King's Gold

Benedetto grimaced. ‘You know how things were that day. It was clear to all that the Queen was going to win, and that the King’s power was on the wane. What would you have expected – that I should have waited for Manuele to agree before guaranteeing the security of the bank? The only thing I could do was ensure that we were safe by speaking with the Queen’s agents. I am not ashamed of it. I would do it again.’

‘Sir Jevan?’ Matteo muttered. ‘He was an agent of the Queen?’

‘You are our best intelligencer, and didn’t know?’ Benedetto chuckled. ‘Yes, Sir Jevan was there that day. I agreed that we should support the Queen above all others. It did lead to our being involved right from the first . . . You look worried, brother. What is it?’ His face suddenly fell. ‘You think that because you were discussing your letter to Sir Edward, I sent a man to kill you? Matteo, we are brothers. If a man may not trust his own blood, how can he trust any man? I could not hurt you any more than you could hurt me.’

Matteo nodded, and when Benedetto threw his arms about him, he did not even flinch.

Saturday before Easter Sunday

Berkeley Gaol

Dolwyn squatted on the floor, waiting with a patience that was close to madness. He was alone in this dark, dingy chamber. There was one little sewer that ran along the length of it, a mere trench cut in the rock, which fed into a small pit at the farther end. From there the moisture sank somehow into the soil beneath the castle, he assumed. This cold, befouled prison was the most noisome and repugnant he had ever seen.

He had no idea what would happen to him. They had not dragged him out to die, since that knight’s words. The coroner had postponed his death, thank God! Otherwise he would have been taken out and pulled up by the neck until he was strangled, as that block-headed ribald⁴⁴ of a lord had wanted.

The Bardis wouldn’t want him to talk, so they had better be careful. Very careful.

The door creaked open at the top of the staircase, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. The footsteps coming down the stairs must be those of a pair of guards, and he instantly began to shake, as though these men were going to take him up to the fresh air and the light and slip a rope over his head in an instant.

And then he heard a voice . . .

‘Come with me, my friend,’ Baldwin said. ‘You will not wish to be questioned down here. Let us go together and enjoy some food and drink.’

Within a few minutes, Dolwyn found himself seated on a bench, and before him was set fresh, warm bread, a block of cheese, a bowl of thin stew, and a pot of ale. He touched the food with a restraint that was torture. ‘What do you want?’

‘The truth. Perhaps to save your life?’ Baldwin took his seat opposite Dolwyn. ‘Eat.’

Dolwyn took a little bread and chewed it slowly, savouring the flavour, and then he picked up the pot of ale and drained it in one long draught. Sighing with pleasure, he put it down again and set about the cheese and bread with gusto.

‘There is a reckoning, of course,’ Baldwin said. ‘It comes to men no matter what they think of the justice. But if you were truly innocent of the murder of Ham Carter, I would not see you punished for that crime.’

Dolwyn eyed him. It would be all too easy to admit to a past offence and be hanged for that, he guessed. He must be cautious. At least he could be honest about Ham.

‘I quite liked the carter. He was a fellow as I was once. More than a little hen-pecked. He reminded me how I was before my wife’s death.’

‘How did that happen?’

A convulsive shiver ran through Dolwyn’s frame. ‘I killed her – and my daughter. But I had not meant to hurt either of them. I could never have harmed my little girl. She was all the sweetness in life to me.’

Baldwin could see that the man was affected, unless he was an excellent actor. ‘Go on.’

‘My woman was always over-willing to chastise me. That was why I used to go and drink, sometimes too much. That night I returned and we had a row, as usual. The vill heard and some of the men came to demand that we keep the peace and stop our wrangling, but she berated them in insulting terms. I could see that they were horrified to be addressed in such a way. So, after they left, I determined I would try to correct her behaviour. I took up a stick, and threatened her.’

As he spoke, he saw again the cramped room that was their home, little Emily terrified in her bed, the glow from the rushlights throwing a fitful orange light over everything. Maggie stood with her hands on her hips, her face turned sharper, more like a ferret’s. He had been standing beside his barrel of burned cider⁴⁵ with a cup in his hand. A stiffener before bed, he had thought. Something to strengthen his resolve before his wife started to lay into him with her tongue. And then she began.