He felt the single, quick stab in his back, and he screamed. .
. . and woke, sweating, the wound inflamed once more. He rolled over on to his belly, knowing it was only a dream, that the mares would bring the same visions to him night after night, that he would never be free of this horror.
It was a long time before he dared close his eyes again.
Tuesday after Palm Sunday
Berkeley Castle
John had slept moderately well, and woke hoping that his growing beard would protect him from recognition.
The castle was stirring as he rose from his blanket near the wall in the main hall. He walked outside with his blankets and set the bundle on his saddle where he had left it, before studying the yard without enthusiasm. The land around was boggy. It would be astonishingly difficult for any party to storm the place. Still more so to achieve that and reach Edward.
‘You are worried, my friend?’ William atte Hull was at his side already, and he smiled to see John’s startled expression. ‘Don’t panic. It is a skill, walking quietly, which poachers round my home learn when they are young.’
John whispered earnestly, ‘The Dunheveds will not be able to take this place. It is too well protected.’
‘You mean men?’
‘Men, yes. There are too many here. If there were only a small garrison perhaps it could be attempted, but with this force? No. No one could get in here.’
‘Perhaps not usually,’ William atte Hull said. ‘But with men inside the castle to ensure that the gate opened, and then helping us from within, then it would be different.’
‘Not with so many guards,’ John said bleakly. He looked about him at the men up on the walls, more men down in the yard, and even as he watched, a party of men rode in through the gates. ‘And even without them, the land about here is too marshy for a force to reach the place. They would have to come along the road, and that would make them too obvious.’
‘There may be another way,’ his companion said. ‘And we shall discover it.’
‘If you say so. But I am doubtful, friend.’
‘There is always hope.’
There was a loud shout from the gate, and John turned to stare as a pair of shabby peasants approached from the mists.
‘Who are they?’ John asked.
William atte Hull looked up without interest. ‘Beggars, perhaps? Either that or a priest and woman petitioning the Lord de Berkeley for some slight, real or imagined.’
John nodded. He felt as though he was in great danger all the time that he remained here in the castle. ‘Sir Jevan saw me, you know, at the gate at Kenilworth.’
‘If he sees you here, tell me,’ William said. His gaze moved back to the two bedraggled figures at the gate. ‘We may have to do something about him.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Berkeley Castle
Agatha felt the weight of the place as she stepped under the gatehouse. This castle was built, it seemed to her, of men’s dreams and ambitions. And they were crushing.
‘We are here to speak to the Lord de Berkeley,’ Father Luke said to the porter at the gate.
The man looked the Father up and down, and kept his hand on his sword. Giving a whistle over his shoulder, he kept half an eye on the priest and Agatha, while peering out towards the roadway beyond them. Soon a small group of men-at-arms was gathered about them, and the porter could devote his entire attention to them. ‘Where you from?’
‘Willersey. It is-’
‘I know where it is. Why’re you here?’
‘I said, to speak with-’
‘Yeah. You said.’ The man scratched at his armpit, gazing at Agatha. ‘What’s she want?’
‘To speak with-’
‘My Lord de Berkeley, yeah. Why?’
Agatha felt her indomitable spirit returning in the face of this petty official. ‘I’ll tell the lord himself, not his meanest servant,’ she snapped.
‘Meanest, eh?’ the porter said, taking in her black garb. ‘A widow are you, then? All in your weeds. So you’re here to demand help from his lordship, I suppose? Perhaps some money to compensate you? You just go home to your donkey, mistress and-’
‘HOI! PORTER!’ Simon, Baldwin and Sir Richard de Welles had overheard this conversation from where they sat on a bench near the armourers’ rooms.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Let them in. I would speak with them.’
‘Sir, they are. .’
Sir Richard de Welles was unused to being denied his whims. Hearing the porter attempt to refuse him, he smiled and nodded.
The porter felt a vague unease, but continued nonetheless. ‘Sir, I have been ordered to prevent any suspicious characters from entering.’
Aye. Very sensible.’
Anybody who is not known must be refused admission. Because of the prisoner.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘So I cannot let these in.’
‘Suspicious characters, eh?’
The porter looked at the large knight’s face and felt a sinking in his belly. ‘Sir, I. .’
‘The priest, eh? You think he’s dangerous? He carries a poisoned crucifix, I suppose?’
‘No, but-’
‘The widow? You think she carries a siege engine upon her person?’
The porter wisely chose to remain silent.
‘Let them enter,’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘If there’s any danger it’ll be to me, and I think I’ll be safe enough, but if they overpower me, you have my permission to take any action you see fit.’
The man subsided reluctantly, muttering to himself about guests taking over the place, and curtly waved away his guards as he marched back to the gatehouse, Then Sir Richard beckoned Agatha and Luke to join them.
‘Now, mistress,’ Sir Richard said, looking at Agatha. ‘What’re you here for, eh?’
‘My husband is dead. The man who killed him stole our cart and horse, and I want them back,’ she glowered.
‘Aye, I’m sure ye do,’ Sir Richard said heartily. ‘What of it?’
‘I thought that the Lord de Berkeley would help me. I am one of his serfs,’ she said.
‘And you, priest?’
‘I am Father Luke of St Peter’s, Willersey, where this good woman comes from.’
‘Oh.’ Sir Richard looked at Agatha again. ‘So, why do you think that the Lord de Berkeley will have time to help you?’
‘It was all we had, that old horse and cart. The horse wasn’t even a good one, but at least he was reliable. He drew goods all the way to Kenilworth, and then-’
‘Kenilworth?’ interrupted Sir Richard. ‘When?’
Agatha shot a look at Luke, and in her heart there was horror at her betrayal. She hadn’t meant to speak of that, and certainly not to bring Father Luke into her story so swiftly.
Father Luke smiled gently. ‘Do not worry, Agatha, I am sure that this good knight will understand.’
Sir Ralph and Baldwin were leaning forward now.
Baldwin spoke softly. ‘Madam, are you saying that you were there at the attack?’
‘No, it was me,’ said Luke. He shook his head. ‘So many dead men, and all for nothing.’
‘What were you doing there?’ Simon demanded.
‘There was money on that cart.’ Father Luke went on to explain about the chest of gold which had been left in his care.
‘And you think this gold was on the cart when it was stolen?’ Baldwin frowned.
‘I don’t know where else it could have gone,’ Father Luke said.
‘Wherever it went, it probably went there a long time ago,’ Simon said. He leaned back in his chair. He had spent so many years dealing with the law and enforcing it on Dartmoor, that he had a solid understanding of the mind of a felon. ‘Whoever took your cart, mistress, has almost certainly sold it. If he had the brains to look in the chest, that money will be gone too. A man like that will not have gone far, though. If you look within a ten-mile radius of where you found your husband, I’d lay a wager that the thief will be there. Probably in a city with a bevy of whores about him, and reeking of cider or strong ale. He’ll have spent it rashly, not thinking that tomorrow he’ll hang for murder, because men like that never think.’