Edgar wandered over to the cart. He searched all around the plank and beneath it before going to the weapons and goods in the bed. He riffled through them before returning with a shake of his head. ‘Nothing there.’
Baldwin eyed Dolwyn. ‘I don’t know why you chose to do it, but I believe the evidence suggests you were guilty of his murder. The weapon used to kill him was probably on the cart, and you were found with the cart.’
‘I had nothing to do with it,’ Dolwyn said strongly. ‘And there are men here who can vouch for me. Matteo Bardi will speak for me — and his friend Alured, I think. They both know me well enough.’
Baldwin heard running feet and turned to see a young messenger boy. ‘Sir Edward would see you, Sir Baldwin.’
‘Very well.’ Baldwin looked over at Dolwyn. ‘I hope you will be fortunate in calling these friends to speak for your character. We shall discuss this matter later. Edgar, return these fellows to the gaol.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
King’s Chamber, Berkeley Castle
The room was a mean little cell for a man who had been King, Baldwin felt.
There were windows to the right and in front of him, and a table stood at the far wall, but there were no glorious hangings, nor pictures painted on the plain limewash of the walls. As Baldwin stood in the doorway, Sir Edward gestured to his steward and two pages. They bowed and left in unison.
‘I am glad you could come,’ Sir Edward said.
Baldwin could see he was distraught. His face was lined with worry, his eyes looked dull and faded, and his flesh was pasty, like a man who has endured a long fever which has only recently broken. Even his once-luxuriant hair was paler, and lacking in lustre.
‘You look upon me as you might a leper: with pity but also revulsion,’ Sir Edward said.
‘I am sorry, my lord, it was just. . you are so despondent. You-’
Sir Edward sighed. ‘I know, my friend. You are a loyal subject.’
It was a miracle that he could retain any of his calm demeanour. Baldwin was not sure that he could remain so collected, were their roles reversed. To be confined in a chamber like this must be torture to a man who had been used to riding each morning, and who was of a gregarious nature. The King had loved feasts and dancing, tournaments and joining in the country pursuits of the meanest villeins. His was a world of activity, not that of a ascetic. But here he was now, shut away from all that.
‘You know, at night in Kenilworth I used to plead with God for the love of a close companion. And do you know what I now beg for? That I never know another man so well, that there is never another beloved fellow so close to my heart. Because I am cursed, Sir Baldwin. All my loyal servants die. They must pay the price for being my friends. I never want to lose a friend like that again.’
‘Your Majesty, I am-’
‘No!’ Sir Edward stared at Baldwin. ‘Do not call me that. You can see that I am merely a prisoner, Sir Baldwin. I cannot come and go at will. To pretend that I am King is to play to my vanity. And I would hear the truth. It is less unpalatable than lies. Call me as the others do: Sir Edward. It is at least honourable enough. They have not removed my chivalry,’ he added with an icy calm.
‘Very well, Sir Edward.’
‘My dear Sir Baldwin, you are yet true to me, are you not?’ Sir Edward had turned away and was toying with the fabric of a cushion.
‘Yes, Sir Edward. I will ever be faithful to my oath and to you.’
‘There are so few who are,’ he said, staring through the window. ‘Look! They will not even permit a view of freedom. At Kenilworth I could see the Great Court. Here, all I see is a tiny patch of stone and weeds. I suppose I am old. I should accept my gaol and enclosing walls like a caged bird.’
‘If you are old, I am decrepit,’ Baldwin smiled.
‘Please, Sir Baldwin, do not treat me as a fool,’ Sir Edward said with a trace of his old asperity. ‘I have not lost my brains. Flattery was part of my life in the days when I was a King. Now I am a mere prisoner. A man of no note.’
He faced Baldwin, and the latter saw the authority in his eyes again.
‘Sir Baldwin, this is the place where I will die. Mortimer detests me, and he knows that if I am released, I will ensure his destruction. I would not have him live a day in my kingdom, and never, never would I allow him to escape the realm again to raise a host against me. So there is no other conclusion: when he may, he must see me dead.’
Baldwin said nothing. He was not persuaded because he saw the risks to Mortimer: he would lose the Queen’s support, the support of his leading Earls and Barons, the support of King Edward III; all would revile him, were he to stoop to regicide.
‘So, Sir Baldwin, if I am to live,’ Sir Edward said, carefully modulating his tones, ‘I must escape.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’ Sir Edward stared at him. ‘There are many here who would happily slit my throat. I am in danger all the time I remain here.’
‘You have loyal men here to protect you,’ Baldwin said.
‘There are plans to rescue me,’ Sir Edward said. ‘If I can survive one month, I may yet vanquish Mortimer. And after that, I will be freed, with God’s help.’ He fixed Baldwin with a stern look. ‘I will be out of here within two months. It is your duty, and that of Sir Ralph, to ensure that I am safe until then. I have heard from those who would see me return to the throne. And afterwards, those who have aided me will be richly rewarded.’
Baldwin smiled and nodded. But he felt a dreadful pang as he walked from that chamber.
It seemed plain to him that the man who had been King was losing his mind.
Sir Jevan was disgusted by the behaviour of those fools. They had no idea how to get the truth from peasants! It was better to beat them, or cut them a little, if you wanted their co-operation. The cretins were not capable of opening their vile mouths without incentives. Any knight knew that.
He strode to the buttery and demanded a pot of wine, which he drank off in a couple of gulps. Rage was still simmering in his breast at the thought of that blasted carter — the idiot who had delayed him so much when he was trying to capture that felon and outlaw. .
That was when he recalled the curious incident yesterday on the way here. The man whose eyes had seemed so familiar. The man riding at the rear of the party who had looked so similar to the fellow he had hunted: John of Shulton. Perhaps it was his imagination — after all, even the most foolhardy outlaw would avoid joining a party like the guard from Kenilworth. It would take a man of incomparable stupidity to try such a thing.
Or a most cunning one, he reflected.
Wednesday before Easter
Berkeley Castle
John was out in the yard a short while before the noontime meal; he whittled at a stick near the hall as he waited, hungry, his eyes watchful for any sign of Sir Jevan.
‘An exciting time yesterday,’ William atte Hull said, walking up to him, wiping his hands on his jerkin.
‘The felon?’
‘Yes. Always satisfying to see a criminal brought to justice,’ William said. ‘They will convene a court for him, no doubt. That will encourage good behaviour. There’s nothing like seeing a wrongdoer dangle by the neck.’
All in the castle had heard of the interrogation of Dolwyn the day before, but it gave John little pleasure. He threw his stick aside and sheathed his knife. He didn’t feel as though there was anything to celebrate about yet another man who was doomed to die.
‘You disagree? The fellow deserves his end,’ William continued, seeing John’s expression. ‘And in any case, he’s only a common churl from a vill somewhere far away. Who will miss him?’
‘His wife, his children, if he has any,’ John said.