The Oath

‘No, but those men wanted to kill me because I am the holder of secret messages for the King. I am a King’s Messenger.’

Bristol

Sir Stephen Siward wore his accustomed affable smile as he walked from the market, but in his heart he knew that there was trouble brewing – trouble that could affect him personally if it was not nipped in the bud as quickly as possible.

Cecily had plainly been shocked to her core. He had seen her while he stood buying a pie. She appeared moonstruck, as though she might faint away at any moment. Women were prone to such odd humours – it was the womb, he had heard. It was a curious organ, and could move about the body through the month, causing much of their temperamental behaviour…

And then, even as she turned and fled, he saw the men, and with a shock of recognition equal to her own, knew where he had seen them before. They were the fellows Cecily had accused at the inquest.

The King, in his desperation to find any man who might support him, had proclaimed that all those in prison for theft or homicide, or those who had abjured the realm, if they would go to the King they would receive litteras de pace,[16] and could return to their homes as free men after serving in his host.

Sir Stephen had heard that Squire William was to be freed some weeks ago, but he hadn’t expected the men to come back here, not to the place where they had been accused and held, ready for hanging.

As Cecily fled, Sir Stephen eyed the men. If the city grew aware that the killers of the Capons had been released, there could be widespread unrest, he thought. And that maid may just stir it up. Where she had seemed unstable before, now she looked wild, and a woman in her frame of mind could be irrational.

If the men noticed her, they could well decide to take revenge for her evidence against them. They could capture her, torture her, kill her…

She might turn to him for protection. She might assume that he would defend her. True, she had thrown his money in his face when he tried to offer her support – but then, she probably thought he was buying her off and was proud enough to be offended. Truth was, she had also admitted to him that she held an affection for him. But her feelings were not reciprocated, and he could hardly waste time with her now. Not with the kingdom on the brink of war.

Sir Stephen sighed heavily. If those men learned where she lived…

Near Whitchurch

Simon Puttock looked about him warily as they rode on westwards.

It was two days since they had passed over the great bridge at London, and he had kept a suspicious eye on any who so much as glanced at him or his wife as they trotted down into the Surrey side of the river, away from the great city. That first day of travel had been one of intense anxiety at all times. After witnessing the mobs wandering London’s streets on the rampage, seeing so many deaths, no one could be unaffected.

The lanes of Southwark stank, filled as they were with the Bishop of Winchester’s brothels, tanneries, and other more noisome businesses which were not wanted in London itself. It had been a relief to escape to the orchards and fields just outside. By the time they had reached a little village called Wandelesorde,[17] Simon had already felt a little safer.

Yesterday they had made better time, travelling from dawn to dusk, and getting as far as a small village outside Farnham, where they had been able to sleep in a friendly peasant’s barn; today they had already made good progress, and with every mile that they put between themselves and the city, Simon grew more content.

‘I never want to see that place again,’ his wife breathed.

Simon was not surprised to hear her say so. They had both been shocked by the sudden explosion of violence as the King fled his capital and the Queen approached.

‘Nor me, neither,’ he said. ‘Nor Westminster.’

In the last months he had been forced to travel here too often, mostly supporting his friend Sir Baldwin, but also on the King’s own business. This last time, he and Baldwin had witnessed the hideous slaying of so many people, including their good friends… but he wouldn’t dwell on it. He would have gone to their rescue, but luckily Baldwin had stopped him. There was no courage or cowardice involved. It was simple mathematics: there were so many men in the crowd that anyone attempting to divert them from their prey would himself become the target of their uncontrollable rage and immediately be killed.

‘We shall soon be home,’ he said. ‘A week, no more, and we’ll be away from all this.’

‘I hope so,’ his wife said.

He had fallen in love with his Meg the first time they had met. She was tall, slender, and blonde as a ripe cornseed, while he was heavier, squarer of feature. He hadn’t expected to be able to win her heart, but she had succumbed to his charm, and they had soon been married.

‘Don’t suppose it’s time for lunch yet?’

This was Rob, a whining, malcontented lad whom Simon had acquired when he was Keeper of the Port at Dartmouth under Abbot Champeaux at Tavistock. Such a short while ago, that seemed, and yet so much had changed. The Abbot had died, the post at the port was taken from Simon while the Brothers at Tavistock bickered over who should take the reins of power, Simon’s own home had been stolen from him by the Despenser, and now he had only his farm for his livelihood. Yes, much had changed.

‘Shut up, boy!’ Hugh, Simon’s servant, snapped.

‘Are you sure it will take a week to get home?’ Margaret asked.

‘I am afraid so,’ Simon said.

‘A whole week of that fellow complaining,’ Margaret said wonderingly. She knew her man too well, and his concerns were apparent to her now. He was worried about their son, Peterkin. She hugged her son to her belly. Peterkin was already yawning, and while he was safe enough here, she didn’t want to drop him. The boy was not yet four years old, and very precious to them both. He was their second son – their first-born son died when only a baby, of some foul wasting disease that took him gradually over several days – and both were ever wary of danger to this, their second. Meg had suffered miscarriages and had fallen pregnant only after many attempts, which made Peterkin still more important to them both.

‘He may improve,’ Simon said, glancing at Rob without enthusiasm.

Margaret nodded. ‘A week… I had not realised it was so far.’

‘When we came from Porchester, that was a shorter distance,’ Simon agreed. They had been forced to stay at the coastal town for some time, helping search for spies, whose messages were rumoured to be sent by ships. The King had ordered that all men with experience in such matters should monitor all shipping and capture the letters. As Simon had said, it was about as effective as searching for a needle in a field of corn. An utter waste, in fact, of his time.

‘I believe that as the crow flies it is some seventy leagues,’[18] he said, peering ahead. ‘We should be home again in a little over five days, with fortune.’

They had asked directions as they left Farnham, where they halted to buy provisions, and were told to find their way to Winchester, and thence to continue west.

‘Are we likely to be waylaid?’ his wife asked in a lower voice.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and grinned at her. ‘And the Queen’s riding north of us.’

‘We hope.’

‘The King’s been gone for two weeks,’ Simon said. ‘He’s probably in Wales by now.’

‘Why would he go there?’

Simon shrugged. ‘From his point of view, he needs friends. He hasn’t many, but at least Despenser is still with him, and Despenser owns the whole of South Wales. It’s his power base, so I suppose the King thought it would be the best place to install himself. From one of the great castles he can begin to form a host so he can stand up to his wife and son.’

‘What a terrible position,’ Margaret murmured, pulling her cloak about her shoulders and tightening her grip on her son. ‘To know he has the enmity of his wife and child.’