Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘So why did you bring me here?’ Simon asked Sir Charles once more. ‘If you have no authority in this case, I cannot understand why you asked me to join you last night and today.’

‘I did not wish to see that woman’s homicide go unreported. If her death was felonious, then I wanted to make sure that the Coroner recorded the fact and that she had a proper enquiry into her murder. You see, Bailiff, I don’t think that he would have done so, had I not forced him.’

‘Why? He seemed perfectly competent and obedient to his duty,’ Simon argued.

‘Come with me. I will show you.’

North of Bristol

When the news had spread of the Queen’s forces approaching the city, there had been an immediate panic, and it was felt not least by Robert Vyke as he had hurried to gather up his belongings and shove them into his little pack, before going to the northernmost gate of the city, where he was told by Sir Laurence that he could best make his escape.

He had not bothered to walk far in the gathering gloom, but took his rest in the meagre shelter of an old shepherd’s hut, where the roof had fallen in. This morning it was the rain that had woken him, landing on his face.

Eating a little bread with cheese, he stared back at the city through the rain. His thick cloak and hood were enormously heavy, now that they were soaked in water. There was no point in trying to keep dry in this weather, he decided, and hefted his pack again. At least the rattle of the coins in his purse was comforting. He couldn’t remember ever possessing such wealth in his life before, and the thought of the look on his Susan’s face when she saw the money was wonderful. It would make her so happy, she would be unable to speak for a long time, he thought with a smile. Six shillings was untold wealth for a peasant.

The way was fairly steep here, for he had left the road to continue on his own path. The main road was bound to be filled with the Queen’s men, and he had no intention of being caught. No, he would continue on his way here, towards the King. He was supposed to be in Chepstow or somewhere near. Robert would just keep on going until he found him. It couldn’t be too difficult to find a King, after all, he told himself. You just had to look for the big standard flying. If you could in this weather, he added miserably.

He clambered his way to the top of a hill among some trees and peered out. There was no sign of anyone. Here, so he had heard, the land began to drop down towards the great river, and he must cross it to reach the town. There were many boatmen at that point, even though there was no bridge, so he was moderately confident that he could reach the other side without difficulty. Once there, he must find the King and pass him the little sealed document in its leather tube, stoppered with thick wax, and await his answer.

It was not a task he had thought himself capable of in the past, but he hoped he would be rewarded. Surely a messenger who braved the weather and his monarch’s enemies to bring him news of the garrison of Bristol would be given at least some shillings, or even a golden ring.

With thoughts of still more astonishing wealth shortly to come his way, he emerged from the trees and found himself in a little lane. Looking up and down, he turned right, as being the direction to take him further away from Bristol, and continued on into the thick greyness.

Bristol

The man in the jury had turned to leave when Simon and Sir Charles reached him.

Simon did not like his face. There was something about the squint that implied a shifty nature, and his habit of shuffling his feet did not inspire confidence either.

‘Tell this man what you saw,’ Sir Charles said encouragingly.

‘I don’t know, sir, mayhap I was wrong. It was dark and–’

Sir Charles’s smile broadened, and then he snatched out with his hand and gripped the man about the throat. ‘I hope you don’t soil my glove, fellow, because I don’t want to have to take your money to buy new ones. They are expensive.’

The man’s eyes popped wide, and he gulped. ‘I’ll talk, I’ll talk!’

‘I know,’ Sir Charles said pleasantly.

‘That woman Cecily – I saw her yesterday. With a man,’ the fellow said desperately, his voice weakened by the pressure on his neck.

Simon felt coldness wash over his body. ‘You lied? After you swore on the Gospels? You lied to the Coroner?’

‘I couldn’t tell!’

Sir Charles turned to Simon with that smile still on his face, but in his eyes there was no humour. ‘No, he couldn’t tell the truth, Simon.’

‘God’s teeth! Why not?’

‘Because the man he saw, the one with whom she left, was another knight – a man called Sir Laurence Ashby. And a mere churl like this would never dare accuse a noble knight.’

South of Bristol

Baldwin and Jack had ridden hard to the outskirts of the city, all the way fearing capture, but their luck had held so far. Now they paused,and Baldwin peered behind them. His face was streaming, and he put a hand to his brow, wiping it away and flinging it to the side. It was hard to see anything yet, and he prayed that he and Jack had out-ridden the encircling men.

The force was that of the Queen; he had little doubt of that, because he knew that the King was already passed through and into Wales; his host would come to Bristol from the north and west. The men Baldwin had seen were approaching from the south and east.

He knew the Queen and Mortimer, having met them a few times in England and in France. While he rather admired the Queen, for not only was she beautiful, she was resolute, intelligent, and fiercely determined; yet Baldwin was less certain of Mortimer.

Roger Mortimer had been the King’s General – it was largely due to him that Edward had been able to pacify Ireland – but Despenser and Mortimer hated each other with a loathing that went back two generations. It was Despenser who had managed to see Mortimer, already a prisoner in the Tower of London, served with a death warrant. For that reason, Mortimer broke out of the prison and made his way to France, where he became the focus for all those who had cause to detest the reign of Despenser in London. Every malcontent, including the King’s own brothers, went to him and swelled his forces.

When Mortimer and the Queen landed in the east, they had only a few hundred men with them, but wherever they went, it seemed as though the people of the country flocked to them. The Queen had made a strategically successful statement when she stated that she was not in the country to oppose her husband, but to depose the tyrannical reign of Despenser. That struck a chord with almost every Englishman, for Hugh Despenser was universally hated. And then, the Queen also had the banner of her son, Edward Duke of Aquitaine, raised before her forces, so Baldwin had heard, so that even those who might have been inclined to support the King felt unable to raise a sword against her, because that would mean obstructing the next King.

That, Baldwin was sure, was the Queen’s own idea. She was shrewd and crafty, and would see that her son’s banner would help her. However, when she had enlisted the support of Mortimer, she was running a great risk. He might one day decide to throw her and her son aside.

Those were questions for another time. For now, Baldwin had other problems to consider. First was how to reach the far side of the river. The bridge, he knew, was blocked, for the city was already under a siege footing. They would not open the gates to any men from this side of the river now.

‘Come!’ he cried, and led Jack along the narrow streets and lanes all the way back to Redcliffe’s house. Here Baldwin threw himself off his horse and pounded on the door.