King's Gold

In the beginning, his only thought had been for the danger in which he had placed himself. The memory of those men-at-arms riding towards him at such a terrifying pace was enough even now to turn his bowels to water, and the worst of it was, he had no real idea what on earth the fight was about. Oh, certainly, when a force of men was gathered together and there was plenty of ale or wine, it was common enough that there would be bickering, and with an armed garrison, that would often mean a fight, but even though he was not experienced in the ways of warriors, the priest was fairly sure that they did not spontaneously erupt into open battle. There had to be a reason why they had started to draw their weapons, and he was sure that the purveyor Stephen Dunheved must have had something to do with it.

It was enough to persuade him that he never wanted to return to that castle. No: not to any castle.

He still had no idea what had happened to Ham or his money; all he knew was that the whole purpose of his journey had been to deliver the chest of gold, and he had failed quite spectacularly.

It put him in a foul temper, until he reflected that Ham could well have been caught by the posse that rushed past from the castle. That made his anger leave him in an instant. The idea that Ham was dead was awful. Luke would be happier to think that he had stolen the money and that the coins were going towards his family’s upkeep. At least Jen would have a dowry, if that was the case. He prayed that it might be so, and that Ham was even now in his house with the money.

Later he could find out.

For now, he reminded himself, he was a servant of God, and after the last days he should remember his duties. So rather than marching straight home and resting his sore feet, he first went to his church. Opening the door, he peered in, a little anxious in case a thief might have stolen the chalice or . . . But no, it looked the same as usual. When he opened his chest, all was there, safe and well. Thieves, drawlatches and outlaws had become commonplace in recent years, and they were daring enough to rip the very crucifixes from the walls if they could see a profit in it. Nothing was sacred to such men.

The floor was a disgrace, though. Someone had been in here with muddy boots, and Father Luke tutted to himself. Before anything else, he must sweep. He fetched a besom and began to clean his little church, sweeping the dirt away from the red and cream floor tiles of which he was so proud, until there was a fine mist of particles hanging about the whole place. The sun illuminated these dancing motes and created bright columns of light in the church that gave it a still more magnificent aspect. Leaning on his broom, Luke felt his tiredness leach away, and a calmness settle upon him.

He returned his broom to its corner, and walked the length of the nave to kneel before the altar, hands clasped together.

‘Lord, forgive me for my anger and black choler, and I praise You for this peace. It is surely true that a man must seek comfort in the little things, in prayer, work, and-’

Just then, the door was thrown wide, and Father Luke snapped his eyes open, turning to see the woman striding towards him.

‘Where is he?’ Agatha demanded. ‘Where’s that good-for-nothing churl of a husband of mine? I suppose you left him in some ale-house where he could watch the wenches with his tongue hanging out? We’ve work to do here, and the fool is hiding somewhere!’

‘Agatha, I was going to ask you the same question!’

‘Me? How would I know where the useless prickle was? He was away with you, Father.’

‘But I haven’t seen him in days. I thought he was already here,’ the priest protested.

‘Oh, yes, of course you did. That’s why you sidled into town like a cur expecting a boot up its backside, is it? I wasn’t born yesterday, Father. I know you men. You promised you wouldn’t tell me, eh? You can say this, though: when will he be back? I need to know that, at least.’

‘Mistress Carter, I do not know,’ Luke told her. ‘We reached the castle three days ago, but as we got there, a fight broke out, and many men were killed. I was sure that your husband escaped, and . . .’

Father Luke slowed and stopped. In his mind’s eye he saw again that furious posse hurtling along the road, falling upon the group of fleeing men and cutting them to pieces, before carrying on after the purveyor and the Dominican. If they had come across a lonely peasant with a cartload of money, Ham wouldn’t have stood a chance. The men-at-arms would have slain him before checking his cart. If they did check and saw the weapons . . .

No, surely not! They were riding after the other two, the blackfriar and the other. He had seen the arrows flying after them, and shortly afterwards the posse poured out of the gatehouse. They must have passed by the carter on their way after the two – if, indeed, they even noticed him.