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?’
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?’
‘Perhaps he is. Describe him.’
‘He was tall, with a long crimson robe, and…’ It took only a little time to describe the man standing in the cemetery.
The knight considered him without speaking for a while. Then he nodded to himself. ‘Very well. I believe you. You will remain here for a little longer, Fosser, but it’s not a punishment.’
‘Please, my lord, no! Let me go home. It’s not as if I’ll be able to run away,’ he said, gesturing at his leg, hoping for sympathy.
‘It is not in order to punish you, Fosser. It is for your protection,’ the man said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He had not expected to be treated quite so well as this, but Sir Stephen knew that the Queen must be grateful for the gift he had brought her. There were not very many men who would bring her an entire city. In the great Guild Hall, he felt honoured to he allowed some time with her, her lovely little maid and one guard.
Isabella was a delightful woman. Quite the prettiest he had ever seen. Her fair hair and pale features were set off exquisitely by the black material of her widow’s weeds, and everything about her appeared designed to drive a man’s fancies to thoughts of bed.
‘I am very keen to learn what is happening inside the castle, Sir Stephen. Do you know upon whom the Earl of Winchester depends most of all? He is a strong-willed man, I know, but all must have one or two whom they can trust above all others.’
He was tempted to make a flippant comment about her husband and the way that the King had always selected unsuitable advisers, but saw that such a view would be safer kept to himself.
‘My lady, Your Highness, I think that the Earl is less strong now than when you last saw him. When would that have been?’
‘It was last year, more than a year ago.’
‘And his health has not improved. He fights because he can see no alternative if he wishes to protect his son.’
‘His son will die for the crimes he has committed,’ Queen Isabella said flatly. ‘You know how he has insulted even me, his Queen? He took my city, this Bristol. All the revenues which were mine by law, he acquired to his own benefit. The city was a part of my dower, and yet he seized it all. It was ever an especial favourite of mine, Bristol. So pretty, is it not?’
‘I find it so.’
‘So, the good Earl is not content? And yet he must know that he cannot stand in our path.’
There was a knock at the doors, and in walked a youth. It was only when the guard snapped to attention, and the maid curtseyed deeply that Sir Stephen felt his heart lurch, and he bowed low.
‘My son, this is Sir Stephen Siward, who yesterday brought us the city of Bristol.’
‘You turned from your friends in the castle?’
Sir Stephen heard the pointed challenge. ‘Your Royal Highness, I thought, and still feel, that it is more important to remain loyal to the Royal Family than to others.’
‘Which others?’
Sir Stephen looked up. ‘Men who would use the law to terrorise and steal. I have had experience of the
