Hugh glanced over the court towards the gaol’s door. ‘I heard that the man thought to have killed the carter had killed his own wife, too.’
‘Baldwin said his wife and child died in a fire,’ Simon said quietly, eyes still shut. He knew how Hugh missed his family.
‘I’m all right,’ Hugh said grimly, ‘but I’d kill him myself if it was true.’
Before Simon could speak, he was grateful, for once, for Sir Richard’s intervention.
‘HOI!’ he called, nudging Simon. ‘Look at this, eh?’
The messenger had dismounted by the time a bleary Simon had rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and could take in the world once more. ‘What?’
‘Messenger from the King. Wearin’ the King’s colours,’ Sir Richard said, but there was no humour in his tones now. ‘Think we could be in for a little local trouble. Christ’s bones, you don’t think the King’s comin’ here, do ye?’
‘No, not while the Scots are fighting again,’ Simon said, and with that thought both stared at each other, even as the shouting and horn-blowing began.
‘Oh, God’s blood,’ Sir Richard complained. ‘Just as you get comfortable, they decide to muster us all for a damned war in Scotland, eh?’
Rumours began to fly about the castle in moments. Agatha and Father Luke heard the news from one of the grooms, who was laughing as he ran past them to his duties.
‘What is it, boy?’ Father Luke demanded, catching hold of his jerkin.
‘War, Father. God be praised! Young King Edward’s going to lead us to war. We’re to gather our belongings for the ride.’
‘Dear Heaven,’ Father Luke said with despair. ‘Not again.’ In his mind’s eye he saw once more the bodies outside Kenilworth, and heard the screams and shouts of the dying. Now he saw that same vision, magnified.
He saw John’s face too, as the man-at-arms made his confession to him in the chapeclass="underline" he had confessed to killing the guard at Kenilworth, plotting to release Sir Edward, and meeting others of the same mind. John of Shulton was sunk deep in infamy. He had told Father Luke all of this — and all in the confidence of the confessional. That was why the priest was so desperate to be away from this dreadful place.
Agatha was smiling with a fiendish glee. ‘You know what that means? They will have to deal with the man now before they leave the castle, won’t they?’
Luke gazed about him. ‘I will stay one more day. But no more,’ he said. ‘I swear, no more.’
‘Simon! What is happening, my friend?’ Baldwin said breathlessly as he reached the bailiff and Sir Richard. ‘It is true that they are called to muster?’
Simon indicated the hurrying servants. ‘They’ve been ordered to the lord’s stables, to fetch his destriers, carts, wagons — everything. The garrison is to leave with him.’
‘What of the prisoner?’
Sir Richard answered that. ‘They will leave a skeleton guard here. The larger part of the men are to go with Lord Berkeley and ride to York.’
Baldwin winced. ‘The Scots, then?’
‘Yes. They must be there by Ascension Day, so they have a month and a week or so, but they have to stop at Bristol first, to collect all the armour and weaponry there, as well as commandeer wagons to transport it all northwards.’
‘It will take them almost a month,’ Baldwin said pensively. ‘What of us, Simon?’
‘Me?’ Simon said. ‘I am staying here. You too, surely. I know that Gilbert, Sir Ralph and others dedicated to guarding Sir Edward are to remain.’
‘I don’t know,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘If it is a full muster, I may be expected to join them. I shall have to find out.’
It was very soon that he learned his fate. His name was specifically mentioned on the muster.
Sir Baldwin de Furnshill was to ride to war again.
Sir Ralph was sitting in the seat facing the door of Sir Edward’s chamber, wondering what the commotion was all about. His oath had been given long ago, and he felt he had behaved honourably to the man who had been his King, but this service was irksome. He had travelled with the King all the way across to Bristol and beyond last year, and all he had to show for his duty was dead companions and the loss of his manor. After Sir Roger Mortimer saw King Edward III crowned, he had taken Sir Ralph’s lands for his son.
It would be interesting to see how the new King would cope with such a bold, avaricious adviser, he considered.
He was happy to be here, to be fed and billeted in the castle, but he did not seek companionship. Least of all with Sir Edward. His oath was still valid, but Sir Ralph would not strive to return the old King to the throne. He felt the country had seen enough of war.
‘What is all the noise about?’ Sir Edward demanded peevishly from the window.
‘Sir, would you like me to send a page down to find out?’
‘No. Someone will deign to tell me eventually. I wouldn’t have them think they had me anxious. Better to remain composed.’
‘As you wish.’
‘You are a good man, Sir Ralph,’ Sir Edward said. He dropped moodily on to his chair. ‘I am glad of your company.’
‘Thank you, sire.’
‘Do you think. . do you think my wife would let them kill me?’
Sir Ralph felt as though the room was moving beneath his feet. ‘Your wife?’
‘Does she truly hate me so much? I never wanted to hurt her.’
‘I am sure she wouldn’t,’ Sir Ralph said, and was relieved when there was a loud knock at the door.
A guard from the castle entered. ‘Sir Edward, Lord Berkeley wishes you to know that he is to march. The King will bring war to Scotland.’
‘When do we leave?’ Sir Edward demanded. He stood, eyeing the door keenly.
‘No, sir, you and Sir Ralph will remain here. Lord Berkeley will leave with his host, leaving a decent garrison to protect you here.’
Sir Edward said eagerly, ‘I think I shall be needed to fight too. My wife would not leave me-’
‘I am sorry, my lord,’ the guard interrupted. ‘That’s all I was told to say.’
As soon as the door closed, Sir Edward turned and walked to the window again — but not before Sir Ralph had seen the tears on his cheeks.
It should have been a sombre meal that evening, but as Simon walked into the hall he became aware of a holiday atmosphere.
This first service was full of ribald laughter and boasting about how those present would put paid to the ambitions of that mad felon Robert, who called himself the Bruce. He had been excommunicated and the whole of Scotland forced to suffer anathema because of his ridiculous claims that he should not be a vassal of the English King; however, no one paid him any attention. While he had succeeded in harming some English forces, he fought with a low cunning that was despised by men of chivalry.
The fighting men of Scotland preferred to hurry into England on their sturdy little ponies and commit various acts of violence upon the people of the north, harrying the peasants and farmers all the way down to York. They were a warlike, violent people, but obviously no match for the brave young English warriors, and with their new King to lead them, with the Regent at his side, the English must prevail.
That was the mood of the place, Simon saw. But it was not matched by Baldwin’s.
‘These young fellows have not fought against a desperate foe before,’ he said. ‘This war will not be so easy as they imagine. It would take three or four wars for them to become accustomed to the ways of the Scottish.’
‘Hah! You will be fine, my friend, and so will they,’ Sir Richard de Welles boomed from Baldwin’s other side. ‘These Scottish churls will be shocked to see how massive are the forces ranged against them this time.’
‘They want their freedom,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘That is something many men would think worth fighting and dying for.’