CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Margaret was still distressed as she sat with her husband the next morning. The reappearance of Sir Charles was not welcome.
The knight entered the inn with a mildly distracted air, but smiled at the sight of Simon and his wife. ‘Old friend, I am glad to see you are not still trying to flee the city, like so many. They are queuing all about the gates, demanding the right to leave. They won’t be allowed to do so, though. We cannot afford to let them.’
‘Why not?’ Margaret asked quietly. ‘Surely it would be better to have the city emptied of all the unnecessary mouths? Couldn’t some, like us, be allowed to leave?’
Sir Charles turned his smile upon her. ‘My dear Madame Puttock, it would be too dangerous. How many of those leaving could tell the enemy how to break into the city? How many know where a weak point in the wall lies, or where a postern to access the castle may be found? They may not wish to betray us, but if they are captured and put to the torture… No, better to keep everyone caged here, and ensure that none go to the Queen to tell her the secrets of the city.’
‘We are strangers here – we know nothing of such things,’ Margaret protested.
‘The rule is to be enforced nonetheless, Madame.’
‘I am not happy that we are to be kept here as prisoners,’ Simon said.
‘I know – and if I could find a way for you to escape safely, I would do so immediately. But the way things are just now, you’d not get far before being captured. If the stories are true, the Queen’s men are almost in sight now. They encircle the whole city.’
Margaret turned away, hiding her tears. They were trapped here in this damned city for as long as the Queen maintained her siege. She wondered whether she would ever see her daughter again, whether she would at last see her grandson. But no. It was likely that she and her son would perish here.
Despair made her bitter. ‘Simon, I should like to find food,’ she said curtly.
‘My love, I think that all the food is likely to be locked away now.’
‘I want dried meat and some bread here, for Peterkin and me,’ Margaret snapped. ‘As soon as this siege begins to bite, the city will likely allow all strangers and foreigners to starve. You will be all right, Simon, because you can help guard the city, so they will feed you. What about Peterkin and me? Simon, I don’t want to watch our son die!’
This last was a wail of despair, and Simon felt it like a punch to his belly. He stared at Sir Charles, wretched in his inability to help his own wife, to protect his family.
Sir Charles was not the fastest-thinking knight Simon had ever met, but now he held up both hands. ‘Madame Margaret, you and your husband will stay in the chamber allocated to me in the castle, and I shall find somewhere else. Then you will be able to eat the food stored for the siege. Nothing could be easier. I will not permit you to go hungry, my lady.’
Simon had gone to his wife and held her in his arms. ‘You are sure?’ he asked.
‘Of course. My lady, do not worry yourself – it is all solved. There is no need for you to be alarmed. Now, Simon, let us discuss this unfortunate peasant – Cecilia? Cecily?’
And Simon went to sit and talk with the knight about the woman found the night before, while Margaret watched unhappily. Because it was one thing to say that they would be fed within the castle, but another for Simon and she to be safe, when all the Queen’s forces were now to be aimed at that self-same castle, with bolts and stones hurled from the siege machines of her artillery.
She glanced up at the ceiling as though expecting the sky to begin to rain rocks upon her head. It was terrifying. And there was no escape.
Exhaustion kept Baldwin in a deep slumber, and it was only when a hungry Wolf thrust his nose in his armpit that he was jerked fully awake.
Although the knight was keen to be away on the road to Furnshill, he found himself content in the hall with Thomas Redcliffe and his wife. The couple chattered happily, and it was pleasant to see their ease with each other this morning. They clearly enjoyed their domestic existence, even with the disaster of his business failure.
Their companionship was not the only reason for Baldwin’s reluctance to make a start. From the moment he had woken he had heard the steady thrumming of rain on the roof, and as soon as he pulled open the shutters, he knew that the day would be miserable. It reminded him of the time a decade earlier, when the rain had been so unrelenting that crops failed and famine struck the whole of Europe. People died in such vast numbers that English Coroners could not view all the bodies, and a special dispensation was given to all vills to hold their own inquests – unless there was good reason to suspect foul play.
Sir Baldwin offered a prayer that there would be no such repetition. None who had lived through the famine had survived unmarked by tragedy.
At the table, while he and Jack ate a large breakfast of thick pottage in which cubes of ham floated, Redcliffe spoke of the trials of the King.
‘It is a terrible thing for the Queen to have deserted her husband,’ he said.
‘I am sure that it was not a decision she took lightly,’ Baldwin said.
‘You do not mean to support her in her treason?’ Redcliffe asked.
‘I myself intend to ride to the King’s support,’ the knight pointed out. ‘A man can do no more. But I do not condemn.’
‘There are few who would be so moderate as you, Sir Baldwin.’
‘Perhaps we should talk of happier matters,’ Roisea suggested, seeing their guest’s discomfort. ‘How far is your home, Sir Baldwin?’
‘If we ride well, I suppose three days from here,’ Baldwin said, and tried to block out the noise of falling rain. Wolf sat at his side, shoving his head under Baldwin’s hand. ‘Yes. We should be on our way,’ he muttered.
They completed their meal, and after a short period of leave-taking, Baldwin and Jack were on their way. Redcliffe had advised on their best road. They should follow the great river westwards, and then take the coastal route towards the moors. From there Baldwin would be able to find his own way, he was sure.
It was a relief to be setting off on the last part of their journey, and Baldwin tugged his heavy riding cloak about him as he and Jack trotted slowly up the road which led away from the city, Wolf behind them. Soon they could see the hills rising in front of them, and in the miserable weather it was good, Baldwin reflected, to have such clear, distinct targets to aim for.
The weather had worsened, and the rain had penetrated even Baldwin’s sturdy clothes. Usually his cloak would serve against the worst that even Dartmoor could hurl, but not today. The rain was so heavy it made Baldwin blind. It was simply impossible to keep on peering ahead in such foul weather. Jack, who had no decent clothing, was already soaked through to the skin, his jack and shirt hanging shapelessly from his body, while his hat with its broad brim drooped so badly he was forced to lift it in order to gaze ahead.
It was enough to persuade Baldwin that they should turn back. The roads were grown too slippery and dangerous. The horses were picking their way with care, but it would only take one pothole to break a leg.
‘Jack, we’ll have to make our way back,’ he called through the biting wind. The rain was clattering all about them, and much too loud for he had to bellow just to make himself heard, but when Jack turned to him, his expression was one of sheer horror.
Baldwin followed the direction of his eyes and felt his mouth drop. There, before them, was an army.
‘Back to Bristol, my boy, and quickly!’ Baldwin bawled, pulling his horse’s head around to the north, and clapping spurs to the beast’s flanks.
