King's Gold

Carefully they made their way past bodies, past piles of rock, and in at the chamber. Nobody challenged them; nobody paid them any heed. And inside, there on the floor, they saw the little bunch of keys. Senchet took them up reverentially and thrust them into his shirt, turning a look of simple happiness to Harry.

‘We’ll wait here until they have gone, and then . . . We’ll be rich!’

The noise was infuriating! Matteo wanted to know what was happening, but when he beat at his door, early on, he was told to belt up and be quiet, and now, there was nothing. It was clear enough that there was a battle going on, and he wanted to know who was attacking. With luck, his brother and the snakes who had thrown him in here would die, and then he would be able to take over the bank as he had intended for the last few months. That would be good, he thought with a smile.

There was a clattering in the corridor, like men running and dropping weapons, but then there was silence again.

He jerked and pulled at the door, but it was firmly locked. If only he could have escaped this chamber, he could have climbed through the little window that gave access to the roof, along which he had fled that evening when he killed Sir Jevan.

It had been shocking how the man writhed and shrieked. Matteo had intended to just hack once and leave him for dead. It had been easy enough to plan. He had merely left a piece of parchment in Jevan’s room telling him to meet Benedetto in the tower before dawn because of a new threat to the Queen’s finances. It was all he needed write. He knew that Sir Jevan would be unable to ignore the summons. And Sir Jevan was punctual. All Matteo need do was step up close and strike with his axe.

The axe had seemed such a clever idea. A weapon that could implicate Dolwyn, and thus remove the two threats to Matteo’s stability and comfort. He wished he had an axe here now. That would be good.

He had no weapon. The only tool he had in the chamber was a large steel poker. Perhaps with that he could break through the door? It was worth trying, he thought, and he took it up – but just as he was about to begin, he heard voices outside.

‘Help me! Help!’ he shouted, and to his relief he heard the key turn in the lock. As the door was thrown wide, he dashed forward to thank his rescuers.

It was his misfortune that the three men outside had reason to fear all those held in the castle. They knew that this was not their King, for he was already saved. But seeing a man armed, so they thought, with a sword, rush at them, they all took the precaution of cutting at him before he could hurt any of them.

Matteo fell screaming at the agony of the blows, and was still shrieking as he died.

Up on the battlements, for a moment Baldwin thought that there might have been a victory in the keep, but then he saw the men cheering, lifting their hats and waving them as the slim, elegant, fair-haired figure stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs.

‘What was it all for, Edgar?’ he said tiredly.

‘I think we may be heading for another war, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Sweet Mother of God, preserve us from that,’ the knight breathed. He set his blue sword blade against a fold of his tunic and wiped it clean. The blood, mingled with the oil used to preserve it, stained the material, but he was past caring. Looking about him, he could see the bodies of four men he had killed, and seven more lay dead or squirming. One man had crawled to the corner and lay there now, shivering with shock and cold as his lifeblood drained and drenched his clothes.

Baldwin shoved his sword into its scabbard and leaned against the battlements. All these dead . . . and if Sir Edward were to escape, more would die in the continual struggle for power. This time the battles could range over the whole nation, if the King were to gather enough support.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had done his best.

John stood in the court looking on while all around him men cheered and shouted as the King appeared at the top of the stairs, a hand raised tentatively, as though not quite sure whether these men actually planned to support him or kill him. He had the look of a man who receives a pardon while standing on the ladder, the noose already about his neck, unsure whether the ladder will be taken away before he can have the rope removed.

John moved forward, one man among all the forces brought to this place to release their King.

In his mind John saw Paul’s face, the happy, smiling companion whom he had loved closer than a brother. And he saw again that same Paul, choking as he drowned in blood.