King's Gold

There was the sound of water, and he made his way to a brook that ran past the road, lying on his belly and sucking up his fill. The coolness ran down his throat with the promise of life renewing; the chill as it struck his belly was like the first wash of ale on a summer’s evening, and he was soon able to sit up and take more of an interest in his surroundings.

The land here was gentle, rolling farmland and pasture, with woods sprinkled here and there. He had no means of telling in which direction the carter had gone, but he recalled the man saying he came from a place called Willersey – and that, if Dolwyn was right, was down near Broadway. He could easily find his way there. There were tracks when he looked: and the cart was big enough that it would stand out.

Damn that bastard! He would find his way to Ham Carter’s town, and he’d teach the swyving scrote a lesson he’d not forget in a hurry! No one knocked Dolwyn of Guildford down and got away with it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Willersey

Father Luke went about the work in his church, scarcely conscious of his actions and incapable of concentrating for more than a couple of moments at a time.

Last night, in his dreams, he saw the posse riding at him, swords raised, and he felt one slash at him, shearing right through his arm and sending it flying away; then a lance pierced his breast, lifting him up, high over the head of his killer, and he rose, staring down the great hole torn in him – and that was when he woke.

The mare planted these thoughts in his heart, and Father Luke knew that, no matter what he did today – whether he worked in the fields until exhausted, or knelt and prayed for hours on end, or slumped in Widow Lizzy’s buttery and drank a gallon of her best ale – it would make no difference. Tonight he would still have that same dream and wake in a muck sweat.

Agatha had come to Mass this morning, and as he stood before the congregation, he could see her staring at him with those malevolent little eyes of hers. She had a suspicious nature and now she had a focus for all her bile in the man who had, she was sure, some idea where her good-for-nothing husband disappeared to.

No. He was being unfair. She was just a lonely woman, wondering where her husband had gone – and why shouldn’t she? It must be worrying for her.

Last night she had appeared at Vespers like a cog entering a harbour, her heavily-built frame slowly moving across the nave until she was standing close to the altar. From there she focused her gaze upon him, as if she could suck the truth from him by staring.

She had been hard to ignore, but still less so was Jen. The little girl stood at her mother’s side, and Luke felt certain that she was about to burst into tears at any moment. It made him feel as guilty as if he had actually killed her father. Because now, with still no sign of Ham, Father Luke was losing hope. Something must have happened to him. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to return.

Poor man! Poor woman! Poor daughter! All of them suffering because of the purveyor, Stephen Dunheved. No matter what the man’s reasons were, there was no excuse for coming here and taking Ham away and getting him involved in a fight in which many men died. It was unforgivable.

He went through the service, murmuring the Latin words that were so much a part of his life. Other priests, he knew, were happy to pretend. They had learned enough to become priests, but after that enjoyed lives of moderate peace without straining themselves to become more effectual at the cure of souls. That was not Luke’s way. He intended to make sure that all who lived within his parish would be well served.

Afterwards, the peasants filed out as Father Luke finished the last of the communion wine and wiped the cup with a cloth saved for the purpose. However, as he placed his vestments in the chest behind the altar, he knew that two remained.

‘Agatha,’ he sighed.

‘I want to know where he is, Father. You must have some idea.’

‘But I don’t. I am very sorry. Perhaps if we pray for him, God will bring him home again.’

‘Why wouldn’t he have come straight-away, like you?’

‘I told you of the fight. Perhaps he had to run in the wrong direction.’

‘Or you think these men caught him? But what if they did? He was only a poor carter passing by.’

‘Men suspect peasants with money,’ he said without thinking.

‘What money?’ she bridled. ‘You know how much he had in his purse? We manage on very little.’

‘True,’ he agreed hastily. ‘But posses can be unreasonable, especially after fighting.’

‘You know more than you’re saying.’

He felt his shoulders sag. ‘I wish I could tell you more.’

‘So there is more to tell?’

‘No! I mean I wish I knew more so I could tell you.’

From that moment, whenever he saw Agatha and Jen, the suspicion grew in his mind. It was not his secret to divulge if Ham had decided to run away. But it was a cruel thing to do, if that was what Ham had chosen, to disappear taking the King’s money with him.