‘Your grace.’ The Castellan gestured across the sand. ‘It’s an answer to a prayer. The cog came in early this morning. If treachery occurs, the master of The Wyvern has strict instructions to wait for you. Who gave him these I do not know, but she is well provisioned and will ride at anchor until you leave.’ He spread his hands. ‘I can say no more.’ He led us back into the castle.
The Castellan truly believed the real enemy was within and that any relief could only be the approach of a sizeable royal army; his appraisal of the situation was casual, as if he saw it as part of his duty, a sign of the times. Civil war had broken out, so why should his castle not have enemies lurking within? It certainly did! The following morning we were woken by the clanging of the tocsin and strident calls of ‘Aux armes! Aux armes!’ I told my mistress to remain where she was. I summoned Demontaigu and the queen’s household squires, all harnessed and ready for battle. We left the Prior’s Lodgings and hurried into the great bailey, where the Castellan and his officers were in heated conversation with Rosselin, who was gesturing back towards Duckett’s Tower. The Castellan seemed confused, shouting questions at Rosselin, who could not answer except by pointing back to the tower under his guard. I joined them, tugging at Rosselin’s sleeve. He turned wild-eyed, blinked, then nodded in recognition.
‘Gone!’ he muttered.
‘Who’s gone?’
Dunheved, swathed in his great cloak, joined us.
‘Kennington and two of his retainers! They have vanished! They were on watch, on guard vigil! They took the last quarter before daybreak.’ Rosselin rubbed his face. ‘They have gone!’
The Castellan told his officers to impose order as more people, half dressed, faces sleep-filled, thronged into the bailey. We followed Rosselin through that mist-strewn, ghostly castle to Duckett’s Tower. Nicholas Middleton, another of the Aquilae, met us in the doorway at the top of the steps, a look of utter consternation on his unshaven, bleary face.
‘Nowhere,’ he murmured, fingers jumping about the medallions and crosses pinned to his jerkin. ‘Nowhere at all.’
Chapter 4
Douglas was to come secretly there with his chosen coven and kidnap the Queen.
Dunheved and I followed the Castellan and the others up the narrow, winding spiral staircase, a breath-catching climb. The freezing cold from the stone chilled our sweat. A heavy oaken door at the top led on to the pebble-strewn oval fighting platform. The wind buffeted us, stinging our eyes. I had the sensation of standing just below heavy clouds, whilst the raucous call of sea birds was almost drowned by the surf crashing against the rocks below. I moved cautiously, staring around. The high crenellated rim of the tower was sure protection against any accidental fall. It was at least two yards high, whilst the gap between the battlements was spanned by iron bars. I walked across and looked over the edge at the sickening drop to the rocks below, where the angry black sea surged in a froth of white foam. Any speech was whipped away by the wind. I followed Rosselin’s direction and saw a small table with a capped jug and leather tankards. There were three in all, as well as a wooden platter covered by an iron pot. Beneath the table were stored extra cloaks. The lidded braziers next to the table had gone out, and were filled to the top with feathery white ash. The lantern horns between these were also extinguished, their oil-soaked wicks burnt hard and black. It was futile to engage in any conversation. I walked around the summit of the tower. I could find nothing amiss, no sign of a silent intruder or secret assassin scaling the sheer walls and creeping through the dark. Dunheved followed me, murmuring a prayer. I examined the pebble-strewn floor but discovered no stain or mark, although I realised that the wind and rain would constantly wash it, hence the pebbles scattered to provide a surer grip for guards and watchmen.
I studied the heavy door leading on to the tower top. On the inside it had a latch as well as a hook and clasp to keep it secure. I gestured at Dunheved to bring the jug and tankards inside the stairwell, a welcome relief from the noisy, blustering wind. Rosselin led me down to his own chamber on the floor below, a spacious but bleak circular room with little comfort except for the fiery-hot braziers. The Castellan dismissed his guard, as I did mine. For a while Rosselin and Dunheved warmed themselves over the brazier whilst I inspected the jug, tankards and platter. The ale, or what was left of it, smelt rather stale; the bread and cheese were hard but untainted. I wiped my hands at the lavarium.
‘Master Rosselin,’ I asked, ‘what did happen here?’ I paused at the footsteps outside, and without knocking, Henry Beaumont walked in.
‘The alarm was raised!’ he barked.
‘Because,’ I hastened to reply in an attempt to forestall the Castellan’s blunt tongue, ‘Master Robert Kennington and two of his men are missing.’
‘Deserted!’
‘Never,’ Rosselin snarled. ‘Sir Henry, with all due respect, why are you here?’
‘Like the rest of you, I’m worried.’ Beaumont walked forward threateningly.
‘We all are,’ I intervened quickly. ‘You knew Kennington, my lord?’
‘As you did Lanercost and Leygrave.’ Rosselin refused to be cowed. ‘They once served in your retinue, as did I for a very short while, Lord Henry.’ I hid my own surprise, but of course Gaveston would choose his henchmen from noblemen at least openly loyal to the king. I gestured at Beaumont to warm himself at the brazier, an invitation he swiftly accepted.
‘I think, gentlemen,’ I spoke quickly, ‘we should first discover what happened to Kennington and the others: three fighting men who disappeared from the top of this tower. I understand they were on guard with particular vigilance for the sea.’
The Castellan just nodded.
‘Even though I’m a woman,’ I smiled quickly, ‘I know enough about the science of war to realise that no assailant could scale such walls in the dead of night with those treacherous seas plunging beneath them. Yes?’
They all agreed.
‘And no intruder could attack from within.’ Rosselin added. ‘They’d be challenged. Kennington was a warrior; his two guards were veteran swordsmen.’
‘I saw you inspect the ale and platter,’ the Castellan said.
‘Nothing,’ I replied.
I caught Beaumont’s contemptuous look. ‘Sirs, can I remind you,’ I added, ‘that I’m here at the specific request of both their graces.’
‘The food?’ the Castellan asked.
‘Kennington himself prepared that,’ Rosselin replied. ‘He took it out for the last watch, the last four hours before dawn. I thought there was nothing to worry about. I fell asleep after my own watch. I heard no alarm. I woke up and went to see that all was well. What I saw, you’ve now seen: deserted, empty, no trace of Kennington or his companions.’