The Oath

murders committed by the Despensers. I would not be able to support a Despenser.’

‘That is good.’ The Duke of Aquitaine, Edward, son of King Edward II, walked to his mother’s side, bowing and kissing her hand, before turning and studying Sir Stephen. Fair-haired like his parents, he had a glorious mane of hair, and his build was already that of a warrior, even though he was only just fourteen years of age. He also had some strength of character, from the way that he studied Sir Stephen with those serious blue eyes of his. ‘But I wouldn’t see all Despensers punished by association, either. The fact that one is dishonourable, dishonoured and must be punished for his manifest crimes does not mean his father is a felon. I respect the Earl.’

‘So do I,’ Isabella said. ‘He has been good to us in the past. Perhaps he would listen to reason and surrender the castle, do you think? There can be no benefit in his keeping the fortress only to see it destroyed about him. The rubble of a ruin is hardly worth a single life.’

‘I think he would plan to keep it in order to hold it for your husband, Your Highness.’

‘I have no husband,’ she said, and there was just a hint of heat in her response, although she recovered her sangfroid quickly enough. ‘But were Edward to come here, it could not be for a very long time. Did you not know?’

‘I am not sure what you mean.’

‘The King has left the country. That is why we are gathering today. He has left his kingdom, and that means the realm is without a monarch. It has been deserted.’

Cardiff

It was a relief to see the castle appear in the distance at last. Huge, and beautifully proportioned, it was a sight to make Baldwin smile: so regular and symmetrical, it appealed to his sense of balance.

He was at the rear of their party as they rode down the final plain towards the castle with the great town at its foot. There were men at the entrances to the town itself, and Baldwin and Jack rode slowly to the gates as the rest of their party rode on ahead.

Here at least there were signs of normality. Flags and banners flew from the turrets and there was an air of calmness and peace about the place that made Baldwin’s soul feel refreshed.

Their journey today had been uneventful, merely a fast walk through the woods and valleys of South Wales.

It was a countryside he particularly liked: verdant and hilly, it was much like his own Devonshire, although the peasants were perhaps rather poorer. They had come down a little green valley from the Severn, and Baldwin had been taken by that. At the bottom of the valley was a little house, the smoke rising from the end of the thatched roof. There was a cattle shed, badly dilapidated, and some other cottages as they rode past, but only the main farmhouse appeared to have anyone living in it, and even there the people looked poverty-struck. In fact, they looked to be no better off than Baldwin’s villeins had during the famine of ten years before.

For all the beauty of that little valley, Baldwin had been glad to ride away from it, and point his rounsey’s head westwards again. At least from there it was only some five-and-twenty miles to the castle.

The friars were happy to be away from Bristol, that much was clear. But they were also clearly of the opinion that they were leaping from the chafing dish into the coals: the King’s anger on hearing that his timid requests for letters of safe-conduct for all those in the household with him was to be entirely ignored did not bear contemplation. Since Baldwin had endured the King’s displeasure before, he did not envy the two their task.

Still, for the most part of the journey, all were taken with the constant threat that the Queen might have other men in the area here to attack them. She was as able to throw some forces ahead of her into Wales as any other warrior. And since she had Mortimer with her, who was the most experienced fighter of any in the realm when it came to border wars, a screen of horsemen around here was very likely.

They made good time, hurrying without over-tiring their mounts, for the most part without talking as all kept their eyes skinned on the trees and other likely ambush positions. However all had been well so far.

Poor Roisea rode with her face concealed beneath a veil, her head hanging, the picture of misery. The death of her husband had been most untimely. If what she had said was true – that he was about to make his fortune again – it was particularly hard for her because the money had not yet arrived. Now, she would remain as poor as before. She had lost everything.

He remembered their little house to the south of Bristol. At the time he had been in so much of a hurry to be gone, that the couple had not occupied his thoughts much, although Roisea’s and Thomas’s behaviour had seemed vaguely improper in front of him. It was hardly polite to be display such affection in front of a guest, especially a guest they hardly knew, and yet now, in retrospect, it seemed fortunate that the man should have died in the knowledge that his wife loved him.

Baldwin had already stabbed the bearded man who had led the attackers in Winchester. He had followed them all that way. Baldwin thought about it. It was very curious. He had never known of footpads showing such determination before. What’s more, the fellow was with different companions, too, which implied that he was a leader of men, who was prepared to hire others to help him as he planned his attacks. Why attack Thomas Redcliffe? There would have to be a significant reason, to persuade a fellow to hunt a man all the way from Winchester, let alone from London.

The alternative, that he was trying to catch a King’s Messenger, was more likely. Perhaps Redcliffe was thought to carry some dangerous message that must be stopped? Or perhaps it was more simple: he was killed because he had taken some business from a London merchant who resented his interference. The merchant could have paid someone to hunt him down and execute him.

But there was little point speculating. Better to leave such hypotheses to others.

Their way took them down a grassy bank to the road itself, a stony track that pointed like an arrow to the castle. Baldwin almost unhorsed himself riding down a particularly steep part, and he glanced back with a grin on his face, only to see Alexander a short distance away, gazing about him with caution.

It reminded him that even this close to the King, they would not be safe until they were inside the castle’s wall – and with that thought, he spurred his rounsey on again.

Bristol

The hall was filled.

Sir Stephen Siward was one of the most powerful knights in the country, one of only two thousand men who could call themselves members of the Order of Chivalry of England – and yet he had never seen a gathering like this. The Bishops of Ely, Hereford, Lincoln, Norwich and Winchester, the Earls of Kent, Lancaster and Norfolk, as well as barons, bannerets, knights and squires, thronged the large chamber, all presenting themselves before the Queen and her son as the new rulers of the country – and that itself was shocking.

It was the sort of gathering that a man would see once in his lifetime. The prominent nobility of the realm and the Church were never usually to be found all in one place like this. It was a proof of the importance of the matter, and yet it was profoundly wrong. Sir Stephen knew it, and despite his part in helping bring it about, this gathering was enough to make his flesh creep, for all these people were here in order to change God’s decision. His anointed King was being forced from his throne. In King Edward’s place sat the Queen and her son.

A steward bellowed, and his staff struck the ground. The people in the chamber fell silent and the meeting began.

Sir Stephen knew that he would never again witness such an event, but it passed like a dream, and afterwards, also as in a dream, there was little he could recall. The main part was the declaration being read out: the King had deserted the realm. He was extra regnum. That phrase somehow remained fixed in Sir Stephen’s head when so much else was gone. Extra regnum, outside the kingdom, and leaving the kingdom without a Regent.

That was not going to continue. Before the assembled nobles, Edward, Earl of Chester, Duke of Aquitaine, was declared Regent during the King’s absence.

Watching him closely, Sir Stephen felt the Duke’s mood was less joyous than he would have expected. A man who was presented with a kingdom should be glad, and the Duke would know that the people wanted him. There was near-rapture in the city when he entered, and Sir Stephen felt certain that his reception would have been no less enthusiastic wherever he had gone.

But as Sir Stephen watched him cast an eye over the men before him, he realised that the boy could see