King's Gold

The fighting men of Scotland preferred to hurry into England on their sturdy little ponies and commit various acts of violence upon the people of the north, harrying the peasants and farmers all the way down to York. They were a warlike, violent people, but obviously no match for the brave young English warriors, and with their new King to lead them, with the Regent at his side, the English must prevail.

That was the mood of the place, Simon saw. But it was not matched by Baldwin’s.

‘These young fellows have not fought against a desperate foe before,’ he said. ‘This war will not be so easy as they imagine. It would take three or four wars for them to become accustomed to the ways of the Scottish.’

‘Hah! You will be fine, my friend, and so will they,’ Sir Richard de Welles boomed from Baldwin’s other side. ‘These Scottish churls will be shocked to see how massive are the forces ranged against them this time.’

‘They want their freedom,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘That is something many men would think worth fighting and dying for.’

‘It all looks worthwhile fighting and dying for – until you’re standin’ in line with a wave of English clothyards aimin’ at your proud Scottish heart,’ Sir Richard chuckled.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, but Simon could see that he was not convinced.

Although he racked his brain for something that might divert his friend, Simon could think of no suitable topic to lighten the mood. It was a relief when Matteo Bardi arrived at their side and asked to speak with Baldwin.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Berkeley Castle

Simon and Sir Richard walked with Baldwin out of the court, through the open gate and out into the wide space before the castle.

‘Well?’ Baldwin asked the Florentine.

‘I am worried that I will die soon, and I would prefer that others whom I trust were told of my suspicions and fears before I am killed.’

Sir Richard snorted rudely. ‘Who’d be bothered to kill a banker?’

‘Tell us,’ Baldwin said.

Matteo glanced quickly at the castle before striding away towards the bridge over the moat.

‘This murder of the carter – it was not the first killing,’ he began. ‘You have heard that I was attacked and left for dead during the rioting in London? Well, my brother Manuele, head of our bank and our family in England, was slain that day. It did not occur to me that it was a malicious attempt to slay me at the same time. I considered it more likely that I was the unfortunate victim of the fury of the mob, and that I should forget it.’

‘But?’ Baldwin prompted.

‘The day of the attack I had been to a meeting of my family,’ Matteo said. ‘We discussed whether to throw our influence behind the Queen or the King. I was unsure, while my brother Benedetto wished to support the Queen, and Manuele wanted to remain on the side of the King. It was that same day that Manuele died and I was almost slain.’

‘You think your brother Benedetto could have stabbed you in London?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes.’

‘Hah!’ Sir Richard exclaimed. ‘That is a terrible suspicion to harbour – but you haven’t acted on it before, have you, eh? Why now?’

‘Because now I have learned that he had a meeting with the Queen’s agent that very same day,’ Matteo said. ‘With Sir Jevan de Bromfield.’

Baldwin was puzzled. ‘I do not see how that affects you.’

‘If Benedetto was so determined to throw the weight of the House of Bardi, behind the Queen, would he not also have been forced to silence all those stood in his way? Like me. And he would have wanted to remove the man dedicated to the old King: Manuele.’

‘Possibly so. But other explanations fit,’ said Baldwin. The tale Matteo told corresponded with the note Baldwin had given Sir Edward, and yet . . . ‘I was in London myself about that time, and I saw the effect of the rifflers on the city. It is quite likely that you and your brother were unfortunate, that it was just the mob howling for blood.’

‘Yes, it could have been – but who else had a reason to kill me, Manuele, and also my servant Dolwyn?’

‘What of him?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Just this: is it not curious that the man who carried a note from the House of Bardi to the King should be the same man to find this horse and cart? Perhaps someone heard he was passing that way, and decided to have him killed. By accident the wrong man was found and slain. Maybe the carter was asleep, and the assassins found him snoring, and slew him thinking he was the messenger they sought.’

Baldwin’s face screwed up as he considered the implications of Matteo’s words. ‘You assume that someone was able to track the man that efficiently, and yet miss him and kill the wrong one? And it follows on from an assumption of the possible guilt of your brother, which is itself dubious at best.’

‘These are only my suspicions, but if I die,’ Matteo said, ‘please do me the service of enquiring after me.’

‘Very well,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Now, is there anything else you would like to tell us? Because if not, my friend, we should return to the celebrations.’