Michael Jecks - King's Gold

The sun was directly overhead when he finally heard what he had been waiting for. Hoofbeats. A cry, then a scream and shouting. He walked away from the roadside and waited near his own horse.

It was here, at the market square, that the riders came at speed. There were seventy of them all told, bold fighters from the Dunheved estates, wiry, tough Scotsmen with Earl Donald, and Welsh knifemen from the Marches, and Stephen’s brother at their head with Sir Edmund and John. They rode into the square and Thomas dismounted, walking to the middle.

‘Fellow Englishmen!’ he shouted. ‘Listen to me! They say that we are Godless people because we do not acknowledge the right of any to deprive our King of his crown. Who dares to think that a man should attempt to deny God’s own anointing? Who dares to think that God would approve of a man’s effort to overrule His judgement? This heretic and false knight, Sir Roger Mortimer, believes he has such a right. Do you?’

There was no sound from the people in the square. For the most part, they were staring about them at the force of men on horseback who stood ringing them, rather than at the Dominican.

Thomas walked in amongst them. ‘Listen to me, I say! You are in grave peril, my friends. For while you permit this traitor to rule, you are submitting to the man whom God would see brought down. You flout His laws when you honour this man who has demeaned the throne of your country, who has proved himself a traitor, and who even now commits adultery against God’s laws. Sir Roger Mortimer is a loathsome outlaw! You have a duty to rise up and overthrow him!’

Stephen could hear his brother, but it was obvious that his message was failing to attract the crowd. The townspeople here were not interested in an uprising. But no matter. Stephen had spent his money carefully and wisely.

It was as the Dominican was pleading with the town to follow him and march upon the castle, that there came a roar of support.

Stephen grinned. He had bribed with ale a gathering of thirty or more apprentices and labourers at an inn, telling them to come and join him when they had drunk his money if they wanted more. Now they were coming out to partake of more of his largesse, and there was a general movement away from them by the rest of the crowd.

Even then the situation might not have gone the way Stephen and Thomas had hoped, had not the castellan intervened.

A small force of men-at-arms appeared at one end of the square, with a knight at their head. ‘What in Christ’s name is all this noise about?’ he demanded, his horse nudging the men and women out of his way. ‘Who are you, Friar? What are these men doing here?’

His horse pushed over a woman, who screamed as she fell. The baby she carried had rolled under the feet of others, and her shrieks rose to Heaven. The noise under his horse’s hooves made the beast rear, and his men, thinking he was being attacked, brought their weapons to bear on the people in front of them, their polearms lowered threateningly. A man shouted defiance, which led to the drinkers from Stephen’s tavern to shout still louder, and while the knight battled to get his plunging horse under control, someone threw a stone that clashed against the helmet of a man-at-arms. He fell back, reeling, and that seemed to be the signal for others to begin to lift cobbles from the street and hurl them at the party from the castle.

Stephen saw a stone strike a man in the face. Beneath his steel bonnet, his features became awash with blood and he was shoved back out to safety behind his comrades.

‘Reject them! These are the same as the heretic criminal who sits behind the throne, and sleeps with the real King’s wife! Throw them from your square, people of Cirencester!’ Thomas bellowed, and suddenly the crowd began to roar. There was a forward push, and the men with the knight looked about them with fear. It was plain that they were alarmed to see this normally bovine town roused to such fury.

More stones, and then the mob was barging forward in earnest. The knight on his horse drew his sword and began to flail about him, but a rock the size of a man’s fist struck his unprotected temple, and he fell. His mount turned and bolted, and tore through the men-at-arms like a rock from a siege engine.

Stephen ran the risk of being drawn along with the people, but he stood his ground. There was a butcher’s shop nearby, and he eyed the meats on display. Next to a pair of hanging ducks was some sausage, dried and smoked, which he took. A youth in the shop asked for money, but Stephen struck him back-handed in answer, and left the lad bleeding on the floor as he walked back outside.

A full-scale riot was in progress. Men and women were screaming and baying, demanding that the group from the castle throw down their weapons, while more stones rattled about them. One of the men-at-arms was pulled into the crowd, and while Stephen watched, a maddened peasant with a cleaver took his head off, and then the rest of the men backed away, realising their danger. Stephen was sure that they would all survive — but then he saw more rocks and sticks being flung, and he knew that the men-at-arms stood no chance.

‘Brother, we should leave,’ Thomas said to him, eyeing the furious mob with a certain trepidation.

‘Your sermon appears to have achieved what we hoped.’

‘If it helps bring Mortimer to justice, it is worthwhile,’ Thomas said, and the two hurried off to their horses.

Fourth Friday after Easter

Berkeley Castle

With the assistance of Sir Richard, Baldwin had managed to instil a sense of urgency into the men in the castle. In place of the leisurely rebuilding works, there was now an atmosphere of febrile activity. The stores had been replenished, and the wall and keep prepared for attack.

‘There are plenty more sections of wall that would benefit from repairs,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Looks like a group of choristers could push it over in places.’

‘We shall have to do the best we may,’ Baldwin said. He looked about him at the defences and felt a twinge to see so much more that needed to be done.

‘We’ll be prepared enough,’ Sir Richard said.

‘Perhaps.’

It was while they were still on the wall, talking about the need for supplies of arrows, that they saw the approaching dust.

Baldwin narrowed his eyes. His sight was not as keen as it once had been. ‘Who is that?’

‘No idea. Soon find out, though,’ Sir Richard said.

They descended the stairs and reached the yard a short while before the rider appeared.

‘I must see the castellan,’ the lad panted.

Baldwin eyed him. This was no messenger of the King; it was a youth of perhaps sixteen mounted on a rounsey. ‘You can tell us. I am Sir Baldwin, this is Sir Richard de Welles.’

‘Sirs, a group of men led by a Dominican Friar and his brother Stephen Dunheved caused a riot in Cirencester the day before yesterday. The whole town’s in an uproar, and three were killed. I’ve been sent to warn you that they may come this way next. They have a large company with them.’

‘Aha!’ Sir Richard boomed. He looked about at Baldwin. ‘Well, maybe we’ll get a chance to test our defences sooner than we’d expected, eh?’

Second Tuesday before Ascension

Berkeley Castle

Their efforts were bringing results, Baldwin reckoned. The labourers seemed to appreciate the dangers and were working well. The walls where the worst of the dilapidation had taken its toll were already patched and mended. Enhancements to the defences were being added wherever possible, and there were additional items designed to ensure the King’s safety. The smith from the nearby town was commissioned to make new bars and bolts to keep Sir Edward safe in his chamber, and there were new keys for his door, four of them, of which Baldwin took one, and Sir Richard another. Then there were new locks for the door to the Chapel of St John in the tower, and for a postern gate that faced Alkington. After looking about the defences, Baldwin and Sir Richard also agreed to have a new lock and hinges with reinforcing bars fitted to the chamber over the outer gate. This gave them three secure locations in which to hold off attackers.