King's Gold

Baldwin spent as much time as he could with the man who had been his King, relieving Sir Ralph when possible, but it was wearing. It was one thing to sympathise with a man who knew he was soon to be executed, but quite another to sit with a drunken man. A one-night vigil was sad, but this was a vigil without end. Edward had not been openly condemned to death, but he retained the conviction that someone would kill him, and the strain showed. His face, for all its supernatural calmness, was lined and haggard. His appetite was gone, and without exercise his body was losing its fine tone and strength. It was a relief that Sir Ralph was staying with the King every night and much of the day too. Baldwin would have found the duty too onerous.

Today he rode about the circuit with Simon, the two speaking little as they travelled. There was no news from the vills or the farms, to their relief.

‘I don’t know how much longer I can stand this hanging around,’ Simon said as they cantered gently back towards the castle after their last stop.

‘I am sure that if you wish to, it would be possible for you to go home,’ Baldwin said.

‘It’s an idea I find appealing,’ Simon sighed. ‘But I wouldn’t leave you here with only Sir Richard to keep you company.’

Baldwin pulled a face. ‘The good Sir Richard’s appetite for ale, wine and dreadful jokes does create its own strain.’

‘And there are dangers from these mad brothers.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘The Dunheveds would appear set upon their course. They are determined to enrich themselves, but whether they intend to make a serious attempt upon the castle is a different matter.’

‘If they do,’ Simon said, ‘they will find a warmer welcome in Berkeley than ever they did in Kenilworth.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Baldwin said.

They rode on in companionable silence. Approaching the castle, Baldwin began casting about for any signs of spies in the land, but as usual there was nothing to give him cause for concern.

‘I begin to wonder if they will do anything,’ he muttered. ‘It is almost a week since their riot in Cirencester; months since they tried to raid Kenilworth. Perhaps they are losing men and cannot make an assault. What do you think, Simon?’

They were riding up the straight road to the gate as Simon shrugged. ‘Baldwin, you know the minds of men like them better than I do. If it were me, I would have decided that the old King was a lost cause. It’s been months since his capture. Why would anyone fool themselves into thinking that they could liberate him and return him to his throne when there are so many who would do all in their power to prevent that? Too many have their interests bound up with those of Sir Roger. Even if these Dunheveds did succeed in breaking into the castle and freeing Sir Edward – what then? Would they ride to London with a hundred men-at-arms and hope that the city would welcome them? They might get an unpleasant surprise, if they were to try it.’

Riding under the gatehouse, they swung from their saddles and Baldwin stood pulling his gloves off, when he heard a hail from the porter’s doorway.

‘Sir Baldwin. I am glad to see you again.’

Baldwin gave a slow smile. ‘John. I had not thought you would come here.’

‘I am recovered now, I thank you. The malady did not last long,’ John said.

Baldwin nodded, but could not help thinking that the man looked more unwell than before. ‘It is good to see you once more. You have heard of the threat?’

‘Yes, the Dunheveds are a terror to the whole land. But I will do what I can to help,’ John said – and he meant it with all his heart.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Thursday before Ascension

Willersey

Father Luke had been at the home of William and Margaret to help them to hold vigil over their son Adam, who had died suddenly yesterday. His mood was sombre as he walked the short way home. They would be bringing the body to the church later, and Luke must have everything ready to honour the poor young man. Only two-and-twenty – a terribly young age to die. For William it was doubly shattering, for he had no other sons, and Adam had not yet married. There was no son or grandson to carry on farming his land; no one to look after him and his wife when they grew old. All their hopes and dreams had shattered.

It was the same each time. Bereavement was always appalling.

For instance, Jen was wasting away by the day. The brightness in her eyes had grown dim, and the intelligence which had been her most obvious attribute, seemed to have been swallowed up by her misery.

She was there now, he saw, a small figure at the door to the church. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself to meet her. He had so little time to spare now, before the arrival of the funeral party.

‘Hello, Jen,’ he smiled. ‘I am glad to see you.’

‘May I come inside for a little?’