Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘What of the citizens? I don’t trust them beyond an inch. They’ll give up the city soon as fart. None will support us and the King. They recall the King’s siege ten years ago.’

Sir Laurence smiled thinly. ‘I do not fault your summary. They will doubtless enjoy giving up their houses to the Queen’s men. There are too many stories already about how she is stretched to keep most of her forces under control.’

‘We have to be able to spoil the confidence of the town somehow. Can’t we point out that most of her men are mercenaries? No one likes a damned mercenary – whether it’s a soldier or a banker. Bastards are too keen to make money all the time instead of sticking to their oaths.’

Sir Stephen coughed and went on, changing the subject: ‘You knew the man whom William of Bar killed, didn’t you? Capon. Arthur Capon. Did you know that his maid has been killed?’

Sir Laurence shot him a look. Sir Stephen was eyeing him strangely. ‘I knew him a little. Did you learn who could have killed the maid?’

Sir Stephen shook his head slowly. ‘No. I suppose it was one of Squire William’s men.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘Perhaps it was.’

He saw her face again – the sharp, bright eyes, the thin mouth – and remembered how she would keep whining on about Squire William and his men now that they were freed. She had been a pain in his backside, especially when she had her mistress set on him as well. It was inexcusable!

Sir Stephen was watching him. ‘You knew her?’

‘She came to speak with me – complaining about feeling scared since the Squire and his men were released from gaol. God knows what she expected me to be able to do about it!’

‘And we all have enough to worry us just now,’ Sir Stephen said quietly.

‘Yes. At least we know our duties. It is our place to remain here and protect this castle. While the castle survives, we are safe and the approaches to Wales and the King are guarded. They couldn’t bypass us and hope to make it to the King. They would always fear a sally from us.’

Sir Stephen nodded, and he studied his splinter. ‘How long do you think we could survive?’

‘We have food for at least twelve weeks if we are cautious. I suppose it’s possible we could acquire some more, if the siege is not effectively maintained. The city, though, is a different matter. I assume that it will be running short within the week.’ Sir Laurence walked over to the small table in the corner, where a jug of wine stood. He took up his gilded goblet, which he filled and drank deeply.

‘So we have a week before the city itself decides to surrender. That is when our own predicament becomes more acute,’ Sir Stephen said.

‘No,’ Sir Laurence said firmly. ‘Our predicament is acute from the moment the Queen appears. Have you heard nothing of her progress? She has been stopped by no one. All the men whom the King has sent against her have surrendered to her and her son; not a one has tried to oppose her.’ He strode to the middle of the floor, where he paced up and down, as was his wont when anxious. ‘The Navy refused to leave port to defeat her at sea, even though they could have done so with ease; the men of the coast who were told to prevent her landing preferred to bow to her and go to her side; towns and cities from London to Oxford have rebelled and murdered the King’s own advisers, even the priests. Bishop Walter of Exeter had his head hacked off, and his body thrown to the dogs, did you know that? A Bishop , in Christ’s name! What of the others – the men who are his servants? They go in fear of their lives. Some have been pilloried in London and elsewhere. There is nobody to stand up for them, my friend. No one.’

He slammed his fist against his sword hilt.

‘And the worst of it is, it is our own Queen and the King’s heir who stand against us. What is a man to say – that his own Queen is to be rejected? That her son is? The kingdom is at risk of disaster, yet the disaster doesn’t come from a foreign power or even a traitor amidst our own barons. It comes from within the Royal Family.’

‘Aye, well, we can hope that we merely do our duties and that the Queen honours us for that,’ Sir Stephen said.

‘I would trust Queen Isabella with my life, and I would trust the Duke of Aquitaine too. But not Mortimer,’ Sir Laurence said, but his anger was flown, and now he wandered to his seat once more and sat. ‘There are few men I would trust less than Sir Roger Mortimer. He is burned up with jealousy and bile. God forbid that we should fall into his clutches.’

‘It is said he only ever seeks more money,’ Sir Stephen remarked, looking at the gilded cup.

Sir Laurence eyed him coolly. ‘That could be said of many.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Stephen agreed. He shrugged. ‘Perhaps that poor maid Cecily was lucky to die when she did. Who can tell what will happen to this sorry city in the coming days?’

Bristol

It was some little while before Emma was recovered enough to be able to continue. ‘I feel so ashamed to have let her down.’

‘Madame, you have let no one down,’ Simon said kindly. ‘This Squire William – is he still in the city?’

‘I do not believe so. I certainly have not seen him for a long time now. I think he left Bristol when he was released – else many could have attacked him. I hope the shame drove him away, but then I doubt he knows what shame is. The man was a monster. It is one thing to slay those who threaten you – but a mere child of a few days old? How could he be so brutal? He is probably with the King’s host, fulfilling his parole.’

‘What of the boy’s father? This priest – you think he was the father?’

‘I would imagine so. I am sure that Squire William had nothing to do with fathering the child.’

‘Clearly. But if this Squire is gone, who else could have killed Cecily?’

‘There are others who were with Squire William when he committed his murders. Perhaps it was one of them?’

Simon considered. ‘This all happened when?’

‘Some months ago.’

‘Why, then, would the men seek to hurt her now? They were pardoned, why punish her and risk imprisonment again? Surely even murderers would be more rational than that?’

‘I do not pretend to understand such men,’ she said, ‘but I do understand how they might like to take revenge on someone who had caused them trouble. It’s a matter of honour to some of them.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. But what about the Squire? Is there aught else you can tell me about him? What did he look like?’

‘Middle height… very dark hair, the sort that looks thin always. Green eyes, I remember. Very pale and calculating. And his face wore a look of cruelty.’

Simon nodded as though noting her words, but for the most part he thought them useless. A man who had a ‘look of cruelty’ to a woman who considered him a foul murderer might well look like an amiable old charmer to another. Still, if the story was true, this man had deserved a far harsher punishment than a short period in gaol and then release. Which led him to the next logical question. ‘What happened to the priest?’

‘Father Paul? He was sent away. You’d have to ask someone else where he went.’

‘I shall do so. And you do not think that she knew Sir Laurence, apart from going to him to plead that these felons be re-arrested?’

‘No. He is the last person she would speak with.’

‘Very well. I am sorry indeed to have to tell you of your maid, madame. If there is one good piece of news, though, it is that she did die very quickly. There was one thrust, straight to her heart, so far as I could tell. She wasn’t raped, either. The inquest did make sure of that.’