King's Gold

‘Because you’re on edge, master. It’s to do with your dreams, I reckon.’ Alured snorted, hawked and spat into the roadway. ‘When you were in your fever, you kept calling out to your brother – the one who died.’

‘Yes.’

‘You knew he was going to die that day.’

Matteo shot him a look with wide, alarmed eyes. ‘I told him not to ride his horse. The mob were grabbing anyone on horseback. He didn’t have a chance!’

‘Then there was nothing you could do. It wasn’t your fault he died, master. He was a grown man, and too cocky, that’s all. He went off up there, assuming that everyone would back down when they saw him – that’s what Bill told me. And he was proved wrong. Not your fault.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘And then they got you too.’

Matteo nodded, then muttered, ‘But I have my own suspicions about that.’

Alured heard him. ‘What do you mean?’

In a low, conspiratorial voice, Matteo confided how scared he was of Benedetto. The brother who, he thought, had tried to kill him.

‘He will try again,’ he finished.

‘Your own brother?’ Alured said. But he knew there were many in London who had gained advancement by stepping into a dead man’s shoes. And often a man would hate his own brother far more than any other enemy.

‘He was there when it happened. He lives up towards Saint Benet Fink.’

Alured felt as though his heart had stopped. ‘Where?’

‘Saint Benet Fink. Why?’

Alured said nothing. But in his mind he saw again that alleyway with the two young bodies lying in it. The very same alley that led to St Benet Fink and Benedetto’s house.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Woods near Kenilworth

Father Luke was relieved to be moving again when they left the tavern. Soon he would see the castle in which the King was held, and so could pass over the box of florins. He wanted nothing more to do with any of it. But he also longed to reach the castle, simply so he could sit at a hot fire and drink spiced cider or ale.

Not many men would so willingly relinquish such wealth, but for Father Luke the trepidation which he had felt since hearing of Despenser’s death had steadily increased over time, as if the weight of the cash was dragging on his very soul. A hundred and fifty pounds! The box contained more than the value of Father Luke’s entire parish.

He wondered what reception he could expect at the castle. The men there would naturally be suspicious and might not let him see Sir Edward – in which case it was possible that someone there might actually steal the box. And if they did, what could he do to stop them? It was unlikely they’d take it and say, ‘Thanks, this will help pay for our garrison’s Easter feast!’ More probably they’d take it, promise to pass it on, and then the poor imprisoned King would never get to see it.

He was mulling this over, when there came a low whistle from ahead.

The purveyor turned and said brusquely: ‘Don’t worry, carter. These are friends of mine.’

Luke shot a look at Ham, and saw he was concerned. Ham cast an eye over his shoulder as though estimating the chances of turning his cart and fleeing, but of course it was too late. Luke gazed ahead and felt a sudden surprise on seeing John of Shulton and Paul of Bircheston.

The two men were on large horses, and as Dunheved came closer to them, they rode forward and slapped him on the back, laughing and chattering.

‘Thought you’d got lost until I saw you in that tavern,’ John was saying. ‘I was trying to find you.’

‘I didn’t want us to stand there chatting.’ The purveyor appeared to be less enthusiastic than the other two. ‘I need to be off out of here as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t worry yourself,’ John said. ‘This won’t take long.’ His grin was infectious, and the priest found himself smiling in return. The fellow really was attractive in a roguish way, and Luke felt he would be an excellent companion in a tavern. He would be the first to begin to sing or tell saucy jokes, and generally make any evening an event to remember.

As if reading his mind, the fellow began to whistle and then sing, a silly tale about a woman who was trying to sue a man for the paternity of her child, while the man refused to listen, and instead boasted about the other women he had bedded, and why he wouldn’t touch an old trout like her. Which was amusing enough – but the last verse told of how she was, unknown to him, the wealthiest woman in the county, and since he had rejected her and caused her son to be known as a bastard, she would marry the man’s servant instead, and elevate him to a position of significance in the land.

A fine song it was, and John managed to use different voices as he sang, with occasional lewd and bawdy gestures. It was all Luke could do not to laugh aloud at his antics.

But the joy in his heart was stopped when Paul and John moved to the back of the cart, and began to move things about.

Ham was the first to protest. ‘Hoi, don’t meddle with that stuff! It’s the purveyor’s, and I don’t want it-’