King's Gold

‘Hugh was prepared to listen to the rumours of a Devil flying past.’

‘Who spoke of that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘A mason.’

Baldwin nodded. It was a sad place to die, he thought. Alone, in the dark, attacked by an unseen assailant. ‘Why was he here?’

‘We wondered that too,’ Simon said. ‘It is not on the way to a garderobe or urinal.’

Baldwin looked about him. He crossed the floor to the door in the northernmost wall. This led into a passageway that ran straight to the keep. He stared at that in silence, thinking for a long moment. ‘And that is where many others slept?’

‘Yes. The Bardis were there, and Alured.’

‘Let us meet this mason who spoke of the Devil,’ Baldwin said.

Masons’ Yard, Berkeley Castle

‘Who was it?’ Baldwin demanded as they reached the encampment below the tower.

Simon sent Hugh to find the man, and before too long he was back with a grey-haired fellow in his middle years. He had a square, sunburned face, and hands that looked as powerful as the rocks he had spent his life breaking and shaping. Although his eyes were blue and clear, there was an unfocused look about them as he smiled a little blankly at the men ranged about him. ‘You wanted me?’

‘I hear you said that there was a Devil came to kill the knight in the chamber up there,’ Baldwin said.

‘No. It was a Devil took his soul away with him,’ the man said.

‘Why did you think that?’

‘Who else would have been there with him in the middle of the night?’

‘You saw nothing, though?’ Baldwin said. His patience with the overly superstitious was never extensive.

‘I saw him, yes.’

‘What?’ Baldwin said.

Simon peered at him. ‘Are you sure? Where?’

‘Up there,’ the man said, pointing to the roof of the passage that led from the chamber to the keep.

‘You didn’t tell me this before,’ Simon said irritably.

‘That’s because you didn’t ask me. You asked me if I’d heard the noise, and if so, what I thought it was. I told you I thought it was the Devil, but you didn’t ask if I saw Him.’

‘But you did?’

‘Something like. A figure was bounding along up there with a thick, raggedy cloak about him. That’s what I think I saw.’

‘You aren’t more certain?’

‘It was the Devil. What does it matter what I think?’

It was cold here in his room. Benedetto Bardi stirred the fire and daydreamed about Florentine sunshine. Here all was perpetually hazy.

The look on Matteo’s face had been truly appalling. He had been terrified at the sight of Benedetto, and then for those dull-witted tarses of his to beat up Matteo’s man – well, any fears that were already in his younger brother’s mind would hardly have been assuaged by that, would they?

Benedetto cursed profusely. Here he was, marooned in this miserable castle, and here he must remain until Lord Berkeley came home.

The quiet tap at his door surprised him. ‘Yes?’ he snapped, opening it. Then: ‘Sir Baldwin, this is a pleasant surprise. Please enter and join me in a cup of wine.’

He was not alone, Benedetto saw. There was Sir Richard, and the man Puttock, too. They all walked in and stood looking at him as though he was some kind of felon.

‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘We have an interesting series of deaths, Master Benedetto,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘First one brother dies, and your other brother is almost killed. Two other fellows die near your brother’s body, all in the space of a day. And the man responsible, we think, was on his way to your house. He was an ally of yours. But now, he too is dead. It seems very strange that so much bloodshed should happen in so short a space, so near to you.’

‘I agree. It is most peculiar. But on that particular day in London, many people were killed. Even the Bishop of Exeter died about then, and numerous peasants.’

‘Did you order Sir Jevan to kill your brothers?’ Sir Richard rumbled.

‘Did I . . .’ Benedetto sighed. ‘No. Categorically not. I would never kill my brothers. Look at me, sirs. Do I look like the sort of man who could do such a thing? It would insult my blood, insult my mother’s memory, my father’s good name.’

‘I have heard of men of business who are capable of such dishonour,’ Simon said.

‘Well, I am not one of them. No, I think it is more likely that the killer of Sir Jevan was Alured, servant to my brother. Look at him: he is irrational. Sir Richard, Master Puttock, you both saw him entering into a fight with my men when all I wished was a word with my brother.’

‘But that was only a little after the death of Sir Jevan. Alured was protecting his master. Perhaps Matteo thought you guilty of killing him too?’

‘I say again, no.’

Baldwin reached into his purse and pulled out the parchment. He held it up for Benedetto to see. ‘Read this.’

‘I . . . oh.’ Benedetto winced to see it again. It had suffered in the last months since Manuele had signed it. ‘I know this letter.’

‘It says that the Bardi will support Sir Edward with money and all aid. And yet you supported the Queen against him.’

He shrugged. ‘A man of business must sometimes look to both sides.’