‘I will not have you gainsay me, Sir Laurence! I am Commander here, damn your eyes, and I will see my orders complied with.’
‘You have overall command of the King’s forces,’ Sir Laurence countered. ‘However, I have a duty to the castle and the people of the city as well. And although it is a terrible responsibility for me, I have to execute my duty as I see fit. I will not permit the city or the castle to be laid waste just because of our interpretation of how the King would most like to see us behave.’
The Earl rose and slammed his fist on the table, making the cups and horns leap. ‘I will not listen to this bullock-turd! You say you agree I am Commander, and that is enough. I am in charge here – not you – and we shall hold this castle, no matter what.’
‘My lord Earl,’ Sir Charles said smoothly. ‘It cannot harm anybody to ask for an audience with the Queen. If we enter discussions, it does not mean we actually have to accept any terms given. All it does mean is that we know exactly where we stand. If we are informed that none of us will be allowed to leave the castle with honour, it makes all other discussions pointless. However, while we talk, we are delaying the enemy’s plans, even if by only a little. We have supplies here, so the time will not hurt us. And when the talks break down, as they almost certainly will, they will have to start from scratch with their siege machines. It is a delaying tactic, my lord.’
Earl Hugh looked at him, and in that moment Simon realised that the old man was at the end of his tether. He plainly knew that if all went foul with the King, his son must die. Sir Hugh le Despenser was the most detested man in the realm, and for him there would be no hiding-place.
What was more, if the mob tracked down Sir Hugh, they might decide to enforce the most brutal punishment. Others had suffered that final torment, of being hanged, drawn and quartered. It was the most appalling revenge society could inflict, and Earl Hugh knew that if the mob caught his son, he could expect no sympathy.
Simon looked away. It was a hideous prospect for any father. He himself was fearful that his own son might die here in the castle, but how much worse must it be for a man if his son were forced to endure ritual public slaughter? It was at that moment that he began to feel sympathy for the Earl.
The meeting ended shortly thereafter, and the Earl walked from the room like an old man; Simon noticed that none of the others in the chamber could meet his eye. It was like watching someone go to their execution, he thought. It only required the priest intoning prayers as Earl Hugh shuffled out.
But Sir Laurence was still at the table, toying with a reed while others muttered and mingled. Simon thought that this was as good a time as any to question him.
‘Sir Laurence, may I speak with you?’ he said.
‘Are you going to call me a coward or fool, too? No? Then yes, you may speak with me.’
‘I was asked to view a body the other day,’ Simon began. ‘It was that of a maidservant called Cecily. Did you know her?’
‘Everyone in the city knew of Cecily. She was notorious as the maid whose family was butchered,’ Sir Laurence said, leaning back in his chair. He aimed the reed like a dart, and threw it at Simon. ‘Well?’
‘You were seen with her on the night she died, and I wondered…’
‘You want to talk to me about that? She had come to me to ask about the men who’d been released – Squire William and others – and I was able to tell her that he was dead. That was all.’
‘You said just that and left her?’
Sir Laurence’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are asking whether I killed her, Bailiff? I did not. I was walking around the streets assessing the barricades I had ordered to be built. I didn’t have time for her petty concerns – especially since the man she most feared was dead.’
‘The Squire – where was he killed?’
‘East of here, some miles away. Sir Stephen viewed the body.’
‘At least she would have been comforted by that knowledge,’ Simon said.
‘Yes, so you would have thought – but, if anything, she was more distraught. She only demanded that his men should be arrested in his place. Nonsense!’ Sir Laurence blew out an irritated breath.
‘So, what then did–’
But the Constable cut him off, standing abruptly. ‘Enough. I spoke with her, she left. That is all that happened, and now, master, if you will excuse me, I have a castle to protect.’
Simon sighed. Sir Laurence was short-tempered, but that was not necessarily a sign of guilt. He had a lot on his mind at the moment.
Sir Charles led Simon to the buttery where the pair drank off a quart of strong wine each, but the drink had no effect on either of them. Outside the castle, they could hear cheering and singing, and the steady beat of a drum somewhere as people in the city celebrated their release and safety.
‘What will happen?’ Simon asked him, staring at a very drunk guard who was staggering along the wall of the hall.
Sir Charles shrugged. ‘We will either fight, in which case we shall very probably die together, or we shall arrange a peace and walk out of here with our heads held high.’
‘Which do you think it’ll be?’
Sir Charles looked at him.
‘Come, Bailiff. Let us try another jug of that wine. I’m not sure it wasn’t off, eh?’
Fourth Sunday after the Feast of St Michael[27]
Bristol Gaol
The morning was, for once, blessedly dry, and even inside the repellent little chamber in which Saul the Fosser had been thrown together with three drunks, one of whom threw up for the early part of the night until he had emptied his belly, and then retched until he passed out, lying snoring in a pool of his own vomit, the difference in temperature was noticeable. Not warm, but not as icy cold as it had been.
‘Fosser? Someone wants to talk to you.’
The door was pushed open, the rusty hinges screeching. In that enclosed stone space, the sound was like a dagger being thrust between the ears. Saul climbed to his feet, then made his way out through the door, past the gaoler, with his reek of old garlic and armpits, and found himself in a small chamber. There was a man there, who stood playing with the little dagger with its two rubies.
He was a very calm, quiet man, with a peculiar slow blink of his brown eyes. His hair was very dark, while his flesh was quite pale, a curious combination. He was wearing a long, dark-green tunic of very soft-looking woven material. It made Saul feel even chillier than usual to see such a rich, warm-looking fabric.
‘You are the man who was trying to sell this?’ the stranger asked.
‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Saul said immediately. ‘I was trying to make a little money, my lord, not–’
The man wasn’t impressed by his assumption of his rank, nor by his protestations of innocence. ‘Know that the man who carried this weapon was a felon who deserved the full penalty of law. If you killed him, it will not be weighed against you. But, if you know where his body lies, you must tell me now. I want to see him dead with my own eyes.’
Saul considered. There was the risk that this man was lying, of course, but he had the impression that the fellow was telling the truth. There was certainly no indication of any sorrow on his part for the late departed owner of the dagger. On the other hand, Saul had no idea who the owner was, unless it was the tall knight at the graveside.
‘I don’t know who he was,’ he said, and told all he knew. About the knight watching the burial of the woman, how he threw the packet into the grave while Saul replaced the earth, and then disappeared. ‘I think he was in the castle. Perhaps he is in there now?’