King's Gold

‘Yes, he must have escaped them,’ Father Luke said reassuringly. ‘I am sure that he is fine, mistress – you will simply have to be patient. He will return.’

‘Aye, as soon as he’s used up all his pennies, I suppose,’ she declared. She tugged at her belt, hitching up her breasts as she did so. ‘Well, I hope you’re right, because if that niddicock isn’t back soon, I don’t know that I’ll be responsible for my actions!’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Balsall

The cart rattled along comfortably enough, while the carter strode beside it, and Dolwyn jolted and rolled on the thin plank that served as a seat. This cart was a goodly size. It gave Dolwyn a feeling that it could be useful somehow in releasing the King. Not that he had any idea how that might be achieved.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked conversationally.

The man was uncommunicative, as so many peasants were. Dolwyn had wandered into a small town on his way up here to Kenilworth where the grubby urchins in the street eyed him with unconcealed alarm. They were incapable of speaking with him, because he was foreign. He came from more than ten miles away. It was the sort of insular attitude which had always upset Dolwyn when he was at home.

He was about to press the man, when a grudging comment came: ‘Willersey. Small vill down southwest.’

‘What were you doing up there?’

‘Purveyor, he said he was. Came and told me to bring my cart. Said the castle wanted lampreys brought, and perry, and that I’d be well paid. Huh – never saw one penny. Then he set a load of swords and maces on my cart and there was that fight, and now I’m a hunted man, I think.’

‘You are,’ Dolwyn said with quiet conviction. ‘But so are a lot after that attack. What is your name, anyway?’

‘They call me Ham.’

‘So then, Ham Carter of Willersey, what will you do now?’

‘Go home, I suppose.’

‘That would be sensible. But when you get there, what then? If they can trace you – and the King and Mortimer have very good spies – will you have brought danger to your wife, children, friends?’

Ham plodded on, but his head sank in dejection. ‘What should I do?’

‘My friend, I am sure that you will be safe enough. I merely asked. Now, for me, I will strike out westwards, away from the castle, and then follow the River Severn for a while. That will take me away from any search, I think.’

‘How can you be sure of that, sir?’

‘Good Ham, you can call me by my name: I am Dolwyn of Guildford. I am sure enough because only a strong force would dare to attack the Earl of Lancaster’s castle at Kenilworth. Not only is it a mighty castle, it is owned by the second most powerful man in the realm.’

Ham’s face grew longer. ‘Master Dolwyn, what can I do? I am only a simple yeoman, when all is said and done, and I don’t want any part of this sort of nonsense.’

Dolwyn smiled. He felt for his dagger. ‘Look, friend, let’s take our rest, eh?’

Nodding, Ham led the cart off the road onto a patch of common land, and began to unhitch the pony as Dolwyn climbed down.

He wouldn’t feel a thing, Dolwyn told himself as Ham turned away to pull a pot from the cart for boiling water. He would make it quick, he thought, his hand on the knife . . . But then he changed his mind. Not yet – not today. For now, travelling with a second man was perfect, in case anyone was looking for him. On his own he would stick out like a priest in a brothel. Here, on a cart with a man who was almost local, he would be less noticeable.

And this fool was too scared of him to be dangerous.

Friday before the Feast of the Annunciation

Willersey

Agatha felt the soreness in her tired eyes as she tried to concentrate. There was so much to be done: animals to feed, protecting the emerging crops from birds and mice in their strips of land in the communal fields . . . She needed her man back. Where was he?

It was shameful to think that Ham would be running about the place free and happy with the money in his purse from the job with the cart, and not sharing anything with her or Jen. They needed the money. God’s teeth, it was enough to make her weep!

The priest knew something, she was sure of it. She should watch him.

She held to her word through Mass that morning, her eyes fixed on Father Luke. He was calm and strong at first, but then, progressively, she became aware of his eyes moving towards her. He looked like a naughty boy consumed with guilt. Perhaps he had argued or fought with Ham, killed him and left the body . . . But that was a laughable idea. This pasty priest was no match for her husband. Ham, for all his faults, was a hale and hearty man.

It was difficult to hold her tongue through the service. Instead, she aimed an accusing stare at Father Luke.

He definitely knew more than he was saying.

Abergavenny

Alured had ensured that Matteo Bardi was safely deposited at the castle’s gates before seeing to the horses and finding a secure billet for himself and the other guards.