King's Gold

Matteo was on his way to meet Sir Roger Mortimer, he knew. It made him wonder what Sir Roger’s motive was. Sir Roger had his own spies, and it was possible that he would try to use Matteo’s sources. He would not want a second network in the country that could find better information than his own.

The bank depended upon its sources for its profit. They could not compromise that. Matteo must resist any such demands.

He looked about him. Berkeley was a strange little castle. It stood on the edge of a marshland, but anyone gazing at it would think it was unprotected. The land was all green, and from a distance it looked as if stood in the midst of a pasture.

Thomas, Lord Berkeley was master here. Benedetto had met him a few times. He was a strong, thirty-four-year-old man, healthy and intelligent. For five years, since the Barons’ war, he had been held in gaol, not permitted to see his wife. His father had died in Wallingford Gaol, and all his lands and properties had been despoiled by Despenser. It was a miracle he was not bitter and resentful, but he appeared resigned to the fact that he had lost those years and was keen to renew his life and forget his intolerable imprisonment.

‘Ha! Signor Bardi.’

‘My lord.’

‘Why are you waiting out here?’

Benedetto glanced at the guard expressionlessly. The fellow did not meet his eyes, but waited tensely for the word that could cause him to be flogged, if his lord was displeased.

‘I wanted to remain here,’ he said, and saw the guard’s relief. ‘The air is so clear, away from London.’

‘Yes. I prefer this land to any other,’ Berkeley said, stalking onwards, up the short flight of stairs to the hall. He strode across the floor to the dais, where he took his seat on the great carved chair, before courteously waving Benedetto to the seat on his right. ‘Please.’

Benedetto dismissed his henchmen, took his seat with a thankful smile, and accepted the mazer of strong red wine. It was not so much to his taste as the Tuscan and Umbrian wines he enjoyed so much when he was in Florence, but it was not entirely bad.

‘Your health, my lord,’ he said, lifting the mazer in a toast.

Lord Berkeley reciprocated and then, speaking quietly, said, ‘You have messages?’

‘Yes, my lord. I saw your father-in-law only yesterday,’ Benedetto said, pulling the notes from his scrip. ‘He sends you his fondest regards and hopes you are well.’

Lord Thomas opened the wax seals, reading the notes quickly, his brows rising in surprise. Then, ‘Steward! Bring another jug of wine. I have cause to celebrate.’

‘What is that, my lord?’ Benedetto enquired.

‘I am to be Keeper of the King’s Peace for Gloucestershire, along with Sir William de Wauton. We are to maintain the peace throughout the county.’

‘There is another message, I think?’

‘This is curious,’ Lord Thomas said as he read. ‘There has been an attempt to release Sir Edward of Caernarfon from his retirement. ‘Sir Roger says he has received a warning from Kenilworth. He asks me to go there with as many men as I can muster, and bring Sir Edward here. Well, that will be no trouble,’ Lord Thomas said, frowningly. ‘But it will take time to organise. I have other responsibilities before I can depart . . .’

His steward brought more messages, and Lord Berkeley leafed through them. ‘Ah! This is from Kenilworth,’ he said, ripping the seal open. ‘Sir Edward of Caernarfon demands that Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and Sir Ralph of Evesham should accompany us. Why we should need two more when I have my own guards . . . Well, at least it gives me more time to prepare.’

‘You will not leave at once?’

‘No, Master Bardi. I wait for Sir Baldwin. When he is here, I shall leave for Kenilworth,’ the man said. ‘No need to hurry unduly.’

‘No, naturally,’ Benedetto smiled. ‘No hurry at all.’

Stoneleigh

The chill had not affected Dolwyn so much overnight. He too had slept rough, because he had little money left. After spending a day kicking his heels trying to think of any means of getting to Edward of Caernarfon in safety, he had still no better idea than the one that had occurred to him before – the laundress. It was not the safest idea, but the only one that seemed even remotely possible.

He had lain in wait out near the entrance to the town that lay north of the castle until he saw the laundress leaving the main gate. It was unthinkable that she could have lived within the castle. It would be too much of a temptation to the men of the garrison. Bad for discipline. She would be allowed in for her duties, but would be expelled before curfew.

‘Maid, may I help you with that basket?’ he asked as he joined her.

She shot him a doubtful look. ‘Why?’

He had to smile. She was not quite such an ugly old crone as he had thought from a distance. Perhaps five-and-thirty years old, she still had a fresh complexion, and although she was painfully thin, there was a vivacity about her that was not unappealing. But her eyes were shrewd and held a feminine cunning, he thought. He must be cautious.