King's Gold

‘If he wants, he can keep us here waiting for a year,’ the priest said bleakly. He looked about the court like a man seeing it for the first time. ‘What a horrible place. Nothing is what it seems here. It is full of savagery – greed and violence. Agatha, you should come home with me – home to Jen. She will be missing her mother.’

‘I cannot,’ Agatha said. ‘How will we live without that money?’ She was about to plead with him that he should remain at least one more week when she was cut short by the sound of hooves.

A man cantered in through the gates. ‘My Lord Berkeley – urgent message for Lord Berkeley,’ he panted as he threw himself from his horse.

The shouts and rattling of hooves in the court drew Baldwin to his feet. Wolf lay by the door, and opened an eye.

On hearing the noise, Sir Edward looked over at the window, remarking peevishly, ‘There is to be never any peace in this place. What is it now?’

Baldwin was in Sir Edward’s chamber, carrying out his increasingly irksome protective duty. While Sir Edward sat quietly and read his books, occasionally staring out through his window, fingers tapping on the desk before him and sighing fretfully, Baldwin was forced to remain quiet and attentive. It was not a task to which he was suited.

‘Please be seated, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Edward said irritably. ‘You distract me. Can you not see that I am reading?’

‘My apologies, my lord,’ Baldwin said, striding to the doorway and peering out. Here, there were always two guards on duty, and beyond them, a small guardroom. There was movement in there, and he soon saw three men coming out, all gripping weapons. They ran along the corridor, and then out to the main court. But from this chamber there was no means by which Baldwin could see or hear what was happening.

Edgar was not permitted to join him in here during his enforced incarceration with the prisoner, because apparently Lord Berkeley did not trust Baldwin’s servant any more than he trusted Baldwin himself. Instead, Baldwin had told Edgar to remain in the court and listen and watch for danger.

There was no need. Soon after the urgent hoofbeats came hurrying in, there came the tramp of booted feet, and bellowed orders. Baldwin stood back from the door and felt for his sword as Wolf stiffened. He knew where those feet were coming: here, to Sir Edward’s room.

The sound had stirred Simon, who had been dozing in the court while Sir Richard de Welles waxed lyrical about the pleasures of such a fine castle.

All had enjoyed the fruits of the additional money supplied for Sir Edward’s confinement, but few had done so well as Sir Richard. He had the roseate glow of a well-fed fellow, for his little maid was as infatuated with her rotund knight as any maiden with a noble squire.

‘I don’t know how he does it,’ Hugh grumbled more than once, much to Simon’s amusement.

It was ridiculous that such a heavy, hoary old man should have won the heart of such an attractive little wench, but that he had was not in doubt. Whenever she came into the yard, she would look for him, and when she saw him, her face would light up like a child’s seeing her father. Perhaps that was it, Simon reflected. It was just that she saw something of her own father in Sir Richard. Not that any father would behave with his daughter in such a manner, he added to himself censoriously.

Hugh glanced over the court towards the gaol’s door. ‘I heard that the man thought to have killed the carter had killed his own wife, too.’

‘Baldwin said his wife and child died in a fire,’ Simon said quietly, eyes still shut. He knew how Hugh missed his family.

‘I’m all right,’ Hugh said grimly, ‘but I’d kill him myself if it was true.’

Before Simon could speak, he was grateful, for once, for Sir Richard’s intervention.

‘HOI!’ he called, nudging Simon. ‘Look at this, eh?’

The messenger had dismounted by the time a bleary Simon had rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and could take in the world once more. ‘What?’

‘Messenger from the King. Wearin’ the King’s colours,’ Sir Richard said, but there was no humour in his tones now. ‘Think we could be in for a little local trouble. Christ’s bones, you don’t think the King’s comin’ here, do ye?’

‘No, not while the Scots are fighting again,’ Simon said, and with that thought both stared at each other, even as the shouting and horn-blowing began.

‘Oh, God’s blood,’ Sir Richard complained. ‘Just as you get comfortable, they decide to muster us all for a damned war in Scotland, eh?’

Rumours began to fly about the castle in moments. Agatha and Father Luke heard the news from one of the grooms, who was laughing as he ran past them to his duties.

‘What is it, boy?’ Father Luke demanded, catching hold of his jerkin.

‘War, Father. God be praised! Young King Edward’s going to lead us to war. We’re to gather our belongings for the ride.’