‘It all looks worthwhile fighting and dying for — until you’re standin’ in line with a wave of English clothyards aimin’ at your proud Scottish heart,’ Sir Richard chuckled.
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, but Simon could see that he was not convinced.
Although he racked his brain for something that might divert his friend, Simon could think of no suitable topic to lighten the mood. It was a relief when Matteo Bardi arrived at their side and asked to speak with Baldwin.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Berkeley Castle
Simon and Sir Richard walked with Baldwin out of the court, through the open gate and out into the wide space before the castle.
‘Well?’ Baldwin asked the Florentine.
‘I am worried that I will die soon, and I would prefer that others whom I trust were told of my suspicions and fears before I am killed.’
Sir Richard snorted rudely. ‘Who’d be bothered to kill a banker?’
‘Tell us,’ Baldwin said.
Matteo glanced quickly at the castle before striding away towards the bridge over the moat.
‘This murder of the carter — it was not the first killing,’ he began. ‘You have heard that I was attacked and left for dead during the rioting in London? Well, my brother Manuele, head of our bank and our family in England, was slain that day. It did not occur to me that it was a malicious attempt to slay me at the same time. I considered it more likely that I was the unfortunate victim of the fury of the mob, and that I should forget it.’
‘But?’ Baldwin prompted.
‘The day of the attack I had been to a meeting of my family,’ Matteo said. ‘We discussed whether to throw our influence behind the Queen or the King. I was unsure, while my brother Benedetto wished to support the Queen, and Manuele wanted to remain on the side of the King. It was that same day that Manuele died and I was almost slain.’
‘You think your brother Benedetto could have stabbed you in London?’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes.’
‘Hah!’ Sir Richard exclaimed. ‘That is a terrible suspicion to harbour — but you haven’t acted on it before, have you, eh? Why now?’
‘Because now I have learned that he had a meeting with the Queen’s agent that very same day,’ Matteo said. ‘With Sir Jevan de Bromfield.’
Baldwin was puzzled. ‘I do not see how that affects you.’
‘If Benedetto was so determined to throw the weight of the House of Bardi, behind the Queen, would he not also have been forced to silence all those stood in his way? Like me. And he would have wanted to remove the man dedicated to the old King: Manuele.’
‘Possibly so. But other explanations fit,’ said Baldwin. The tale Matteo told corresponded with the note Baldwin had given Sir Edward, and yet. . ‘I was in London myself about that time, and I saw the effect of the rifflers on the city. It is quite likely that you and your brother were unfortunate, that it was just the mob howling for blood.’
‘Yes, it could have been — but who else had a reason to kill me, Manuele, and also my servant Dolwyn?’
‘What of him?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Just this: is it not curious that the man who carried a note from the House of Bardi to the King should be the same man to find this horse and cart? Perhaps someone heard he was passing that way, and decided to have him killed. By accident the wrong man was found and slain. Maybe the carter was asleep, and the assassins found him snoring, and slew him thinking he was the messenger they sought.’
Baldwin’s face screwed up as he considered the implications of Matteo’s words. ‘You assume that someone was able to track the man that efficiently, and yet miss him and kill the wrong one? And it follows on from an assumption of the possible guilt of your brother, which is itself dubious at best.’
‘These are only my suspicions, but if I die,’ Matteo said, ‘please do me the service of enquiring after me.’
‘Very well,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Now, is there anything else you would like to tell us? Because if not, my friend, we should return to the celebrations.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Matteo said disconsolately. His head was low on his shoulders, a picture of abject gloom. ‘I am sorry to have troubled you. But remember what I have said, sirs. I believe my life may be the next to be taken.’
Wednesday after Easter
Berkeley
‘Simon, I am sorry to leave you here,’ Baldwin said.
‘I am sad you are to ride off,’ Simon replied. There was much he wanted to say, but the only words that came to mind were platitudes that had no place in their friendship. ‘Do you want me to take a message back to Jeanne?’
‘No. I hope I shall be able to speak to her myself,’ Baldwin said with a smile, but he was tense as he listened to the shouted orders from the front of the column.
Sir Ralph was in the ward, and he strode to Baldwin’s side.
‘I hope you have good fortune, my friend.’
‘And I you,’ Baldwin said. ‘Good luck with your charge, my friend. You must look after him as best you can. If you need aid, speak with my friend Simon. He is reliable, honest and trustworthy.’
‘I shall. Godspeed.’
‘Sir Baldwin? It is time,’ Edgar said. He was seated on his great rounsey, who pranced and chewed his bit, eager to be off.
Baldwin nodded. ‘Aye. We must away, Simon.’
‘Godspeed you back, Baldwin,’ Simon said.
His friend gave him a quick grin, and turned to his horse. He patted Wolf, and was about to mount, when he saw Sir Richard. Quickly, he crossed to the latter and had a brief word, then mounted, waved once, and was off with the rest of the cavalcade.
The whole rattling mass was deafening. Cooking pots and pans, dangling from carts, clashed and clanged; iron-shod wheels thundered and hammered against the cobbles, while the hooves of many horses together produced a cacophony of noise that was painful on the ears. Simon knew they would be lucky to manage twenty miles each day. More likely, they would only complete about fifteen, what with the ox-wagons lumbering along at the rear. The huge creatures needed so much time to rest each day, and the party must travel at the speed of the slowest.
Simon was about to re-enter the castle, when he saw Agatha hurtling from the gates, her face a tragic mask.
‘My cart! They’ve taken my cart!’
It was a disaster. To think that only yesterday she had been upset at the thought that the priest might leave her here, and now her family’s most valuable possession had been taken. It was hard to think of anything worse, other than that her house might collapse with her and Jen inside.
‘What will become of us?’ she wailed, and fell to her knees. ‘I am ruined! No man to run the house, no cart! How can I provide for my little girl?’ She began to sob with great racking gulps.
The man she knew of as the bailiff was walking towards her. ‘Mistress?’ he called, but she didn’t pay him any attention.
‘Mistress, come,’ Simon said, and put his hand out to her.
‘Get off me!’ she snapped, and beat at his hand. ‘You don’t know what this is like. How could someone like you understand? I have nothing! How can I provide for my little girl, when everything is gone?’
‘I have suffered too,’ Simon said. ‘I lost my house, my daughter. . But all is well again.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she wept.
Simon looked up at the men of the castle who were standing about, and caught Sir Richard de Welles’s eye.
Behind the loud, obstreperous exterior, Sir Richard had a kindly soul. He stood over the woman with a stern expression, and trumpeted, ‘Woman, how far is it to your home?’
‘Many miles.’
‘Your daughter is there waiting for you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you should return home to her. But before you go, I will give you a note which will confirm that your cart and horse have been taken by the lord’s purveyors. It is clear that you will have to have a receipt to mark the confiscation. And when the lord’s men return here, if you have any difficulty with them in terms of giving back your cart, you need only speak with the steward here.’