Michael Jecks - King's Gold

‘You aren’t more certain?’

‘It was the Devil. What does it matter what I think?’

It was cold here in his room. Benedetto Bardi stirred the fire and daydreamed about Florentine sunshine. Here all was perpetually hazy.

The look on Matteo’s face had been truly appalling. He had been terrified at the sight of Benedetto, and then for those dull-witted tarses of his to beat up Matteo’s man — well, any fears that were already in his younger brother’s mind would hardly have been assuaged by that, would they?

Benedetto cursed profusely. Here he was, marooned in this miserable castle, and here he must remain until Lord Berkeley came home.

The quiet tap at his door surprised him. ‘Yes?’ he snapped, opening it. Then: ‘Sir Baldwin, this is a pleasant surprise. Please enter and join me in a cup of wine.’

He was not alone, Benedetto saw. There was Sir Richard, and the man Puttock, too. They all walked in and stood looking at him as though he was some kind of felon.

‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘We have an interesting series of deaths, Master Benedetto,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘First one brother dies, and your other brother is almost killed. Two other fellows die near your brother’s body, all in the space of a day. And the man responsible, we think, was on his way to your house. He was an ally of yours. But now, he too is dead. It seems very strange that so much bloodshed should happen in so short a space, so near to you.’

‘I agree. It is most peculiar. But on that particular day in London, many people were killed. Even the Bishop of Exeter died about then, and numerous peasants.’

‘Did you order Sir Jevan to kill your brothers?’ Sir Richard rumbled.

‘Did I. .’ Benedetto sighed. ‘No. Categorically not. I would never kill my brothers. Look at me, sirs. Do I look like the sort of man who could do such a thing? It would insult my blood, insult my mother’s memory, my father’s good name.’

‘I have heard of men of business who are capable of such dishonour,’ Simon said.

‘Well, I am not one of them. No, I think it is more likely that the killer of Sir Jevan was Alured, servant to my brother. Look at him: he is irrational. Sir Richard, Master Puttock, you both saw him entering into a fight with my men when all I wished was a word with my brother.’

‘But that was only a little after the death of Sir Jevan. Alured was protecting his master. Perhaps Matteo thought you guilty of killing him too?’

‘I say again, no.’

Baldwin reached into his purse and pulled out the parchment. He held it up for Benedetto to see. ‘Read this.’

‘I. . oh.’ Benedetto winced to see it again. It had suffered in the last months since Manuele had signed it. ‘I know this letter.’

‘It says that the Bardi will support Sir Edward with money and all aid. And yet you supported the Queen against him.’

He shrugged. ‘A man of business must sometimes look to both sides.’

‘Even when it means seeking the death of your own brothers?’ Baldwin asked pointedly.

‘Never! I would do anything in my power to protect them.’

‘Your protestations are fascinating,’ Baldwin said. ‘However, if you did not do these things, who did?’

‘That madman, Alured.’

‘Or could it have been your brother?’

At the thought Benedetto winced, thinking of the conversation when Matteo had accused him of trying to murder him. ‘He would be shocked indeed to think anyone could accuse him of such a crime.’

‘So you believe it can only be Alured?’ Baldwin said.

‘Who else?’ He stared. ‘You are asking me to believe that Matteo could have killed our brother Manuele? No. Nothing would make me believe that.’

‘And yet your brother is convinced it must be you.’

‘He is a frail thing, Matteo. It is his work, sifting information all day. I think it is only natural that he sometimes has these monstrous dreams. He sees plots under every stone, assassins under his bed. Sometimes he doesn’t know what is real and what is false.’

‘What do you think, Baldwin?’ Simon asked as they made their way back down the stairs.

‘I do not know what to think,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘Or rather, I think I shall be glad to be away from here, and gladder still to see the back of Benedetto and Matteo and their men. How can we serve them, while we believe that they could be murderers?’

He had reached the level of the wall now, and he moved to a door. It opened to the walkway, and he stepped out, peering down. ‘Ah, if someone were to run across there, over the roof, he would be visible from the ground.’

Simon peered over to look. There was a broad wall rising from the building beneath. It lay just below the walkway, and a man could easily reach it by jumping down. And at this end there was a wide window facing into the court, where an arrow slit had been widened. ‘An easy journey,’ he agreed, cursing himself for not seeing it before.

Sir Richard nodded. ‘But would a Devil try it?’

‘I don’t think so. But I am perfectly content to believe that a man might dart across there, and when he reached the keep, he could run up here to this door and get in through it.’

Simon smiled sadly. ‘Which helps us not at all, because Matteo, Benedetto and Alured were all sleeping in the keep, as were many others. Any one of them could have killed Jevan.’

Wednesday after Ascension Day

Berkeley Castle

But the next day brought news that made their search for the murderer less important.

Simon was standing guard with Hugh outside the chamber where Sir Edward of Caernarfon was being held, when the men came.

There were four of them, all begrimed and weary, their clothing in tatters, and all with the same look of despair in their eyes.

Simon and Sir Richard strode out to meet them, but Baldwin was already talking to them, asking questions and listening carefully.

‘You say there were how many in the party?’ he said.

‘At least fifty,’ one man said. He was the oldest of them, and his eyes were red-rimmed under the thatch of grey hair. ‘They got to us about an hour before sunset.’

‘How many are dead?’ Baldwin asked.

‘All told, seven. My son, two farmers, a cattleman, the warrener and two women. Both were raped. My son and the cattleman were trying to protect them when they were killed.’

‘What has happened?’ Sir Richard demanded, standing arms akimbo with his chin jutting pugnaciously.

‘Another attack. Not a riot like Cirencester,’ Baldwin said, ‘but a raid on these men’s vill, five leagues north of here.’

‘Were they English?’ Simon asked.

‘No. For the most part these were Scottish.’

‘The Earl of Mar’s men,’ Baldwin said grimly.

He ordered that the men should be given food and drink, then told Edgar to take a horse and ride about the perimeter he had set out before. ‘But take care, Edgar. No risks. If you see these devils, come straight back to tell us.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Edgar said, and was off to the stables in an instant.

‘Simon,’ Baldwin said, ‘I wonder whether we should consider removing Sir Edward from here. I do not like this place: it is too isolated. If we were in Okehampton, or down at Corfe, I would feel more easy in my mind.’

‘Corfe is hardly less isolated,’ Sir Richard said.

‘I suppose not,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But at least it is farther from Scotland. I dislike these stories of men from the north attacking farms down here.’

‘There is certainly great danger in leaving the castle now,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I think it would be a mistake. With the men we have here, we should be able to protect the place.’