King's Gold

Paul stopped and stood before Ham, smiling, but with his hand on his sword’s hilt. ‘Shut up, carter.’

The purveyor called, ‘Carter, this is all right. There’s nothing to worry about. They are making room for additional stores, that’s all.’

Luke was watching John, though, as he peered at the casket on the bed of the cart. He pulled it towards him, then tested the lid. Seeing it was locked, he tried to pick it up, then made a face at the weight.

Luke felt as though the blood was rushing to his face. John of Shulton had the look of a fellow who would slit a priest’s throat for twenty shillings, and in that box, as Luke knew, there were many pounds. He swallowed, anxious, but even as he did so, Paul walked over to John and began passing him the new cargo for the cart. Luke’s eyes widened.

They were all weapons.

Near Kenilworth Castle

Dolwyn did not dare to stay in the town that night. Instead he left the castle, and then set off in an easterly direction until he came to a small farming hamlet, where he bought some ale and eggs fried with a spot of grease from a pot of bacon fat. It was delicious, and when he asked, he was permitted to make use of their little hayloft, where he slept the night in warm comfort, unworried by the rats and beetles that scurried about him.

All was well; better than well. He had seen the contents of the letter – and had hoped for some small reward for delivering it to Sir Edward. How naïve he had been! For now he saw how much more he could make by helping the man. While Edward’s position was not as good as once it had been, at least Dolwyn had won his confidence. And if the grateful Sir Edward of Caernarfon was ever brought back to power, Dolwyn knew that he would personally be granted a good posting himself. Perhaps become a sergeant in a royal castle, or land some cushy job in the Tower of London – something like that, something without hard work. Ideally in a place like Barnard Castle, where there wouldn’t be too many others to keep an eye on him. Then he could copy Jack the Irishman, and cream as much money as he liked off the local peasants. As a King’s official, they would have no way to refuse any demands he made.

Life, he reflected, could be sweet.

Now that Edward knew that he had the support of the Bardi, he had said he must think about how to effect his escape from this prison. It was terrible, to think that all Dolwyn’s future dreams depended upon the former King’s escape, but better that than for Edward to remain in gaol and for Dolwyn never to see the fruits of his efforts.

He would help Edward escape, he swore to himself now, and as a result, he would be elevated to a position of importance.

All that remained was to work out how this escape could be effected. That, he knew, would take some thought.

Kenilworth

They were close now. Stephen Dunheved could feel his excitement growing as they passed up the road near to Kenilworth, his eyes roving about the trees that lay at either side of the road watching for any signs of ambush – a half-concealed figure, a glint of steel.

He was riding his own sturdy pony, but his urgency to reach the castle was such that even his mount was behaving like a destrier, prancing skittishly as they proceeded over the rough roadway.

This was not the first time he had set out on a journey that would end in danger. In the last months he and his companions had forged a reputation for ruthless determination. Only two weeks ago, he and others with Sir Edmund Gascelin had stolen horses, oxen and cows, as well as a thousand sheep, from villages in Gloucester, and then they had gone on to Shilton near Coventry and taken more. The beasts were good for barter, but also for food, and the men needed food, God knew.

At the castle approached, he offered up a short prayer for success. They would need all God’s help if they were to succeed. It was a fool’s errand, this. They could only summon a tiny number of their men at such short notice, and the plan depended upon their arrival as the gates were being closed. That was when the whole castle would be thinking of rest and not the possibility of attack. He prayed again that he was not too late. The light would be fading soon, and he knew that the gates would be closed as soon as the bells rang for the curfew. He wouldn’t want to be stuck out here in the dark, easy prey, while the others all remained inside.

‘Can’t you hurry the beast?’ he shot at Ham.

Ham threw him an anxious look. ‘I’m sorry, master. The poor old nag can’t go any faster, not with this load.’ He was worried by Stephen’s snappishness, and by John and Paul riding along behind them all.