King's Gold

His commands given, he gave himself up to reading through the notes and compiling his report for Benedetto, but all the while his mind would keep returning to Sir Roger Mortimer.

What was so urgent that it required Matteo's presence?

CHAPTER TEN

Kenilworth

‘What is it?’ Gilbert said. The chief guard of Sir Edward of Caernarfon had eaten his lunch, and was sitting with his legs up on the bench beside him as Squire Bernard strode in.

Gilbert was in a foul mood, but there was nothing new in that. Since arriving here and being told that he was to remain with the King until he was relieved, he had been bitterly resentful. His duties should have ended four months ago when he deposited the King here in Kenilworth. That was what he had been promised. Yet here he was, still waiting, and with no one to relieve him. He would probably be stuck here until he died – or until the King did, he told himself gloomily.

‘There’s been a man here asking about Sir Edward and how well he’s guarded,’ Squire Bernard said. ‘He told me he was a messenger for the King.’

‘And?’ Gilbert snapped.

‘Well, I feel there was something wrong about him.’

‘ “Wrong”, eh?’ Gilbert snorted. ‘I know all about “wrong”. I’m still here, and that’s wrong! Four months – and here I am, still kicking my sodding heels!’ He hated this place. He hated being a gaoler, he hated waking every morning with a view of the land about here that was as different from London and his little estate near Eltham as it could be. In his opinion, this whole damned place was wrong!

He glanced up at the man standing before him, looking bemused. The fool obviously expected him to do something.

‘So what is the problem?’ Gilbert demanded, shooting a look over his shoulder at the door to the King’s chamber. It was closed as usual.

‘He would not show me his letter of safe conduct.’

‘So you arrested him?’

‘He told me he had safe passage, but that he was on an urgent journey carrying information about negotiations with the Scots,’ Bernard said. ‘I couldn’t ignore him.’

Gilbert grunted and swung his legs from the bench, rubbing his eyes. ‘Very well,’ he yawned. ‘But if this is all a noise about nothing, I’ll make you regret it. Right – you go to the gate and check it. I want the guards doubled, and when it’s curfew, the gate is to be locked no matter what, you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Squire?’

Squire Bernard was surprised by the voice behind him. He turned to find himself staring into the square face of a tall man with green, brooding eyes. He had been leaning against the wall behind the door, but now he stepped forward. It was Sir Jevan de Bromfield, and Bernard’s heart sank. The man’s reputation for savagery was widely acknowledged.

‘If you find a stranger, Squire, don’t believe him when he tells you he’s a messenger. The King’s messengers go about in uniform. Spies are those who hide their loyalty.’

Second Monday before the Feast of the Annunciation

Warwick

The road which passed by Warwick was a heavily used path, and after some days of warm weather, the ruts had hardened and a mis-step threatened a strained or broken ankle. It seemed to Father Luke, as he stumbled along as best he could, that the purveyor, Stephen Dunheved, appeared to be on his guard, riding on his horse like a merchant fearful of attack.

Father Luke assumed that this suspicion was a natural part of a purveyor’s life. No one liked a taxman, and a purveyor was not dissimilar: he would enforce the prices he chose, and no peasant had the option of arguing. There were many who might wish to take a shot at him with an arrow.

Here, though, it was very unlikely that someone might try to assault them. The kingdom was more or less at peace now, and this was one of the quieter backwaters of the nation. After the past turbulent years and the constant threat of war, everyone was subdued. The fear had been so overwhelming, its removal was startling. Luke thought it was like a man about to dive into a dangerous lake, who took a deep breath in preparation, only to be commanded to turn away from the water.

However, it was good to find that they were approaching a small tavern. After walking all of yesterday, until it was dark and difficult to gather firewood, Luke’s legs were weary by noon, and the purveyor – who had a high opinion of his own importance which Father Luke considered unwarranted – had refused to allow them to pause in Warwick. He did not want them to be delayed. That was enough to make Father Luke protest bitterly. The carter and he must walk almost all the way, for the horse could not manage any speed whilst bearing a man as well as hauling the cart.