King's Gold

The bellow of greeting as Sir Richard de Welles entered was enough to make the child stop suckling and start to cry. Edith looked up in consternation. Her mother walked in shortly afterwards and said, ‘Sir Richard, it is good to see you, but surely you wouldn’t mean to distress my daughter as she feeds her child?’

‘Hah! Madame Puttock, as God is my witness, I wouldn’t wish to upset her or you!’ the coroner said in a loud whisper. ‘My apologies, ladies both, but I was too overjoyed to see Master Puttock once more. And Madame, you look extraordinarily well just now.’

‘It is kind of you to say so, Sir Knight,’ replied Margaret Puttock.

Simon was about to speak, when he saw the shuffling figure in the doorway. ‘Hugh? What are you doing here? You should be at home.’

‘ I brought him,’ Sir Richard beamed. ‘Master Puttock, I have to ask for your help.’

‘Help? How can a farmer help a knight, sir?’

‘I need a posse. Men have tried to release the last King from the castle where he’s held. Damn their souls, the fools would threaten the realm’s stability if they let him go.’

‘No,’ Simon said immediately.

‘Simon, this is not a request from an elderly knight. It is a demand from the King. King Edward wishes to ensure that his father is safe.’

‘He is held in a castle, in Christ’s name. How might I help protect him? There are many others who would do a better job.’

‘As I said, men have tried to break into Kenilworth Castle to free the King’s father.’

‘Sweet Jesus,’ Simon murmured as the knight’s words sank in. ‘Who could want to do that?’

Sir Richard grunted and sat on a stool. ‘I don’t know – someone out to earn themselves a good purse of gold and a future secure from debt? Whatever the reason, I have been told to get up there with help. You and I, Simon, are to assist in transporting the old King to a new home.’

Willersey

It was early in the morning that Agatha saw the sudden burst of activity over near the church.

She had been out seeing to the chickens, throwing a little corn to the stupid creatures as they pecked at the grit and rubbish about the yard. They were the most foolish animals. Even more dim than sheep, Agatha reckoned, and she had little enough respect for their intellect. Throw corn down, and they would likely peck at the stone next to the food, rather than the grains themselves.

Jen tried to help her, but Agatha could see that her heart wasn’t in it. The poor chit was anxious about her father. It made Agatha look more kindly upon the girl. But then she saw her making a pile of their precious grain and asked. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I was only thinking they could come and gather all they want,’ Jen said. Her eyes were huge in her thin little face. ‘I thought it would be easier.’

‘I am spreading their food here already,’ Agatha spat. ‘And you go wasting good grain like that? Well, if you want to take over, do so, maid. You obviously know better.’

‘No, Mother, wait! I’m sorry, I was only trying to help.’

‘Well, you didn’t,’ her mother snapped. She walked to the precious corn sack and carefully let her apron down to release the golden grains back inside it. ‘If you can’t think, you’re no help at all.’

Jen was silent, and Agatha saw the glistening trickles at either cheek. There was no satisfaction at seeing the hurt she had caused, but neither was there any guilt. You couldn’t go wasting grain.

It was then, as she strode back towards the house, that she became aware of some drama going on, up at the church. Jen heard it too, and Agatha saw her staring at the great building. Together they watched the short, stocky man talking to the priest. The man, who wore a leather jerkin over a faded green tunic, was pointing back up the road. The priest put his hands to his face as though in horror, and then there was a general movement by a small crowd in that direction, following the ashen-faced priest and the fellow who had fetched him.

‘Where are they going?’ Jen asked, and instinctively reached for her mother’s hand. Surprisingly, this once Agatha did not give her a stern reprimand, but squeezed her hand gently. Then, the two slowly trailed after the others.

Jen knew that this was evil tidings. It was there in the way that the priest walked, as though bludgeoned with bad news. She felt sorry for him.

They were at the woods now, and Jen recognised this as a place where her father used to bring her to collect wood in the autumn. They would coppice the trees, taking the spare twigs as bundled faggots for the fire, while the long boughs would be used for renewing buildings, for tool handles, or for carving into bowls or spoons. This was one of her father’s favourite places, she knew. Here, he could find some peace from her mother’s endless nagging.

There were three men standing at the edge of a little clearing. Jen knew them from the vill. They, and the other men and women, were looking at her with sorrowful eyes. Jen could scarcely breathe. She was paralysed with dread.