King's Gold

John nodded. Fatalism overwhelmed him. The Dominican might be right. If not, well, John would try to escape if he could.

‘There is a man at the priory . . .’ Thomas continued, and began to speak quietly of the man that John must meet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Broadway

Dolwyn of Guildford led the horse through and past Broadway at the earliest moment. Up before dawn, he had made sure that the beast was harnessed and ready before he had eaten anything, and then he set off with a hunk of bread ready to satisfy his hunger as he walked.

The roads here were quite level and easy. There was a steady rise coming, he could see, but for all that he was content that his route was moderately fast. Much better than other parts of the country where the roads were constantly climbing or falling. With a horse and cart, leading the brute down a steep gradient was as bad as trying to make the animal climb. Carts were ungainly vehicles at the best of times. With a slow, old or recalcitrant horse in the shafts, they became a torment.

He had found the beast hobbled a short way from the cart, and it took him little time to have it in the shafts and ready. It would be foolish in the extreme to hang around, and he was on the road again in short order, hurrying on past Willersey and heading on down the road. He could see the church, the steeple rising from a mist, and he made a broad sweep around it, to avoid any early risers. He kept a wary eye on the road ahead, but a more careful watch on the road behind: that, he knew, was the direction any danger would come from.

He heard the first riders from Willersey before noon. A group of three horses galloping down the next road, their hooves striking sparks from the stones. At the sound, he ducked down, eyes scanning the hedges and the lane up behind him in case it was a posse. He had deliberately chosen these little grassy tracks, rather than a busier road. Speed had been sacrificed for concealment.

The riders were away past him in a flash, and he rested for a while, staring after them. They had been quick. He had hoped to get further from the crime before a posse had formed. He would obviously have to be very careful.

Pebworth

They were up long before Matteo was ready. He yawned and stretched when he was on his mount, but was glad that he had made time to speak with Dolwyn.

‘Master Bardi?’

Matteo turned to see Alured at his side, walking along at Matteo’s speed. ‘Yes?’

‘You were with Dolwyn a long time, Master Bardi.’

‘What of it?’

‘I was worried about you.’

‘You had no need to worry,’ Matteo said, feeling happier than he had in a long time. Sir Edward of Caernarfon had been glad of the letter, Dolwyn had told him, and had burned it in his presence, so there was nothing to connect the Bardi to him. If he should ever become King again, he would know that the House of Bardi had supported him; while if he failed, the family were safe.

In fact, there was only one connection to the Bardi from Sir Edward, and that was Dolwyn himself.

But Matteo did not think that Dolwyn was a risk.

Willersey

The house was neat, he had to give Agatha that, Father Luke thought as he rapped on the door. It was a good cruck house, built when Ham’s father had been young. The wattle and daub was old but it had stood up well, thanks to Ham’s annual lime-washing of the walls.

‘Agatha, how is Jen?’ he asked as he ducked under the lintel and peered about him in the gloom. The little girl had been brought home from the scene of her father’s murder, and put to bed in a fainting fit.

Agatha was seated by her daughter’s palliasse, from where she could reach the fire and stir some thickened pottage, and she stared at him, her features pale. ‘What do you want?’

‘I came to see how you were,’ he said earnestly.

There was no reciprocal warmth in her eyes, he saw, only a deep suspicion – as if she expected him to try to rape her or rob her. He was, after all, the man who had led her husband from the vill and to his death.

‘Oh really?’ she asked, her tone silky, but venomous.

‘I wished to console you both. Please, I should like to help you, mistress. Perhaps we can pray together?’

‘You think I’d ever touch your hand again, Priest?’ she screeched. ‘You lied to me about my poor Ham. You said he’d run away, and yet he came back to me! He came all the way back to me!’ She started to sob, and the girl whimpered in her sleep.

‘Mistress, calm yourself.’

‘It was me, wasn’t it?’ she said with a low, quiet certainty. ‘It was because everyone thinks me a cold, unfeeling cow who doesn’t care for anyone. You believed it too, didn’t you? You thought he would do anything to run away from me. That was it. You reckoned he’d found some whore and chose to stay with her than coming home to me. But he loved me. And I loved him. He was mine – and now he’s dead.’