King's Gold

‘Father, I need to find my cart,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘Will you help me?’

Kenilworth

Matteo reached the inner ward and sat on his horse, peering about him. Kenilworth was busy, and entering had been difficult. The portcullis was down when he and his men clattered over the drawbridge.

‘I am sorry, master,’ Gilbert said when he finally allowed them inside. ‘We have had an attack. We can’t be too careful.’

‘Of course,’ Matteo said, looking about him. The place showed no sign of violence, he thought. He clambered from the saddle, and stood on the ground with his hands on his back, rubbing the tightened muscles.

‘Where is the Earl of Lancaster?’ he asked.

‘He is travelling down from York,’ Gilbert informed him. ‘He will be here in a few days.’

‘Then we shall wait for him,’ Matteo said with a smile.

Berkeley

John watched as the knight spoke to the merchant with the rich clothing, his henchman nearby, and felt the relief wash through his blood.

‘Sir Baldwin, do you remember me?’ he called, and crossed the yard to the knight’s side. ‘I am right glad to see you again. It is some months since we last met.’

‘But of course. It is John, is it not?’

‘Yes. I was with you in the last days of my master, Sir Hugh le Despenser.’

‘You are now a servant of Lord Thomas?’

‘My Lord Berkeley has been good enough to allow me to join his household.’

‘You proved your loyalty to your lord. I hear Lord Berkeley is to travel to Kenilworth?’

At this point, Benedetto bowed and excused himself.

‘Yes,’ John said, when the banker was gone. ‘Lord Berkeley will leave as soon as he may. I think he was waiting only for you to arrive.’

‘Our presence was commanded by Sir Edward of Caernarfon himself,’ Baldwin said.

‘I confess I still find it difficult to call my King by that name, as though he was merely a knight,’ John said, glancing around cautiously.

‘I think that after the last months he would be glad indeed to become an ordinary knight. But be careful who hears you speaking like that. There are those who would be glad to accuse you of disloyalty to your new King,’ said Baldwin.

‘Aye. Well, I cannot throw off my allegiances as easily as some,’ John said.

‘We ride soon?’ Baldwin asked, by way of changing the subject.

‘My Lord Berkeley has gathered together all the men he can for this escort,’ John said. ‘There has been an attempt upon Sir Edward already.’

‘So I heard,’ Baldwin said. ‘It is a curious thing that someone should have tried to attack a castle to free him. Surely they would know that the castle would be all but impregnable. How did they do it?’

John hesitated a moment, and then answered. ‘I heard that they had men already inside the castle, and although those men were searched for weapons, they had a cartload on the way. If the weapons had been there, the attack might have succeeded. It was a bold plan.’

‘Was it to free Sir Edward – or harm him, though,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully.

‘What a question!’ John laughed. ‘Who would want to have him harmed?’

Baldwin looked about him at the men thronging the court, preparing horses and harnesses for the journey. ‘I cannot imagine. But think of this: bankers need excellent communications. They control numbers of spies and messengers all over the countries in which they operate so that they can see what is happening – before the King himself in many cases.’

‘So?’

‘The Bardi is here for a reason, my friend. I do not know what that reason may be, but let us imagine the fellow has contact with Sir Roger Mortimer. Sir Roger holds on to power with his fingernails because of Queen Isabella, but if someone were to release Sir Edward of Caernarfon, Sir Roger’s authority would collapse. He would be exposed as a felon who stole the throne, stole the Queen, and imposed his will over the King’s heir. So if you ask me who could have a desire to kill the man you and I still consider our King, I would answer: Sir Roger. He would find it difficult to explain Sir Edward’s death to the Queen and her son; but better that than to have to try to explain himself to the King, were Sir Edward back on his legitimate throne.’

John listened, his heart shrivelling in his breast. The idea that there could be more civil war, more unnecessary deaths, was utterly repugnant to him. In his mind’s eye, he saw Paul’s dead face again. It made him want to weep.

Edgar walked up and was introduced. He gripped John’s hand, and John could not help but wince.

‘You have some pain?’

‘I have reached that age in life, where sometimes I twist or move foolishly, and as a result receive quite a painful injury,’ John lied, putting his misery to one side. ‘I pulled a muscle a few days ago. I fear I grow old.’

‘Then there can be little hope for me,’ Baldwin chuckled.

John smiled politely. ‘Sir, you will be joining the good Lord Berkeley on his way to Kenilworth?’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘We go to accompany the King back here.’

‘May I ride with you? The journey will be strange, with so many who are not devoted to Sir Edward.’