King's Gold

‘That so, eh? Right. I’ve urgent messages for him. You’d best tell me how to reach him there.’ Sir Richard glanced out through the open window. The sky to the south was darkening, with pink and red and orange clouds standing still as the sun sank to the west, out of sight. ‘Can’t go tonight, though. We’ll have to go in the morning.’

‘I can’t leave here,’ Hugh objected. ‘My master told me to stay and look after the place.’

‘He’ll want you with him, when he hears my news,’ the knight said with certainty.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mickleton

Alured and the three men guarding Master Matteo di Bardi were conscious of the trees and bushes on either side as they rode up towards the village, and their eyes moved from one possible hiding-place to another.

For a London man, this landscape was alarming. Alured would rather be walking alone and unarmed in a narrow alley in London, than here. Any tree trunk could conceal a bowman, while all the greenery about the ground would be ideal for a determined band of outlaws ready to make an ambush. Alured had heard of many bands which roamed about the kingdom preying on poor travellers, and he had no intention of becoming one of their victims.

It was as they were approaching the village, dusk darkening the countryside around them, and as the men about him were beginning to relax, that they saw the man walking along in front of them.

He looked as though he had spent many days on the road already, and from his scuffed and muddied boots to his worn hat, he was a picture of exhaustion. Alured paid him little heed, but when he heard Matteo give a sharp intake of breath, he hurriedly turned in his saddle. ‘Master?’

‘Dolwyn?’ Matteo was staring at the fellow with a gaping mouth. ‘I thought you must be dead! What have you been doing?’

‘You want me to tell you?’

Matteo threw a look at Alured. ‘No, no, you are right. Master Alured, please take these other men with you to the vill. Find a tavern to rest in. I shall follow on shortly.’

‘I’ll stay,’ Alured said. ‘You could be in danger.’

‘There is none here. You know my man . . . He is my confidential adviser.’

Alured looked from Matteo to the tatty man glaring at him. ‘I remember Dolwyn. I have told you before these other men that I don’t think I should leave you,’ he stated. ‘If you insist, I will go, but I don’t like it. Will he guard you to the town? This is dangerous country.’

‘Just be gone,’ Matteo said wearily. ‘I shall join you at the tavern as soon as I may.’

‘Very good, Master Matteo.’ Alured called to the others, and clucked his horse, urging it onwards. They were soon in the little village, and there Alured busied himself with arranging accommodation and food, but all the while, his attention kept returning to the roadway.

The tavern-keeper lighted candles and told him, ‘I’m supposed to keep the door closed and locked at night.’

‘You will be paid. This door remains open until my master is back.’ Alured held the man’s gaze for a long moment, until the landlord looked away and nodded.

Alured sat up and waited for Matteo to return, sitting on a stool outside the tavern’s door, staring back the way they had come, wondering what on earth Matteo was doing with the man.

Willersey

It was late when Ham steered the cart into the side of the roadway at the top of the enormous hill that spread out east of Broadway, and he sat there for a long while, staring down into the plain. In the gathering gloom, he could make out little twinkles of light where candles had been lighted, and there was a series of columns of smoke rising in the still air. It looked so peaceful.

Down there was his home.

He had thought often enough that it was a prison. It was a place he’d been tied to by land, by custom and by duty. So many times he had thought about breaking free, running away and finding a new life. But it was a dream, that was all. There were bonds that kept him here, especially his love for his daughter.

On occasion he had thought of the death of his wife, with a kind of longing. He could never kill her himself, but the idea of her death was attractive. Agatha was like a leaden weight about his soul, preventing him doing any of the things he wanted. Lonely, without the comfort of a woman’s love, Ham existed in a world of unremitting toil.

To his friends he was an object of amusement. They looked on him with affectionate sympathy, knowing he was a slave to his wife’s will. Ham was no dullard – it was just that his opportunities had been too fleeting, his disasters too numerous and overwhelming. At every point, when he had thought that he could make a good profit either the money didn’t materialise, or it was soon lost in taxes or some other expense.

Just like this time.

Agatha couldn’t help being disappointed by him. She herself was strong-willed, and if she had been born a man, her indomitable spirit would have won her an empire. As it was, she was a woman whose husband could not provide her with the life she craved.