King's Gold

‘What does your brother say?’

Frere Thomas said, ‘I agree with Stephen. If there is the possibility of a successful ambush, we should exploit it. If we can, I would avoid assaulting another castle. At Kenilworth we had men inside to help us, and still things went awry. It was a miracle more of us did not die.’

Sir Edmund snorted, leaning back in his seat.

‘You wish to add to your comments?’ Frere Thomas said.

‘I know Berkeley. The land all about there is a bog. You may be able to find a route across it, but if you do, you will not be able to run in knee-deep mud.’

‘So, we take the road,’ Stephen said.

‘Which is the direction upon which all their artillery and bows will be concentrated. You’d not get within a matter of yards.’

‘What would you suggest then, Sir Edmund?’ Frere Thomas asked quietly.

‘Strategems,’ the knight said, leaning forward again. He set his elbows on his knees and looked at each of the men in turn. ‘Berkeley is being renovated. When Despenser despoiled it, he did a good job. They’re having to rebuild walls and towers. They have need of workmen.’

Frere Thomas stared at him. ‘You are sure?’

‘At Kenilworth we had a few inside on one day. All depended on the success of that one day. At Berkeley, labourers and masons will be welcomed inside. Position your men, and then mount your assault. If we’ve enough men inside to raise hell, this time they won’t be able to stop us.’

‘We will need more comrades,’ Stephen said.

Sir Edmund nodded. ‘Earl Donald of Mar. He’s devoted to Sir Edward of Caernarfon. With forces like his, Berkeley will fall.’

Frere Thomas looked around him. He felt a warm glow of appreciation for this rough knight. Like all experienced warriors, Sir Edmund was shrewd. The men nodded their assent, and Frere Thomas urged them to bend their heads while he spoke a short prayer for success.

‘We ask this not for ourselves, Good Lord, but for the safety of Your son, Your anointed King, Edward of Caernarfon,’ he finished, and began the Pater Noster.

John found his attention wavering. He looked about at the other men, and knew that none of them felt the same dread as him. Sir Edmund had called the King by his demeaned title, merely ‘Sir Edward of Caernarfon’, and it seemed like a bad omen. There was a coldness in his belly – the certainty that soon he would be with Paul.

The blackfriar finished: ‘Amen. Godspeed you all. Be careful, be cautious – and be suspicious of all men whom you do not know. And never forget, this is the work of God, and He demands our best efforts to ensure success.’

John nodded, and rose with the others. They began to filter from the chamber, and he was about to follow them when he felt Frere Thomas’s hand on his arm.

‘A moment, my son.’

Thomas waited until the room was emptied before sitting at John’s side. He spoke quietly.

‘This will be a difficult time for us. The King deserves our loyalty, but it will be troublesome to save him when there are so many ranged against us. It is truly in God’s hands, not ours, as to whether we succeed or not.’

‘I will do all I may,’ John said. He looked down at the floor, missing Paul. It was Paul in whom he had always placed most trust, and to think that he was dead, that he could never again utter those barbed remarks, never give John that twisted smile – and never issue that shriek of terrifying blood-lust as he rushed headlong into battle . . . It left John feeling empty. The organ on which he depended for love and loyalty appeared to have shrivelled and died within his breast.

‘You mourn Paul. I liked him, but it was always clear that he was your companion.’

‘He was my constant friend,’ John sighed.

‘But he is dead. Are you committed to our task?’

‘I will do all I may,’ John repeated.

‘Then there is something which you alone can do.’

‘Me, Frere? I will ask all my followers to join us, of course, but I do not see what more-’

‘We need a man on the inside of the party escorting our King. A man who can join with them.’

John frowned. ‘How?’

‘You must ride to Berkeley and offer your services. They will ask whence you came, and you can tell them all the truth, that you came from near Dunhead, that you are an experienced man-at-arms, and that you need a new lord since your old master has died.’

‘Why would they take me?’

‘Because there is no taint of dishonour or felony about you. You are the perfect man to join them. Ride with them, my friend, and bring the King back with you. With luck you shall return by way of Gloucester, and that means you may stop at Llantony-next-Gloucester for a night. The Lord Berkeley is fond of the priory, so you should find that easy.’

‘There is one problem,’ John said. ‘At the castle gate I saw Sir Jevan de Bromfield.’

‘You know him?’

‘He is a Lancaster man. Paul and I fought with him before. He may remember me.’

Frere Thomas reassured him. ‘The Lord de Berkeley is taking our King from the men of Lancaster. They won’t want one of Lancaster’s men on the journey. Keep from him while at Kenilworth, and you will be safe.’