Michael JECKS - The Oath

Not that it was visible for very long. The day was dry, which was a blessed relief after the last days of rain and misery, but the sky was overcast before they had broken their fasts, and all wrapped themselves tightly in cottes and jacks before they mounted their horses, Sir Ralph tying his kerchief about his neck to keep the worst of the cold from his throat.

‘Where shall we find her, do you think?’ Bernard asked as they set off.

‘Last you heard, she was at Gloucester, wasn’t she? I’d wager she was somewhere between there and Bristol,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘The speed she has followed us, she cannot be far.’

Bernard absorbed this with an expression that matched the skies. ‘So we should walk into her before long.’

‘I fear so.’

‘Where are we heading?’

‘First to Bristol, then we shall see what we can hear of her.’

Bernard nodded and dropped back a little. They were all riding at a moderate pace now, and Sir Ralph checked to see how the friars were coping with the speed.

The pair were of a similar age, between eight-and-twenty and thirty, and both had the reputation of being well-versed in the practice of negotiation. One, Brother Mark, was very short and had a goitre that clearly gave him trouble, but his blue eyes were bright with intelligence. His tonsure was very wide, and the hair fringing it was pale brown. The other, Brother Daniel, was a little taller, but his features were marred by a thick scar that cut across his cheek and left his nose broken. His brown eyes were full of merriment, Sir Ralph thought.

Seeing his glance, Brother Daniel grinned broadly. ‘Don’t worry about Brother Mark here. He’ll fall off soon enough, and unless you tie him up, he’ll keep on denting the roadway every few yards, but he won’t feel it.’

‘The danger, Sir Ralph, is that this fool should fall on his arse,’ Brother Mark said. ‘It would irreparably damage his brains if he were to do that.’

For all their banter, the pair appeared perfectly comfortable on horseback, and Sir Ralph guessed that both were quite wellborn. ‘Let me know, Brothers, if you need to take a little rest,’ he said. ‘I would prefer to hurry our pace for we have some distance to cover.’

‘The faster, the better,’ Brother Mark said. He had the look of a man who was keen to undertake his task. ‘We should meet Queen Isabella before there is any bloodshed.’

‘God willing,’ Brother Daniel intoned.

‘God willing,’ Sir Ralph repeated.

He understood Bernard’s discontent; he felt much the same himself. The idea of riding into their enemies’ camp was not one which appealed to his own sense of self-preservation, and yet the Queen herself was very keen to honour the rules of chivalry. Men who were arrived in order to negotiate should be welcomed with offers of safe conduct. That, at least, was what he hoped.

They reached a hill overlooking the city of Bristol some time before noon, and Sir Ralph gazed ahead in search of signs that the Queen was near. Certainly the vills outside the city looked dead, and he suspected that the peasants had fled before the Queen’s mercenaries could arrive and begin to lay the area waste. The city itself looked secure for now.

‘I think we should go to the city and learn where she is supposed to be,’ he said.

Bernard nodded. ‘Why not? That’ll put off the moment when we actually have to greet her and hope she doesn’t lop off our heads before she hears us out.’

‘Thank you, Bernard. I needed that reminder,’ Sir Ralph said.

Outskirts of Bristol

Thomas Redcliffe watched as Baldwin and Jack prepared a loaf of bread, breaking it roughly into three large pieces, then cutting wedges from a cheese they had bought earlier.

It was fascinating to see how the knight worked. He was calm, thoughtful, more intelligent than the usual knights whom Thomas had met, and yet there was that firm edge to his character, a honed quality that could cut a man when he least expected it. Thomas had never met a man quite like this knight before. His presence was invaluable, though. Redcliffe would not have managed to get this close to Bristol without his help, that much was quite clear from the way that the wandering men-at-arms had suspiciously pushed swords and lances in their direction as soon as they had been discovered.

The last ones had been the worst. There was a particularly unpleasant churl with one eye and a perpetual leer who had slowly drawn a long dagger and walked menacingly to Thomas as though to cut out his heart. It was only Sir Baldwin’s rapid intervention that had stopped the man, and then his Sergeant had heard the noise and come to see what was wrong. Again, the knight’s position had saved them all.

To think that a warrior so devoted to the King could have saved him… Thomas sighed to himself at the thought. There was a time when he would have done all in his power to protect his King without considering his own position. He had been entirely loyal, a true devoted servant.

Not any more. Such commitment was worth little today. Thomas would have served until death. He had sold horses to the King for less profit than he could have won, and his delicate work taking messages to the Christian Kings of Aragon and Portugal had been singularly unprofitable too. He’d done it to help his King. And now that he was ruined, had Edward helped him ? No. Worse still, he had not even deigned to see him. Thomas had been turned away from the gate at the Tower like some beggar demanding alms! The shame had been appalling. He had told dear Roisea that soon they would be saved, without explaining how exactly, and the shock of realising that his King would leave him to starve, and her too, had shaken the wind right out of his sails. His future stretched before him, an endless barren life without possibility of recovery.

And then he had seen what he might do. A letter, a short ride north, and he had his response. It was all he needed.

Yes, it was fortunate that Thomas had managed to persuade Sir Baldwin to join him in this journey. Without him, Thomas would have been stopped and searched, and the thought of what could have happened then was enough to chill him to the marrow. No one with messages like the one concealed at his belt would be permitted to live. And if Sir Baldwin had learned of it, he would himself have denounced Thomas. Or run him through.

Which was why Thomas was so glad the scrap remained concealed. He wouldn’t want to have to kill the knight.

Bristol

It was still afternoon as Baldwin and Thomas Redcliffe rode down towards the city and clattered over the stone-flagged way to the bridge.

Baldwin himself was glad of the sight of the city. ‘Good porter, I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, lately come from London.’

‘Aye, good, Sir Baldwin. We’ll have need of all the men we can find, I dare say, before long,’ the man said, standing aside for the three to ride in.

‘What did he mean by that?’ Jack asked.

‘I expect everyone is on tenterhooks about the Queen and her host,’ Baldwin explained. ‘The whole of her force must be riding to us now.’

‘At least the castle and this city look strong enough,’ Redcliffe said.

‘Yes. But the strength of a city like this lies less in its walls, and more in the people who are there to protect it,’ Baldwin said. ‘Will they wish to support the King and Despenser, or will they feel, like the London mob, that they should join to overthrow the Despenser?’

‘They will remember their loyalty, I am sure,’ Redcliffe said sanctimoniously.

‘Are you?’ Baldwin said.

They took an eastern road which Baldwin was told was named Wine Street, and a short way along here, Redcliffe took them to a little tavern, where he declared the wine to be the best in the city. He wished to reward his saviours, he said, and when they had drunk their fill, he would take them to his own home outside the city walls.