Michael JECKS - The Oath

Simon was irked by the knight’s facile explanation, but there was little point arguing, he knew. Sir Charles had the ability to see what he wished, and took the view that other opinions were supremely irrelevant. Simon glanced across at the others. The man they had met on the roadway was over beyond Meg, who was playing five stones with Peterkin, while Hugh and Rob stood guard behind her. ‘We all owe you a great debt of gratitude,’ Simon said solemnly. ‘And now, I suppose we’ll have to make our plans for escaping any other mishaps on our way home.’

‘You think to travel to your home in Devon?’ Sir Charles chuckled. ‘I would not advise it.’

‘We have to return,’ Margaret said firmly. ‘Our daughter is in Exeter, and–’

‘Will be considerably safer than you,’ Sir Charles finished for her. ‘If you travel the roads, you will be at risk from every felon, outlaw and disgruntled peasant. The roads, Madame Margaret, simply are not safe. You cannot possibly ride that way. The King has ridden westwards, and no one knows when he will return. The Queen and Mortimer are after him, and he has yet to gather his host.’

‘He has issued instructions for his knights to gather, surely?’ Margaret said.

Sir Charles nodded, but grimly now. His cheery manner was put to one side for the present. ‘Oh, yes. He demanded his first men before he left London. I was given a writ myself – but no one would obey the summons. I am told there were sheriffs and knights who arrayed their men, formed their hosts – and then took them straight to the Queen. It appears her forces have been swollen a great deal since her landing, while the King’s have declined. The force you see with me here is the best I could gather together. We are on our way to join the King now.’

‘If you are right, and the Queen’s strength is growing,’ Simon said, shocked, ‘you surely don’t think that the King could lose, do you?’

Sir Charles eyed him. ‘I would not say so. But until the final reckoning, all may change in an instant. And for now, the fact is that the roads are far too dangerous for any small group to hope to travel so far alone. In any case, as I said, your daughter is sitting in Exeter, behind sturdy city walls. If she is in danger there, she is in danger anywhere in the realm. For now, the King and Queen are not near her.’

‘What will you do, then?’ Simon asked.

‘I am inclined to head towards the King and join him in Bristol,’ the knight replied. ‘I think that there I should be able to see how matters are developing.’

‘And then?’

Sir Charles smiled, but didn’t respond to the question. ‘I would recommend that you join me in my journey. Bristol is said to be a fair city. I am sure you would find it delightful.’

Simon glanced at Margaret, who nodded, gazing up at the knight sadly. ‘Yes, thank you, Sir Knight. But I am so worried about Edith, Simon.’

For once the knight appeared to show some sympathy. He bowed low. ‘Madame Puttock, I am afraid that many will fear for their loved ones in the coming weeks. But there is no need for you to rush into danger to be with her. Better that you travel safely and arrive in one piece, than travel unwisely and never see her again.’

David was still working at his table when Sir Laurence threw the door wide and marched back into his chamber.

She was insufferable , that woman! As if a castellan had time to worry about her maid, just because she was upset at the sight of some men who scared her. He had a mind to go to the wench and give her a short instruction about the responsibilities of a man at time of approaching war.

‘You have been a long while,’ David observed.

‘Oh dear, have you been bored?’ the Constable snapped. ‘Don’t you have enough to do without me commanding you?’

David lifted his eyebrows. ‘This was nothing to do with the garderobe, then?’

‘The privy has been safe from me today,’ Sir Laurence grunted as he slumped into his chair. ‘Let’s not talk about it.’

David eyed him uncertainly a moment before beginning to discuss the business of the day: a small fire that had damaged one of the storerooms, fodder for the horses and how many ought to be stabled within the court, a report on the total sacks of grain for bread and ale-making, as well as the honey, charcoal and brimstone stored for making the new blackpowder. The King had ordered two barrels of honey to be held at his castles for this purpose four years ago, along with all the other items necessary for repelling a siege, and Bristol was well served in all.

Sir Laurence tried to concentrate, but his mind kept returning to his interview with Emma Wrey. Cecily was an object of some fascination in the town, because of her narrow escape, and she had been pointed out to him a few times, usually by men using that hushed undertone that denotes some sort of notoriety.

It was said that only one man could have wanted to kill Arthur Capon and his family, but most people in the city knew that was ballocks.

Many, like Sir Laurence, had had cause to visit the man in his great house, less a merchant’s humble dwelling and more of a palace, with the great paved and grassed court at the front, and high walls to keep it all private from wanderers in the street outside. Yes, every so often even a castellan needed money, and Arthur Capon was always prepared to help a man, with his sly little smile and oleaginous manner, and huge funds of ready coin. It was only later that his clients learned how they had been fleeced by the ruinous charges Capon levied upon them.

All too many of these disgruntled citizens would have been happy to enter his house and slit his greedy throat for him. There were fewer who would have killed his wife and daughter too, but in these days of violence, when even the throne itself was rocking with dissent, was it so surprising that a murderer should seek to eradicate the whole family? No. To leave a son would be to leave a future avenger.

And that, Sir Laurence thought, would have been simply foolish. A man ruthless enough to kill the father had to be prepared to kill all in the house.

Near Salisbury

Baldwin and Thomas Redcliffe were riding abreast, while further back was Jack, today looking remarkably relaxed as he trotted along. Wolf was jogging along happily at the side of the road, sniffing occasionally at the grasses and brambles.

‘Another day and we should be in Bristol,’ Baldwin said.

They had set off almost as soon as Baldwin had spoken to Redcliffe at the inn yesterday, telling the innkeeper to release the felons. The bearded leader’s flank was giving him some grief, and it was plain enough that they would not be able to follow in a hurry. In the event, Baldwin and his companions had made good time after Winchester. The way to Salisbury and thence to the plains had been surprisingly clear of all other travellers, and Baldwin was glad of the views in all directions from up here on the clear grassland. Any man attempting to waylay them would find his task made infinitely more difficult by the absence of trees and other means of concealment.

‘I am enormously grateful to you, sir,’ Redcliffe said once more.

It was a refrain which Baldwin had heard too many times in the last days. He made no reply now, staring at the horizon ahead, but inside he raged with himself for agreeing to come all this way. Travelling to Bristol would add at least two days to his journey home, and he was desperate to get to Jeanne and make sure that she was safe. But as soon as he had admitted to the men in the shed that he was a Keeper of the King’s Peace, he had found himself bound. The men who had attacked Redcliffe had received his promise to release them, and no matter what he wished, he could not retain them without breaking that promise. That Baldwin would not do. Meantime, he had a duty to protect the King’s Messenger. Not that the fellow looked much like a messenger, in his opinion; he looked much more like a spy, and Baldwin had a healthy dislike of such men. Usually they were motivated by money, and he detested all forms of mercenary. Men who conspired and plotted were all untrustworthy, to his mind.