King's Gold

One thing was certain, if he was seen by that foreign scrote, he would be captured as a traitor.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Morrow of the Feast of St John the Baptist

Berkeley Castle

The castle was quiet this morning, after the festivities of the night before, and Baldwin was up and on the castle’s walls before any other than a pale-faced sentry or two. One leaned on his polearm as if it was the only thing holding him upright.

Simon was asleep still. Baldwin had left him on his bench snoring fit to crack the walls. He had kept Sir Richard company until the very early hours, and Baldwin suspected that his head would be exceedingly painful when he did wake. Which was a source of pleasure to Baldwin, bearing in mind that Simon’s snores had kept him awake for much of the night.

From here on the walls he could see over the acres of boggy marshland. The land all about here was wild, untamed and dangerous. North was the Severn Estuary, where Baldwin could see occasional ships moving sluggishly on the water between clouds of mist. Nearer, lay the main Gloucester to Bristol road, and it was always busy. It was the reason for the castle’s construction, after all.

Baldwin looked around one last time in the grey pre-dawn light: there was nothing to be seen yet, but he knew that the fog could conceal hundreds of men, and here in the castle they would have no idea of their presence until the enemy launched an assault.

He passed the guard on the wall over the postern gate. The man had been up late, to judge from the look of his bleary eyes. He leaned against the battlements, casually watching the swirling mists, and Baldwin was content that at least he was awake, if not as alert as he could have been. Below, when Baldwin glanced into the court, he saw another man at the alleyway, picking his nose assiduously.

There was nothing more he could do, he thought. He turned and was about to walk down the stairs when he heard something.

It was faint – a metallic ‘snick’ from outside the castle. On the misty air, the sound was leaden. There was no perception of direction, not with his deaf right ear, and Baldwin turned his head so that his left ear was projected towards the noise. Nothing. It could have been his imagination, but he didn’t think so. Baldwin turned his head again so that he faced the wild heath once more. His eyes studied the mists as though he could penetrate them with his fierce glare.

And then there was a swirl as a breeze moved them, and he saw through the mists a column of men.

‘Guards! Guards! Alarm!’ he bellowed at the top of his voice, even as the mists began to clear and he saw the massed men outside the castle.

Simon heard the roar of his friend’s voice through the blanket of sleep that had so fully bound him. He tried to leap from his bench, only to stumble over his clothes on the floor. Quickly pulling on his chemise and tugging on his hosen, tying them quickly, he shrugged himself into his aketon, and thrust his feet into boots before buckling his sword about his waist.

Outside, the shouts were increasing, and he stood taking stock. The guards and men-at-arms were already pelting over the court to their allocated places, most of them looking the worse for wear after the feast last night. One youngster was throwing up at the corner of a wall. Simon gave him a buffet over the back of the head. ‘Get to your place, boy!’ he snarled. The sight and stench of vomit made him want to puke too. He had drunk far too much last night. His head was thudding painfully, and the thought of fighting in this condition did not fill him with confidence.

The men on the wall were already hurling abuse at the men below, one or two throwing rocks. There was a supply of stones left over from the mason’s works, and these were employed to good effect. Three men had crossbows, and they were calling down for more bolts to shoot. Simon was about to bellow for men to fetch them, when he saw two of the labourers grab bags of rocks and some staffs, and hurry up to the wall.

Simon had enough to think of. He was crossing the yard when he glanced up at the wall. To his astonishment, he saw fighting. Then, ‘Watch out! We have them inside already!’ he shouted as he ran to the wall himself. Some of the labourers had taken their sticks and knocked down the men from the walls. One crossbowman was thrown to the court, landing on his head. He didn’t move again.

Now Simon looked about him, he saw other little groups fighting, and he stood in the midst of the mayhem, sword in hand, trying to see which men were fighting for the castle, which were against it. It was almost impossible. Then he saw a man dart down that alley towards the postern, and felt his scalp crawl at the thought of more men entering.