King's Gold

‘What are these men doing out of the prison?’

The voice made his eyes snap wide. Dolwyn looked over to the other side of the yard, where he saw the hated figure in a cream tunic once more. This fellow was called Sir Jevan, he now knew, and he looked at the man with trepidation.

Behind him he heard the booming voice of the coroner again. ‘I released them on their own parole.’

‘Their “parole”? You think that they understand the concept of honour? They should be returned to their cell at once.’

‘I have taken their oaths. I will not send them back for no reason.’

‘No reason? Three felons and outlaws, and you think they should be released?’

‘They are not convicted.’

‘They are guilty. Look at them!’

‘I am a Coroner to the King, and I have some few little powers. One allows me to hold these men to their word.’

The other knight gazed at him with contempt, then spat into the dirt at his feet, turned and walked away.

Dolwyn watched him go. All he could feel at that moment was the flaring of the wound in his flank. That and his utter loathing of that bastard.

‘Masters,’ he said to Senchet and Harry. ‘I feel I owe you much. I cannot pay you for my life, but I can buy you some ale. Would you join me?’

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Berkeley Castle

Sir Jevan sneered as he watched the coroner leave the court. A man who was prepared to release criminals did not deserve to be in the position of responsibility held by that tub of lard. Such a fat fool would be a useless comrade in a fight.

It was a relief to Sir Jevan that he himself had not been called upon to join the King’s muster. He had no objection to fighting, of course, but he knew that his master would much prefer him to be here, to keep an eye on Sir Edward of Caernarfon. The latter was far too valuable to Earl Henry of Lancaster for him to be allowed to be killed.

Sir Jevan wiped his brow. It was hot, and he felt uncomfortable in his thick tunic. Still, better here than on a long march north. Those fellows would soon be in some discomfort, with the sun shining on them all day long. He knew – he had taken part in such journeys before. Dust clogged the throat, and sat on collars, sanding away at exposed flesh like a hone on steel, until a man could only jog along trying to keep his head still. Dreadful business.

He looked around the court and spotted a small company playing at dice at a low table. The bankers were both sitting on a bench, and two others were testing their luck with knucklebones. A maiden watched, serving them with ale as the bones were thrown. In the past, Sir Jevan had enjoyed such pursuits, but not now, of course. After the execution of his master, Earl Thomas of Lancaster, by the King, Sir Jevan had lost interest in gambling.

Thank God that the man who had been King Edward II was now merely Sir Edward of Caernarfon – a lowly knight, no matter his former status. It was satisfying at a deep level – and quite inadequate at all others.

Just then, he noticed Matteo Bardi observing him from beneath hooded eyes. It was enough to make him clench his jaw. The man had a discourteous manner. Turning away, Sir Jevan strode off. This was not the time for him to get angry with these people. There was still much to be done.

He was just mastering his annoyance when he saw the three men released from gaol sitting out near the hall. Rage arose in him once more.

Dolwyn of Guildford was lucky to be breathing, the prickle. It was not for Sir Jevan to impose a punishment here, but if this were his Earl’s castle, he would soon ensure that the fool discovered that a churl’s place was not in the way of a knight, no matter where it might be – on the road, in a castle, any damned where! The man seemed to think he was entitled to take his place with other free men. Dear God, if all peasants were to think like this, the kingdom would collapse.

It irritated him beyond measure, yet once again, the only thing he could do was walk away. The alternative was to run this churl through with his sword, and that would only bring embarrassment and might even cause a renewed rift between his master, Earl Henry, and Sir Roger Mortimer. That, he knew, was not to be desired.

He must not get into a fight here in the castle. But if he were to leave the place, and was followed, he would be justified in defending himself. And it would be his word against the peasant’s . . .

The Town of Berkeley

John saw William approach, but kept his eyes on the road – watching for any men following. There was no one.

‘There is a muster, I’m told,’ he said. ‘Has Sir Jevan gone?’

William shook his head. ‘No, unfortunately. You must be careful and avoid him.’

‘How can one man avoid another in such a small castle? He knows me, and if he sees me, he will try to kill me.’

‘Then you will have to ride away,’ William said dismissively. ‘It is not my concern.’