Agatha glanced over all the beasts, but it was obvious when she spotted her own. A smile spread over her face, and she looked at the priest for confirmation. ‘That’s him.’
Father Luke nodded. ‘It certainly is. I remember that fellow from all those miles to Kenilworth. That star is imprinted upon my mind. Where are the goods from the cart?’
Baldwin looked at Sir Richard. ‘They are convincing, are they not?’
‘Aye, like enough. So, good Agatha, what was on the cart?’
‘I don’t know — it was whatever the purveyor wanted to take. Some perry, I think, and lampreys.’
‘And a small chest,’ Father Luke said. About this size,’ he added, gesturing with his hands.
‘That was where your money was held?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes.’
‘We shall need to speak with the fellows who brought this cart here,’ Baldwin said, ‘and the castle’s steward will know where the items from the back of the cart have gone.’
‘Where is the castle prison, do you think?’ Sir Richard said.
Simon had seen a man leaning negligently against a wall at the farther side of the courtyard. Gesturing at him, he said, ‘I would think if he isn’t the gaoler, he will know who is.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Berkeley Castle
When Sir Jevan de Bromfield caught sight of Benedetto Bardi, he gave the short bow due to a man of wealth, even if he were a mere merchant.
‘Sir Jevan,’ Benedetto said, bowing lower.
The knight smiled at his politeness. It was natural that a banker should be somewhat obsequious when faced with a man of noble birth. ‘You have enjoyed your meal?’
‘His lordship was most courteous.’
Sir Jevan thought, Yes, he would be. He knows you could lend him enough money to rebuild his entire castle. ‘You are popular.’
‘I am fortunate to be able to help people in need,’ Benedetto said.
Sir Jevan detected smugness; it was enough to turn his stomach. ‘The Queen must be very grateful,’ he said.
‘She appreciates the good I can do for her,’ Benedetto said smoothly. ‘I was glad to help her and the King.’
Sir Jevan commented, ‘Your brother — he suffers from mares, I hear. He was very loud last night.’
Benedetto nodded; he had to step to one side as a man barged past on his way to the smiths’ forges. ‘Yes, Matteo was attacked by the mob in London. It was a terrible affair — I thought he would die.’
‘Death is never pleasant.’ Sir Jevan recalled for a moment the young woman’s face, the shock on her swain’s as his sword thrust into flesh. Those two deaths had been so long ago, he had all but forgotten them. But now there was something that brought them back to him. Benedetto — of course, he told himself. He had gone to meet Benedetto just after killing them both.
‘He is a different man since the attack,’ Benedetto said.
‘Near-death is bound to affect a man,’ Sir Jevan said, tiring of the conversation and the banker. He looked about him. ‘Is that him?’ He pointed to Matteo.
‘Yes,’ Benedetto said. ‘My poor brother. I sometimes fear he will not live long.’
‘Really?’ Sir Jevan said distractedly, observing the group with Sir Baldwin, the priest and the woman heading towards the gaol.
He wanted to speak with that carter too.
Berkeley Castle Gaol
Dolwyn squatted at the wall. He had spent a miserable night incarcerated here, but it was no worse than the nights at Newgate, and he could contemplate his future with some equanimity.
He had seen the two Bardi brothers. That was interesting. He had taken money from one in order to kill another: if that story was not to be betrayed, the man in question should hurry and secure his release. Dolwyn was not going to the gallows without ensuring that those who had hired him suffered the same fate.
And he still had a parchment in his purse. That was something that plenty of men would be interested to see. Yes, he felt that he had some protection.
The other two prisoners showed little interest in him. They were more concerned with their own situation, and clearly they had reason to be alarmed. In recent months, they had been enemies of Lord Berkeley and Sir Roger Mortimer, the King’s Regent, and could expect little in the way of sympathy from their captor.
There was no water to drink, other than a bucket of foul-smelling liquid that could have been dredged from the moat itself. It stank of mud and rancid weed. One other bucket was provided in the room, for which he was grateful. He had heard that many gaolers did not bother with such niceties. He only hoped that the two had not been mixed up.
It was just as he was beginning to think seriously about how long he could survive without some food, that the door’s lock moved. There was the sound of keys turning, and they all stood up. It was better to face whatever might happen while on their feet.
The door was pushed wide, and outside there was a series of faces staring in.
‘Father, do you recognise any of these?’ a man asked.
Father Luke peered inside, studying Harry, then Senchet, and then his eyes fell on Dolwyn, and he shook his head.
‘No, I know none of these.’
‘But I do,’ Sir Jevan said. ‘I would like to speak with this man now.’
He had seen them over there, Benedetto and that tall knight, pointing at him. Benedetto looked like a farmer, pointing to which sheep he wanted slaughtered, Matteo thought. Not that he would use a man like Sir Jevan as an assassin. Not when there were cheaper men to be bought, like Dolwyn.
As Sir Jevan left Benedetto and hurried after Baldwin, Matteo walked across the court, Benedetto had scarcely been able to meet his eye. Matteo had that feeling in his back again, as though the blade had never left it.
He had never felt so lonely and threatened.
Baldwin was glad of the aid of Sir Jevan. With his help Baldwin was able to summons two men-at-arms, who stood nearby with their weapons ready as the three men were brought up the long, narrow stairs from their cell and out into the sun. There Baldwin called on them to give him their names.
Only one night, and the sight of them was already enough to inspire sympathy, Baldwin thought to himself. The foreigner, Senchet, was trying to smile, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. Harry was more grim-faced, and spent much of his time peering at Edgar, who stood a short way to his side, wearing his usual easy smile. It was an expression designed to goad others to fury when they saw it, but Harry was clearly not angry, only anxious and wary.
It was the last man who attracted Baldwin’s attention. He stood with his head lowered, rather like a bull preparing to charge. He did not look concerned at his incarceration. Indeed, he might have been a long-serving prisoner from the way that he glared at Baldwin and the others. He had the gaolbird’s contempt for his guards. His only admission of weakness was the hand he held at his injured side.
‘He was the man who delayed me when I was chasing a felon,’ Sir Jevan said.
‘You were in charge of the cart?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Sir Jevan here remembers you.’
‘Aye — and I remember him well. He did this to me.’
‘You were preventing me from chasing a criminal,’ Sir Jevan said between gritted teeth.
‘I was walking along a road when you and your companions rode past me. You were the one who couldn’t pass — the others did well enough — and because you were enraged at your poor riding, you stabbed me.’
‘You deliberately moved your cart into my path!’
‘I was hiding beside my cart so as not to be struck by a fool’s hooves.’
‘You are lying!’ Sir Jevan spat, and lifted his arm as though to hit him.
Baldwin shot a look at Edgar, who smilingly stepped forward and shook his head.