‘Answer him, now!’ the second man hissed. His horse had arrived at Senchet’s side, and Senchet found himself staring along two and a half feet of gleaming steel.
‘If you insist,’ he shrugged. ‘We were loyal members of the old King’s household.’
‘Really?’ the man said. He kept his sword at Senchet’s throat.
‘Sir Jevan, please, lower your weapon. There is no need to threaten them,’ the squire said.
‘Perhaps, Squire, but we would be foolish to take any chances. This fellow should drop his weapons, and his companion too. Squire, please send your man-at-arms to my Lord de Berkeley and warn him that we have a cart blocking our path. Suggest that he comes here to speak with the man.’
‘Very well,’ the squire said. He was a young man of perhaps five-and-twenty, who surveyed the countryside with a world-weary air. ‘But I do hope you can be swift. I was looking forward to a good lunch at Berkeley, and I am sure that Sir Edward would appreciate it too.’
‘We shall see,’ Sir Jevan said. He glanced at the man in the back of the cart. ‘Who are you? Are you injured?’
‘I was set upon by footpads, and I have a wound in my flank. These kind gentlemen have saved my life, taking it upon themselves to bring me to safety.’ Dolwyn had spoken with his eyes closed, but now he opened them and suddenly took in Sir Jevan’s face. His face paled as he recognised him.
Sir Jevan saw his expression change, and his attention quickened. He peered at Dolwyn’s face closely, his eyes narrowed. ‘You were the churl who slowed me when I chased the felon!’ His glance fell upon the cart, and he saw the shape of weapons concealed by a blanket.
‘Climb down from the cart very slowly,’ he advised them. Harry and Dolwyn moved obediently. Senchet tried to slip sideways, but Sir Jevan spun his horse about. ‘Move further, man, and you will lose your head. Comprenez? You are to come with us.’
Senchet smiled, but there was no humour in his face. ‘What now?’
‘Drop your sword-belt and any knives about you.’
There was the sound of approaching hooves. An order came from behind him, and Sir Jevan turned to see the chief guard of Edward of Caernafon.
‘Dieu ou diable?’ Senchet muttered. ‘Sieur Gilbert?’
‘You haven’t hanged yet then, friend Senchet?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Near Berkeley Castle
It was the bad fortune of the age, John reflected. He was unlucky enough to have been born in a period when no man could live an honourable life, free of fear. Everything conspired always to swyve the best plans possible.
He fretted on his horse, staring ahead at the huddle of men, and it was all he could do not to shout and demand that they get moving again. He had to keep his head down below the back of the man in front so that Sir Jevan would not see him, but even so, he flinched every time Sir Jevan glanced in his direction.
‘Why have we stopped?’ a man asked him, and it was all he could do not to punch him for his stupidity.
He spoke with frigid precision. ‘There is a cart in the road. Perhaps it is the cart of a local farmer, eh? But what if this wagon is the property of a man who has a desire to kill Sir Edward of Caernarfon? There are many about who have cause to hate him, are there not?’
‘Oh.’
John could see Sir Baldwin talking to the three who stood by the cart, but from here it was impossible to discover what they were saying. Lord Thomas de Berkeley gave a command to Sir John Maltravers, he saw, and Sir John rode forward at a fast trot, four of his own guards riding with him — which left only a handful of men-at-arms guarding Sir Edward of Caernarfon.
Almost without thinking, he kicked his horse into motion and rode towards Sir Edward. Gilbert was ahead of him. The man was turning in his saddle: he looked as though he was going to say something, but then, as he came closer, John saw that there were only a couple of men between him and Edward.
There was a rushing in his ears. It would be the work of a moment to trot forward, right alongside the prisoner, draw a knife and cut his throat. And then — no more fighting, no more strife. No more deaths like Paul’s.
‘In God’s name,’ he prayed to himself, and would have spurred his beast, but then he felt a hand at his knee, stilling him.
‘Not now, my friend.’ It was William. ‘You could not grab the King and ride three-score paces with him before someone would bring you down. Look about you, at all the men here. There are plans already to rescue him. Do not risk yourself.’
‘I wanted to-’
‘I understand,’ William hissed. ‘I do, truly. But there will be better moments, believe me. For now it is better by far that we wait. Trust me, John. If not, all is lost! He will be rescued.’
John nodded, but as he drew the reins, about to return to the rear guard, he cast a final look at Sir Edward.
He had not meant to rescue him. He had meant to kill him.
Berkeley Castle
‘Hah! This is more like it, Sir Baldwin, eh? A good castle with beef to eat and strong ale to drink — I swear I shall rest well tonight, no matter that the French King’s host should come knocking on the door!’
Baldwin smiled thinly. It was ever the same when a large household arrived at a stop-over, whether it was a large inn or a castle: first there would be the dawdling about while the senior people were escorted to their rooms and made comfortable, their beasts taken aside to the better stabling and cared for, their baggage all taken up to their chambers ready for them, while maids and servants darted hither and thither with trenchers and platters and mugs and drinking horns. By the time all their needs were catered for, the last poor devils were allowed in to take up any spare room for their horses, and then finally try to locate any space where they themselves might collapse and sleep.
‘Perhaps, Sir Richard,’ he nodded. ‘However, it may be troublesome to find space for so many people tonight, including ourselves, do you not think?’
‘Don’t see why, sir! No, we shall soon be accommodated, I’m sure. First, food.’
At that moment, a young maid went scurrying past. She had thick, curly black hair under her coif, and her grey eyes were panicky.
Sir Richard put on a kindly smile. ‘Maid! MAID!’
She almost fell to the ground before his bellow. ‘Sir-’
‘My dear, you are busy, I appreciate that, but I have need of ale, food and a spot for me bed. Now, where can I find all these?’
‘Sir, I am sorry, I have been ordered to take these to. .’
Sir Richard was already gazing down at the tray she bore with every sign of satisfaction. ‘That looks perfect.’
‘It is for the guard with Sir Edward.’
‘Good. We are the guard.’
‘But, Sir Knight, you can’t just take it,’ she pleaded.
‘Is there more where this came from?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but-’
‘You tell them that Sir Richard de Welles forced you to give it up — that he was most brutal and demanding, and you feared for your life. Because you would, wouldn’t you, if I was to threaten you?’
She looked at his kindly eyes set in that round face with the thick beard. A smile broke out on her face. ‘No.’
‘You don’t think me terrifying?’
‘Not really. So, sir, I will take these to the men who ordered them.’ She slipped around him, and then paused. ‘But if you were to wait over there, by the stable, I may not be able to get round you again,’ she said with a little smile, before disappearing on her errand.
Baldwin scowled. ‘How do you manage that?’ he wondered. ‘You’re old enough to be her grandfather, and yet you have her simpering like a maid with her swain.’
‘Don’t know what you mean,’ Sir Richard said innocently. ‘Only asked her for some help, that’s all.’