King's Gold

Benedetto knew from the looks which the others here in the castle threw at him that his deal was common knowledge. The steward must have spread the tale far and wide, the son of a whore! If he could, Benedetto would have him killed. Pay Dolwyn or some other fellow to slay him – or even perform the deed himself. The bastard had ruined Benedetto’s position here.

But Dolwyn was in the gaol for killing Sir Jevan. At least it meant that he was secure.

Benedetto disliked having a dangerous man like him loose.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Near Macclesfield

Baldwin felt the cool air penetrating beneath his armour, and took a deep breath, clenching the muscles of his chest and shoulders against the chill.

They were making good time, even with the ox-carts holding them up. Where a horse could walk and take rests to eat and drink, an ox had to eat, then lie down to chew the cud, before being able to walk on. They were immensely powerful brutes, but Baldwin did wonder whether their ability to haul massive wagons was not offset by their slowness.

The party was making its way north around the wild lands, and soon would turn north and east towards York. That was where the King’s Host was gathering. From what Baldwin had heard, it was clear the young King was determined to crush the Scottish. Their raids and depredations upon the innocent farmers and peasants of the north had appalled him, and he had set his heart on destroying them once and for all. He was calling upon all: Hainaulters, Frenchmen, barons, knights and squires, to join him in this great endeavour. Many had already been summoned to meet the King at York for the Monday following Rogation Sunday⁵⁵ and it was thought that they would soon thereafter march on Scotland.

But to reach York would take time. All he could think of as he rode was his manor, his wife and his children. He was riding ever further from them with every passing hour. It felt as though he was being torn in two: his heart was with his family, while his head demanded that he carry on to York and to battle as a warrior. Baldwin had a duty to fight for the greater good.

They were in a broad plain when he saw a small contingent of men-at-arms veering off to the left. There were seven all told, and Baldwin frowned at the sight. There were all too many men who would ‘ride out’, foraging amongst peasants’ houses for tidbits of food or drink. It was natural that a knight would expect those whom he protected to reward him for his efforts, but some took advantage of their position and would steal and harry without mercy. Baldwin had seen it in the Holy Land, in Italy, and in France, and recently he had witnessed it in England.

On a whim, he clucked his tongue and spurred his horse. Leading Edgar and John, he rode at a moderate canter towards the men. But he had misjudged them. They were not riding out; they had simply spotted a party of men trying to hide, and had encircled them with lances at the ready.

‘What is this?’ Baldwin demanded as he approached. There were eleven all told, and well-dressed in soft wools and linens. The leader was a little younger than Baldwin. He had dark hair and hazel eyes in a sunburned face that was square and as uncompromising as granite. As he eyed the men encircling him, his attention was more with the rest of the column than the men about him, Baldwin noticed.

‘You!’ he said to the man. ‘What is your name?’

‘David of Monteith. Who are you?’

‘Sir Baldwin de Furnshill,’ Baldwin said. ‘You are many leagues from home, friend.’

‘We travel south. To family in Wales.’

‘Aye?’ Baldwin eyed the men’s clothing. They had all travelled in foul weather, from the look of the mud that had splattered about their boots and up their horses’ legs. They were particularly well armed, too, but that was no surprise – travellers needed the means of protecting themselves. ‘You have met with inclement weather.’

‘What of it?’

‘Not many would carry on in the worst of weathers. They would rest themselves and their horses in an inn. You must have great need to ride so far so fast. What is the cause?’

‘We have no great urgency,’ the man insisted. His companions murmured and their sturdy horses moved uneasily.

Edgar was at his side, and Baldwin knew that there was no need to trouble himself on that flank. Nobody would pass Edgar unless they killed him first, and that would require a more resolute man than most Baldwin had met.

‘John, ride to my Lord Berkeley and tell him there are Scottish forces riding to spy on us,’ Baldwin said calmly.

There was a moment’s silence after his words. Baldwin was filled with a heightened awareness – of the men around him, but more, of the sound of bees among the flowers and grasses at his feet, the song of larks high overhead, the wind soughing through the branches of the furze.

And then Monteith dragged his sword free and bellowed his war-cry, spurring his beast at Baldwin.