King's Gold

Agatha would never forgive her husband, Father Luke knew. God save the poor fellow if she ever caught up with him!

Monday before the Feast of the Annunciation

Furnshill, Devon

It had been a long, weary ride from Exeter, and Sir Baldwin de Furnshill felt every one of his four-and-fifty years as he rode up the incline towards his home.

As Keeper of the King’s Peace he must often attend courts, but today he had witnessed two hangings, and it had left him sad.

One, a fellow called John from Wefford, had stabbed a King’s verderer when he had been caught poaching, and for that there was no excuse. He was hanged. But Baldwin knew John and also knew that he was desperate to feed a growing family who would now suffer without him.

The second man, Piers Rookford, Baldwin suspected was innocent. Piers was accused of stealing plate and candles from the church at Coldridge, but the sole evidence was given by a watchman who stated that he had seen Piers leaving the church after dark. Since Piers was known for fighting, the jury had decided that the watchman was correct. Piers Rookford was hanged too.

At last he could see his home. There was the broad swathe of pasture before the house, the trees at either side and behind, and the smoke lazily drifting about it. The scene was, to him, one of unutterable beauty. Heaven, for him, would feel like this: a homecoming, knowing that his wife and children were waiting for him. The cares of his duties, his fears for the realm – all could be left here in the roadway.

He rode faster, eager to reach his hearth. The last few yards he covered at a gentle canter, the smile broadening on his face as he rode up the lane to his doorway, dropping from his beast and bellowing for his grooms.

It was then, as the door opened and the stranger appeared, that he felt the first premonition of disaster.

Abergavenny Castle

Matteo Bardi had been forced to wait – a pointless strategem to make a man realise his relative unimportance. As a tactic it failed, for Matteo was entirely confident of his own position. However, when he was called into the great hall, that confidence evaporated just a little.

Mortimer was seated on a large wooden chair on the dais, and studied Matteo with cool disdain which served only to increase the man’s nervousness.

The chamber was decorated with gorgeous hallings that portrayed glorious hunts and acts of remarkable chivalry. A man rescuing a maid from a dragon, raches and alaunts holding a pure white hart at bay, knights jousting – it was a heady vision. A fire sent sparks high into the air, and there must have been ten pounds of candles flickering and smoking from the sconces and candle-holders set about the floor and on the table.

Sir Roger inclined his head graciously as Matteo entered, and then, once the Florentine got over his stammering, proceeded to speak with great charm and wit, but Matteo knew that he was meant to feel overwhelmed. After all, Sir Roger was the man to whom all must look if they wished to see how the King would order his realm. Sir Roger held all power. What was curious was that such an esteemed individual should have asked Matteo here. It didn’t make sense.

‘You asked to see me?’ Matteo enquired when they had at last exhausted all the polite chitchat which was demanded of them.

‘What do you think of your brother, Benedetto?’

‘He is a very capable, sensible man,’ Matteo said.

‘I’ve heard you are the more powerful of the men in your bank.’

‘Sir Roger, I fear I am only a clerk. I listen to those who know what is happening, and then I pass on such information as I think will merit-’

‘Your brother is an intelligent fellow,’ Sir Roger continued as though Matteo had not spoken, ‘but he is less keen on change. I know your brother Manuele was reluctant to aid me and the Queen when we had all the trouble last year. Benedetto, I believe, is formed from the same mould. Those with little imagination can only see what is right in front of their noses. Those with intelligence can see one grain of sand and conceive a desert. You are like that, I think.’

‘I am honoured that you consider me so much more important than I truly am,’ Matteo said, bowing.

‘We both know your value. I wish to use you, because I appreciate it too.’ Sir Roger took up his goblet and sipped the strong wine. ‘You are wasted where you are.’

‘I do not know how I could assist you.’

‘You have your spies. It is your circle of friends that I need. Without you, it will not function. So I am prepared to offer you a bargain. Use your people to aid me and you will be rewarded. Your House will benefit from the money which the King will farm from his people.’