King's Gold

‘I am most grateful,’ she said quietly, trying to control the urge to giggle. If there was one man whom Simon would not wish to have looking after his interests, it was this one, she felt sure.

Simon, she knew, would feel like death on waking.

Near Broadway

John sat up with a jerk, staring wildly about. In his dreams, he had been enjoying a drinking session in an ale-house in London with Paul, a little before the sudden rise of the London mob, and waking here under the branches of an elm left him feeling completely disorientated.

The memory of that dream stayed with him. All had been on tenterhooks at the time. The knowledge that Queen Isabella was raising a host of men from Hainault was enough to make all the men of Sir Hugh le Despenser’s household anxious. Many were the discussions about their future prospects.

In the ale-house, John had been sitting and drinking by the fire with Paul, and the men around them were singing and laughing, teasing the three wenches serving ale while trying to negotiate for their company. One woman was soon dallying in the farther corner of the inn with a guard, and Paul eyed her sadly.

‘What is it?’ John had asked. ‘There are other women.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ Paul had answered. ‘I just feel that our best times are past.’

‘You feel all you want,’ John had responded. ‘I’ve plenty of time left in me, mate!’

‘Aye, me too,’ Paul chuckled, and the two knocked their mazers together and drank. But later, John had seen Paul staring into the fire, and now, after reliving those moments in his dream, he wondered whether his old companion had been granted a vision of the future and his own painful death.

John stood, and draped his blanket over a low branch to dry off the dew while he tidied his camp and began to pack his goods. Thirsty, he wandered to the little stream and filled his skin, drinking enough to assuage his thirst, then topping it up. He opened his saddle-pack and took out a loaf, which he broke in two. Half went into the pack for his lunch, and he took a bite from the other, squatting by his fire of the night before while he took a stick and began to scrape at the ground.

He had found a rabbit in a snare late last night. Some poacher had set a loose twine loop in a rabbit track, and no doubt intended to return later to collect it. John had got there first. He had paunched and cleaned it, then wrapped it in some large leaves and set it in the earth before lighting his fire over it, a little to one side. Loosening it from the soil now, he unwrapped the leaves and pulled off a hindleg. It was a little tough and dry, but tasted good, and he enjoyed the rest of his meal. With another draught of water in his belly, and the remainder of his piece of bread, he felt fit for the day.

Saddling his horse, he rode north. This was the time of day he knew he would miss Paul the most. It was strange, perhaps, because neither was communicative at such an hour, but it was that very companionable silence that he missed now. They could be up and break camp, then ride all morning without speaking, and yet enjoy each other’s friendship as much as another man might enjoy a two-hour conversation.

His thoughts were still on Paul as he jogged along the lane towards Broadway.

After the arrival of the Queen, all had changed. Before, they had led a life of relative peace, enjoying Despenser’s largesse. They had food and drink, good clothes, the best arms and armour . . . But when the Queen’s forces landed, life had become a sudden explosion of urgent travel. First they had ridden to Bristol, and formed part of the last guard that went with the King to Wales. There they had been set free of their oaths. It was better that way. They had missed the last desperate days: the flight to Caerphilly, thence to Neath and capture. The humiliation of Despenser’s execution.

John had hoped that there would be peace. He knew that his master had ruled with a determined avarice that appalled many, and alienated the Queen from him. But now Sir Hugh was dead, it seemed the Queen herself was taking on his role. Before, there had been an uprising of men who had been impoverished by the King and Despenser; now there was a force of disinherited whose sole crime was that they had remained loyal to Despenser. It was the replacement of one injustice with another.

He wondered whether the land could be ruled more justly.

Behind him there was a metallic clatter. It sounded like a stone under a horseshoe, and he turned around to stare, all thoughts of dreams and his friend flown in an instant.

Three men were trotting towards him, and the man in the front was the one knight he did not want to meet: Sir Jevan de Bromfield.

John pulled his horse’s head round, raked his spurs down the brute’s flanks and thundered off through the trees as fast as his steed could carry him.

Furnshill

Baldwin woke to the feeling of cold steel under his left armpit.