Not that she needed such recognition now. She was content with her position in Bristol and her standing in the financial community. Since Arthur Capon’s death, her business had become one of the leading finance houses in the city.
‘Come with me, Cecily,’ Emma said, walking over to the fire and patting the stool beside her. ‘Maid, I’ve heard your tears often enough. What is it that upsets you?’
Cecily’s eyes were red-rimmed, and at the question, they brimmed with tears again. ‘Mistress, I’m sorry, I didn’t think to upset you. I–’
‘Enough, my dear. With all the angels as my witness, I declare I only want to help you. Now, ah… Thank you, Hamo. Put the wine there, and then you may leave us.’ She waited until he had left the hall, and then herself poured two cups from the jug.
When Emma passed her a cup, Cecily took it and sipped, but sat with her eyes downcast.
‘Look, the attack on the house was not your fault,’ Emma said patiently. ‘Squire William was a thoroughly evil man. He and his men were foul to commit such a dreadful crime.’
‘I know.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself. I imagine you feel a little like me – guilty, because you survived. I felt that after my husband died, but…’
‘No! It’s because I didn’t protect him! He shouldn’t have been hurt. I should have protected him, as I swore. I failed Little Harry!’
Third Wednesday after the Feast of St Michael[12]
Near Tintern Abbey
All along their route, the peasants stopped and stood staring as they heard the sounds of the marchers approaching. As the noise grew nearer, there was a rush as men and women dropped their tools, no matter how expensive, and flew away, scooping up children as they went and hurrying off to hide in the woods and shaws that stood about the vills.
No one wanted to be caught by the warriors. Everyone knew what could happen when a force arrived. Men with swords would always resort to blunt persuasion when they wanted food and drink – and women.
But the people of the village didn’t realise that these men-at-arms had more pressing concerns than mere pillage. They didn’t want to be caught by the host that followed so closely on their heels.
The main road was churned underfoot by the centaine of thin, anxious men in dirty jacks and leather, all stubbled, pallid-faced and sick with fear. Their legs and hosen were beslubbered with mud, and weariness made them stumble as they trudged, eyes downcast.
Sir Ralph of Evesham sat astride his rounsey feeling dejected as he surveyed the men about him. They were so exhausted, it was a miracle any of them were still on their feet. In the last twelve days they had marched all the way from London, with the perpetual fear of capture in every man’s heart, but as their journey progressed, men had disappeared. The numbers were down to below a tenth of the force which had set off.
In the early days, he had managed to retain his belief that at some point they would meet with additional men who would join them to help protect the King, but now the truth was clear and stark even to his optimistic eye. The idea that the Marcher Lords would come to the King’s aid was as false as the hearts of those further east who had broken their promises. King Edward II was alone but for this tiny force.
‘Sir Ralph, we should ride on, sir, and make a surveillance.’
Sir Ralph nodded. Thank the Lord for his loyal men, he thought gratefully. Pagan and Alexander were both still with Squire Bernard and himself, which was little short of a miracle. So many others had seen their pages and heralds leave as the force trudged on towards Wales.
‘Good idea,’ he said, and lashed his palfrey’s flanks with his reins’ ends.
They cantered ahead together, Sir Ralph slightly ahead of his squire, and could soon see the village ahead.
‘Shall I see if there’s an ambush?’ Squire Bernard said as they paused at the edge of the woods.
‘No, we will go together,’ Sir Ralph said.
They trotted down a shallow incline, both keeping a wary eye open for the threat of danger, but like so many other villages along their way, the place was deserted.
‘Get back and tell the heralds that it’s safe,’ Sir Ralph said, and dismounted. He walked to the well at the side of the road and pulled up a pitcher of water. It was brackish, but wholesome.
He sat down to wait, and it was just then that he heard the unmistakable sound of hooves approaching at a canter.
‘Sir Ralph? You are wanted, sir. The King has sent me to fetch you.’
Sir Ralph mounted and rode to the King as soon as the summons came. He swung from the saddle, throwing his palfrey’s reins to a waiting boy, and dropped to his knees in front of the King. ‘You ordered me to come, your Royal Highness?’
The King stood, tall and handsome with his long, curly fair hair. Nearby was Sir Hugh le Despenser and a circle of guards. This was not the camp of a man who felt secure in his own realm.
‘Sir Ralph, please stand. You have excelled yourself on the journey,’ the King said. He had a quiet voice today, but whether that meant anything, Sir Ralph did not know. From what he had seen and heard, the King was prey to remarkable changes of mood; he could coo like a dove when he wanted to, only to shriek with fury a moment later. Now, if he had to guess, he would have said that the King’s tone was more one of bafflement than anything else.
‘Thank you, sire.’
‘But the Queen is close at hand, I believe,’ the King said. ‘She is hunting us with the ferocity of an alaunt. How can we keep from her?’
‘Your Highness, we must ride on.’
‘Lancaster has gone to her, did you know?’ the King went on, as though not hearing. ‘After I showed him mercy and magnanimity, he ignored my friendship and now rides with her. All wish to be with her.’
‘You yet have loyal knights, Your Highness.’
‘Only a few, I fear.’
Sir Ralph shot a look at Sir Hugh le Despenser. The adviser was listening intently, but for all that his eyes were on the King and Sir Ralph, there was something about his demeanour that made the knight think that he was not concentrating. His expression was that of a little boy told to consider some writing on a slate, who stared, but to whom the words made no sense. He was uncomprehending in the face of so much disaster. Last year, the man had held the realm in his fist, but now all he gripped was sand, and it was running through his fingers no matter what he did.
‘We have made good time, Your Royal Highness,’ Sir Ralph tried. ‘Soon we shall be in Wales, and perhaps there you will find loyal subjects ready to defend you.’
‘I wouldn’t have her hurt, you know,’ the King said suddenly. ‘She is the mother of my children, and I would not have her hurt.’
‘I know, sire.’
‘She has been misled. That is the matter at hand. She thinks that my good knight, Sir Hugh here, is her enemy. Yet he declares every day that he loves her – why should she believe he seeks to injure her? He has always put her case to me most fairly, often taking her part in disputes. Why should she feel he is not her friend?’
Sir Ralph could scarcely comprehend what he was hearing. Did the King seriously believe that the Queen would be glad to know that her petitions to her own husband had to be mediated by Sir Hugh le Despenser, the man who had wreaked such havoc in her life?
‘And now this,’ the King said, and there was a tone of such shock and dismay in his voice that Sir Ralph felt anxious.