benedetto was determined to aid the Queen, not you. Through Sir Jevan, he gave her his assurance of money and support. I think Matteo was on your side — which could explain why Sir Jevan may have attempted to kill him.’

‘Perhaps,’ Sir Edward agreed. ‘What of it?’

Simon took a deep breath. ‘I have to ask: Sir Jevan was no friend of yours. Did you arrange for him to be slain? If so, we shall drop the matter. But if you did not, we feel bound to enquire into it.’

Sir Edward met his look with a firm determination. ‘I have not instructed, asked nor requested that any man should kill Sir Jevan.’

‘In that case, we must speak with Alured and the Bardis,’ Simon said.

Third Wednesday after Easter

Berkeley Castle

Baldwin saw the castle rising before him at last with a distinct relief. The last days of riding at speed had been hard, and he would be glad indeed of a bed.

He rode in under the gatehouse with Edgar close at his side, Wolf lumbering along behind them. John had been with them until the day before, but then, during the morning, he had told Baldwin that he was unwell. It was true that he looked very pale and jittery, but to Baldwin, it looked as though the man was scared. To put it bluntly: petrified. Of what, Baldwin had no idea, but he was persuaded that it was something or someone to do with the castle.

Whatever the reason, Baldwin was of no mind to drag him back to Berkeley if he was unwilling. He was happy to let the fellow go and continue alone with Edgar.

Simon was in the court with his servant Hugh when Baldwin clattered into the yard.

‘Good God, Baldwin!’ Simon exclaimed, his face wiped free of the look of introspection that had clouded it. ‘It is good to see you, old friend.’

In a short time they were inside the hall with mazers of wine in their hands.

‘So, what brought you back before the muster?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin told him about the fight with the Scots. ‘They were from Donald of Mar. Since they were heading south, Lord Berkeley felt that they could be gathering in order to try to free Sir Edward.’

Simon nodded doubtfully. ‘Rebels made an attempt on Kenilworth, and were slaughtered. They must be lunatic to try it here as well.’

‘But everyone will know that the garrison here has been denuded and that Lord Berkeley is away. They may well try again. So we must improve the defences in the time we have.’

‘How long is that, do you think?’ Simon asked.

‘My friend, I have no idea,’ Baldwin said frankly. ‘It could be a week, it could be a month. Not much more, though, I would think. The Earl of Mar will want the advantage of surprise.’

Simon nodded bleakly.

‘Simon, what is it that clouds your face so?’ Baldwin asked. ‘You looked glum as I rode in.’