Near Amesbury
Simon and Margaret sat gratefully on the stools provided, and sipped the wine passed to them.
‘So, Master Puttock, I think you must be glad we appeared when we did, eh?’
Simon looked up at the man who had appeared. He was a big fellow, but a man encased in a coat-of-arms and mail tended to have a commanding presence. This one still had his face concealed by his helmet, and Simon stood, a little unsteadily, and bowed. ‘Sir, I am very glad to see you and to be able to offer my profound thanks. I don’t…’ Then he paused. ‘How did you know my name, sir?’
‘How would I not know the name of a friend?’ The man laughed, and lifted off his helmet. ‘Remember me?’
Simon gasped with pleasure to see Sir Charles of Lancaster. ‘Sir, never was a knight more welcome!’
The knight nodded with a grin. He was a tall, confident man, with clear, blue eyes that told the world he knew it existed, in large part, in order to entertain and amuse him. Sir Charles was not a man to suffer from a sense of inadequacy or jealousy. He believed that he had a right, by birth and position, to enjoy his life in any way he wanted to.
There had been some significant changes since the last time Simon had spent any time with Sir Charles. That had been in France, and there, Sir Charles had suffered the loss of his most devoted man-at-arms when he was murdered, and Simon and Baldwin had helped him.
It was apparent that Sir Charles recalled the same incident. ‘So, it seems I am able to return your favour to me,’ he said. ‘You helped me in Paris, and I am able to help you here.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Simon asked.
‘The country would seem to be growing a little fractious,’ Sir Charles said loftily. ‘I have been asked to come and try to keep this area quiet, and I’ve been doing my best, but I confess, it appears that my best is inadequate. There is,’ he added thoughtfully, taking a large mazer of wine from his servant, ‘quite a vast amount of unrest among the peasants.’
Sir Charles and his men had killed all the members of the gang which had attacked Simon and Margaret. There had been one survivor, whose horse had died in the attack, and who had tried to bolt for some trees to escape, but two of Sir Charles’s men cantered easily after him, and in a few moments, the man was hacked into pieces. There was no sympathy for such scoundrels. Outlaws could expect instant justice.
‘This is the first we have seen of it since leaving London,’ Simon said. ‘I had thought we had left the madness behind.’
‘When a kingdom collapses, I fear that some men will always rise up and take what they want,’ the knight said, airily waving his mazer while his servant struggled to unbuckle his greaves. ‘You have these peasants who toil in their fields musing about life, and when they see law and order dissipating, they think, “Aha, I could steal a shilling or two, and live like a lord for the day.” They really are that simple: they only look for the next ale, the next pie. Further than that, they are blind, poor fools.’
Simon was irked by the knight’s facile explanation, but there was little point arguing, he knew. Sir Charles had the ability to see what he wished, and took the view that other opinions were supremely irrelevant. Simon glanced across at the others. The man they had met on the roadway was over beyond Meg, who was playing five stones with Peterkin, while Hugh and Rob stood guard behind her. ‘We all owe you a great debt of gratitude,’ Simon said solemnly. ‘And now, I suppose we’ll have to make our plans for escaping any other mishaps on our way home.’
‘You think to travel to your home in Devon?’ Sir Charles chuckled. ‘I would not advise it.’
‘We have to return,’ Margaret said firmly. ‘Our daughter is in Exeter, and–’
‘Will be considerably safer than you,’ Sir Charles finished for her. ‘If you travel the roads, you will be at risk from every felon, outlaw and disgruntled peasant. The roads, Madame Margaret, simply are not safe. You cannot possibly ride that way. The King has ridden westwards, and no one knows when he will return. The Queen and Mortimer are after him, and he has yet to gather his host.’
‘He has issued instructions for his knights to gather, surely?’ Margaret said.
Sir Charles nodded, but grimly now. His cheery manner was put to one side for the present. ‘Oh, yes. He demanded his first men before he left London. I was given a writ myself – but no one would obey the summons. I am told there were sheriffs and knights who arrayed their men, formed their hosts – and then took them straight to the Queen. It appears her forces have been swollen a great deal since her landing, while the King’s have declined. The force you see with me here is the best I could gather together. We are on our way to join the King now.’
‘If you are right, and the Queen’s strength is growing,’ Simon said, shocked, ‘you surely don’t think that the King could lose, do you?’
Sir Charles eyed him. ‘I would not say so. But until the final reckoning, all may change in an instant. And for now, the fact is that the roads are far too dangerous for any small group to hope to travel so far alone. In any case, as I said, your daughter is sitting in Exeter, behind sturdy city walls. If she is in danger there, she is in danger anywhere in the realm. For now, the King and Queen are not near her.’
‘What will you do, then?’ Simon asked.
‘I am inclined to head towards the King and join him in Bristol,’ the knight replied. ‘I think that there I should be able to see how matters are developing.’
‘And then?’
Sir Charles smiled, but didn’t respond to the question. ‘I would recommend that you join me in my journey. Bristol is said to be a fair city. I am sure you would find it delightful.’
Simon glanced at Margaret, who nodded, gazing up at the knight sadly. ‘Yes, thank you, Sir Knight. But I am so worried about Edith, Simon.’
For once the knight appeared to show some sympathy. He bowed low. ‘Madame Puttock, I am afraid that many will fear for their loved ones in the coming weeks. But there is no need for you to rush into danger to be with her. Better that you travel safely and arrive in one piece, than travel unwisely and never see her again.’
David was still working at his table when Sir Laurence threw the door wide and marched back into his chamber.
She was insufferable, that woman! As if a castellan had time to worry about her maid, just because she was upset at the sight of some men who scared her. He had a mind to go to the wench and give her a short instruction about the responsibilities of a man at time of approaching war.
‘You have been a long while,’ David observed.
‘Oh dear, have you been bored?’ the Constable snapped. ‘Don’t you have enough to do without me commanding you?’
David lifted his eyebrows. ‘This was nothing to do with the garderobe, then?’
‘The privy has been safe from me today,’ Sir Laurence grunted as he slumped into his chair. ‘Let’s not talk about it.’
David eyed him uncertainly a moment before beginning to discuss the business of the day: a small fire that had damaged one of the storerooms, fodder for the horses and how many ought to be stabled within the court, a report on the total sacks of grain for bread and ale-making, as well as the honey, charcoal and brimstone stored for making the new blackpowder. The King had ordered two barrels of honey to be held at his castles for this purpose four years ago, along with all the other items necessary for repelling a siege, and Bristol was well served in all.
Sir Laurence tried to concentrate, but his mind kept returning to his interview with Emma Wrey. Cecily was an object of some fascination in the town, because of her narrow escape, and she had been pointed out to him a few times, usually by men using that hushed undertone that denotes some sort of notoriety.