King's Gold

Luke could not help but notice that the man’s eyes turned now to the cart, and suddenly he squinted. And when Luke turned, he saw the edge of the chest protruding from the blankets, which he had inadequately arranged to cover it.

Lecwotton

Stephen Dunheved was eager for a drink. As soon as he had finished his first quart of ale, staring thoughtfully up the road in the direction John had taken, he went back inside the ale-house for another.

It was one thing to be assured of acting for the general good, but when it came to a situation like this, knowing that men would soon die, and that he himself could be one of them, that was a different matter. Not that he was scared, just tense, because he knew what lay ahead. A fight, certainly, and possibly the release of their rightful king, along with the glory that would ensue. It was a wonderful ambition – and yet he felt weary and fretful, and couldn’t shake off a sense of impending doom.

He had been in difficult situations before, of course. Six years ago he had been forced to abjure the realm for killing a man, and didn’t return until the King pardoned him. Within the year he was Valet of the King’s Chamber, and soon afterwards, Edward made him custodian of Lyonshall Castle, then appointed him to hold an inquisition. Stephen’s future had seemed assured. He had not conceived of the King losing his throne.

This wretched tavern seemed to emphasise just how far he had fallen. Once, he had moved in the best circles – not that you would think it, to look at him now. To all he was a scruffy acquirer of goods, little better than a churl, and everyone knew that purveyors had a bad reputation.

He grimaced. The fire was smoking profusely in the middle of the room, and there was a loud hissing as moisture bubbled from the ends of the green logs. It was typical of the landlord that he hadn’t the foresight to cut wood earlier in the year so it could dry.

Going outside, he sat on a log near the door. Soon a wench came out with a tray on which there was a large round loaf and a lump of cheese, as well as two more jugs of ale.

‘Thank you, maid,’ he said, eyeing the loaf hungrily.

She set it on the ground, and wiped her hands before leaving them to their meal.

‘Ham, come and eat,’ Luke called.

Stephen was already cutting into the bread with his knife. He took a quarter of the loaf and studied the lump of grit-infested, blackened crust. He, who had eaten the best paindemaigne with the King’s household, forced now to subsist on this! It was enough to make a man weep, he thought, washing a piece down with a mouthful of ale. At least the liquid made it soften.

The carter joined them at the table, sitting and reaching over for the cheese. ‘I don’t know that the horse’ll make it much further today.’

‘He won’t have to go very much further,’ Stephen said. ‘It’s only a league or more to the castle. We are halfway there, from Warwick.’

‘Good.’

Luke glanced over at the horse. ‘He has done well to bring us here so swiftly.’ He saw the old beast droop his head towards the grass. He seemed hardly able to rip the grass from the verge.

Stephen looked at the sun. ‘Don’t worry. You can rest him a while here. We don’t have to move off again yet.’

Wycombe

They had set off late the previous afternoon, and Alured still resented the way that he had been imperiously called into service. It was not the sort of job he had ever considered for himself, being a personal bodyguard to a banker.

It was lunchtime when they saw the little bush bound to a pole over a cottage’s door, denoting an ale-house, and Alured went in to ask about food and drink while Matteo Bardi and the three servants with him waited outside. The old woman inside was content to let them share her food when she was promised payment, but even now, with food in his belly, Alured continued to eye his new master with suspicion.

He knew that Matteo was hiding something. The man had regularly thrashed around and cried out in his sleep during the time when he was at Alured’s house, and the constable had a shrewd suspicion that he was petrified of someone close to him.

There were many who looked at Alured askance when he mentioned his intuitions, but he had been involved with people all his life, and knew how to read a man’s thoughts. Fear was easy to spot; and he was getting the distinct impression of fear from Matteo Bardi.

When they were riding on again, he broached the subject while out of earshot of the other henchmen.

‘Master, do you have reason to be fearful about this journey?’

Matteo turned to him with such a startled look that Alured had to stifle a grin. ‘Scared? Me?’

‘Look, I was ordered by the city to come with you whether I like it or not, and I will do as I’m told. But if there’s some reason for your alarm, I’d like to know it. Then at least I can prepare for it.’

‘There is nothing. Nothing!’

‘All right,’ Alured said, and jogged onwards.

‘Why do you ask?’