Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘My lord, I do not know,’ Simon replied. Now that the Duke spoke of it with such a depth of understanding, Simon realised that no matter what happened between Mortimer and the Despenser, the King himself would be in an intolerable position.

‘You were asking about someone who was killed in Bristol the other day, I heard,’ the Duke said after a few moments, changing the subject. ‘A man?’

Simon sighed. ‘I have been asked to enquire into so many deaths in recent weeks, it is hard to recall them all. First there was a poor maidservant in the city itself, and then a man who had been a merchant, put to death just outside the city. Sir Roger Mortimer seems to have an interest in all the people of the shire.’

‘This merchant, what was his name?’

‘Thomas Redcliffe.’

The Duke sat back and smiled at last with real feeling. ‘ He’s dead? Thank the good Lord.’

‘Why?’

‘He was an assassin, trying to kill my father.’

Vigil before the Feast of St Martin [38] 10 November 1326

Neath Abbey

They had waited here for four whole days now, and there was still no news of a ship that could take them from Wales. It was making Baldwin feel half-crazed to think that all this while, Sir Roger Mortimer was preparing his men and getting ready to attack. Today, he had sent Jack off to ride his horse with Wolf to guard him. The boy was fretting at being kept here, too, and needed some fresh air and exercise for his muscles and his mind.

‘We have to leave this place,’ Baldwin said to Sir Ralph that morning as they walked about the Abbot’s garden and orchard.

It was a scene of perfect tranquillity. The sky was clear, for once, and he could see the woods to the north where they covered the hills. Should the weather deteriorate, however, it would be impossible to spot an approaching force of men.

‘The King is grown completely despondent,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘He has already resigned himself to capture, I think.’

‘Which is all very well, except it means he is consigning all of us, his most loyal men, to destruction with him,’ Baldwin said drily. He took a deep breath. All he could see in his mind’s eye was his wife’s face as she was told that he had been executed for his part in the flight of the king. ‘Sir Ralph, we have to do something!’ he went on. ‘We can’t just sit around, passively waiting for Sir Roger.’

‘What do you propose we do?’ There was an edge to Sir Ralph’s voice which Baldwin had not heard before. ‘We can flee farther to the west until we reach the sea, or we could try to work our way eastwards, through Sir Roger’s men, hoping to get to the English countryside in one piece. Do you have any better ideas, Sir Baldwin? If so, please enlighten me!’

He watched as Baldwin shook his head, before continuing, ‘I know, sir, that the situation is hopeless. Look at the men. They spend their time drinking and gambling. If Sir Roger appeared now, what could they do? Nothing. We are lost, my friend. There is no rescue for us.’

‘Sir Ralph, Sir Baldwin…’

The knights heard the voice together, and turned to face the man who walked in leisurely fashion towards them. Even messengers had lost all sense of urgency now. This was a man Baldwin had seen before – a tall fellow called Giles. ‘The King would see you both now, please.’

Hereford

Simon was ready to leave with the others at dawn. For once, he was glad to be out in the open air.

It was a fact that his interview with the Duke had not gone as well as he could have wished. Simon had had no idea what to say, nor how to react with him. All the while, he was aware that Duke Edward was restraining himself, watching his every word, wary of letting slip anything that could be construed as demeaning to his mother and Sir Roger Mortimer, while not wishing to be thought of as disloyal to his father. It was a tortuous path he trod.

And equally tortuous must be Simon’s. It was wearying to talk while having to watch that by neither word nor expression did he dishonour any of them.

Yes, he told himself, looking back at the town in the murk as he trotted away, it was far better, and safer, to be in the saddle and having a clear, defined function to perform, rather than being cooped up inside those town walls. At least here a man could speak freely.

They had ridden a league or more when he found Sir Stephen close by.

‘Master Puttock, I am glad that you are well. This riding to and fro is exhausting, is it not?’

Simon grinned, but he remembered Sir Laurence’s scathing words about this man, and decided to be circumspect. ‘Very tiring, Sir Stephen,’ he said.

At least Sir Stephen didn’t have too much in the way of wealth on display, unlike some other knights, who often seemed more prone to ostentation than a peacock. Simon detested all that dressing up in bright colours, the tight-fitting clothes, the emphasis on jewels and other fripperies. Sir Stephen’s red tunic and parti-coloured hosen, and his thick cloak were all of good quality, but unlike Sir Laurence and others, he was not dripping in gold. His sword was simple and robust rather than decorative, and his hair was cropped short after the fashion of Edward I.

‘You have had all your hair off,’ Simon remarked.

Sir Stephen nodded. ‘It seemed best while we were travelling. Do you have any idea where the King might be?’

‘I wish I did,’ Simon replied. ‘I don’t really know Wales, but what I have seen of it shows that a man could hide in the valleys for a year and a day if he wished to, and if the locals did not give him away – but as to whether our King would be happy to live in such a manner is another tale.’

‘I doubt it. He enjoys his comforts, as does Sir Hugh le Despenser. The two would find life in a peasant’s hut unendurable, to my thinking. They are not so hardy as some.’

Simon glanced at him. It sounded as though Sir Stephen was comparing their own relative positions. If so, he was honouring Simon more than he would have expected. ‘And who do you consider so hardy?’

‘You are a man of great resilience, master. I have seen that already. I think it is fair to say that I too have more capacity to endure hardship than many. Look at Sir Laurence, for example. To ride out in the rain like this would be a severe hardship to him. He needs his soft bed, his pewter and silver to dine from. Me, I have wooden trenchers, but prefer hard bread for my meats; I can drink wine, but am content with ale or cider. If there are good clothes which will keep me warm or dryer, I will buy them, but only because they serve a practical purpose. And look at my sword: it is simple, crafted of steel, with no decoration. Then consider Sir Laurence, with his fripperies, his goblet, his sword with gilt over his cross, the velvet of the hilts, his long hair… Was there ever a knight who looked less suited to campaigning? Ha! I hope I will never grow so soft and determined to seek fashion.’

Simon was careful to indicate a certain disinterest in his tone. ‘I believe Sir Laurence and you don’t enjoy the closest of friendships?’

Sir Stephen laughed loudly. ‘Closest? No! He and I have always been at odds; he dislikes me because he knows I eschew his life of ease. Oh, I don’t hate him, but I do find his attitude… inappropriate for a knight. Always seeking the next reward is not good for a man whose duty should itself be adequate reward.’

‘I don’t quite follow.’

‘Well, look at him,’ Sir Stephen said. ‘He’s always buying new flamboyant clothes, and then there’s his position in the castle at Bristol until Sir Roger took it. Sir Laurence was a close friend of Despenser, I think, and looked to him for his advancement. It is no surprise that he was so keen to hold the city, since to lose it would mean losing his status in the world, and much of his income too. A knight needs an income, of course, but he should be satisfied with the money he receives from his manor.’