The Oath

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.

‘Your Highness?’

‘They demand that I surrender, and that I yield up Sir Hugh, and his father, the Earl of Winchester. They say that Sir Hugh is profligate, and that I have taxed the realm too much to support him – when all who know the Treasury are aware that I have ever been careful with the nation’s money! How can they say such things, Sir Ralph?’

‘My lord, I…’

‘No, it is not for you to answer this. You are right. But I fear that the Queen may come to attack us. There are other groups of men on their way here to join us, I believe. Sir Ralph, I would be glad if you could take some men and find them and bring them to us here at Tintern. We must concentrate our forces.’

‘Of course.’

The King’s tone became peevish. ‘Sir Ralph, you will remain loyal, won’t you? You wouldn’t run to them?’

In answer, Sir Ralph knelt again and held up his hands, palms pressed together. ‘I will renew my vow to you now, my lord, if you wish.’

The King smiled sadly. He placed his own hands around Sir Ralph’s, as he had all those years ago when Sir Ralph was made a knight by him. ‘Sir Ralph, good Sir Ralph, I am sorry. Your honour is not in doubt.’

He made Sir Ralph stand, and kissed him.

Sir Ralph went to his horse and mounted, but before he left, he caught sight of the huddle of men again. Earl Hugh of Winchester was next to his son, Sir Hugh le Despenser, and the King himself was alone a few yards away.

There was nothing could soothe that monarch’s fretful heart, Sir Ralph thought as he cantered back to his camp.

Approaching Bristol

The exhausted men were close to collapse that morning. As they struggled onwards, desperate to find the host they were meant to join, they came across a broader roadway.

A good place to rest, Robert Vyke thought wearily. Trees ranged on both sides, and a thick hedge was to his left. There was a small building up ahead, the limewash old and fragile, falling away with old cob in places. It was the beginning of a hamlet, perhaps, or a small farm.

‘Only another four or five miles, boys!’ Otho was calling, entreating them onwards. ‘Then we’ll be in Bristol. We’ll soon be with the King, then.’ Spotting Robert Vyke, he nodded. ‘You all right?’

‘Good as I can be.’

‘Aye, well, forget that tranter. He’s got enough trouble on his hands moving all the gear without a horse.’

‘He deserves it.’

Otho smiled as they continued. He knew the cause of Vyke’s rancour.

It was almost two months since the King’s purveyors had reached their village and made their demands. There were more wagons coming, and the King had need. The village was to be ravaged: food, goods, iron, all were taken and thrown into the wagons, together with all the ale they could grab. And then one of the horses had stumbled and broken a leg.

There was no pause. The purveyors had their orders, and they must fulfil them. So they took Vyke’s only