King's Gold

For Sir Edward, the incarceration was tedious, but Sir Ralph was beginning to think that if he himself did not escape this chamber soon, he too would become quite mad. Being locked in here was taxing all his reserves of patience.

The only escape was to sit and consider who it was who could have killed Sir Jevan – and imagine how to defend Sir Edward, were the killer to try to assassinate him.

Minchenhamtone⁵⁹

The little vill was peaceful as John rode in.

There was not much to the village – only a small market square, with a modest-sized chapel and a pair of inns and some taverns. It was a place which Stephen and Thomas had once told John was safe. They had relatives who owned the manor nearby and the people of the area were very keen supporters of the Dunheveds and the old King. If he had need, they said, he should make his way here.

He had greater need than ever now. Filled with depression, he felt all the miles he had covered in recent days as he reined in by an ale-house and gazed about him. The illness he had mentioned to Baldwin had not been feigned. It was a fresh manifestation of his inner desperation. If only Paul were still alive, so that he had someone with whom to discuss this whole matter. But Paul was dead, and there was no one else in whom he could confide. His desperation was caused by that very solitude that would, with luck, ensure a measure of success.

It had been hellish to travel with Sir Baldwin. All the way he had felt as though he was being studied, as though Sir Baldwin knew he was a member of the party determined to release the King. In honesty, he was unsure as to whether Sir Baldwin himself was devoted to the incarceration of the old King, or would aid his release. Perhaps he would support those determined to free Sir Edward of Caernarfon? Many might. Many would.

‘John? What are you doing here?’

John’s head snapped around and he found himself staring at Sir Edmund Gascelin. ‘I am glad to find you. The whole plan has been discovered.’

Sir Edmund swore under his breath. ‘How?’

‘Men of the Earl of Mar were captured and beaten. It was not their cowardice or treachery that betrayed us; the simple fact that they were men from the Earl was enough to alert Lord Berkeley. He’s convinced there’s to be an attempt to free Sir Edward.’

‘Is he returning?’

‘No, he has to attend the Muster, but he has sent a knight to warn the castle,’ John said as he swung himself down from the saddle. An ostler came to take his horse from him, and John and Sir Edmund entered the inn. Inside, John found the two Dunheveds, and he repeated his story to them.

Frere Thomas looked at Stephen. ‘Does it change anything?’

‘We have the men ready. If they aren’t going to increase the garrison as John said, we will be safe enough.’

Sir Edmund grinned. ‘In that case, the plan will go ahead. Soon we will have rescued our liege-lord from Berkeley, and there’ll be nothing anyone can do to stop his return to the throne.’

‘There will be war again,’ John said.

‘Of course there will. How else would he recover his throne?’ Sir Edmund had a savage look about him, keenly anticipating the battles to come. ‘You must return to the castle now.’

‘I can’t,’ John said dully. ‘Sir Jevan is there, and he knows me. If I go back, with so few men in the garrison he will be sure to recognise me.’

‘He’s no threat to you now,’ Stephen said. ‘William has sent a message. He’s dead.’

‘So now we can consider the battle,’ Sir Edmund said with a ferocious grin.

John nodded, but inwardly his heart sank. The prospect of thousands of deaths, in order to return the failed King to his throne, had become abhorrent to him.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Fourth Wednesday after Easter

Cirencester

The little town was busy even though this was not a market day. Stephen Dunheved walked out into the sunshine with a sense that this was a good place for their efforts to begin.

He had heard that Cirencester had once been a great city, second only to London, but that was a fable to make the peasants here feel more important than they deserved. True, the local farmers had a good stock of sheep; their flocks were huge, and the fleeces they produced were very much in demand. That was the source of the town’s wealth: wool.

An apprentice barged into him, hurrying from a tavern, and Stephen swallowed the urge to clout him. He must not draw attention to himself in any way.

The sun was directly overhead when he finally heard what he had been waiting for. Hoofbeats. A cry, then a scream and shouting. He walked away from the roadside and waited near his own horse.

It was here, at the market square, that the riders came at speed. There were seventy of them all told, bold fighters from the Dunheved estates, wiry, tough Scotsmen with Earl Donald, and Welsh knifemen from the Marches, and Stephen’s brother at their head with Sir Edmund and John. They rode into the square and Thomas dismounted, walking to the middle.