Arundel, could expect little in the way of magnanimity when they were paraded in front of Mortimer. After all, they had shown none to him.
‘Come, what then? Is there any hope? Did you hear that they will send a man to negotiate with me?’
The messenger did not look up. Slowly he shook his head. ‘I have heard nothing of that, my liege. All spoke of the Mortimer riding with his host to find you.’
‘My friends,’ Edward said, ‘we are alone in this world. We have no means of escape. In truth, I fear I am the unhappiest King that ever ruled this sad kingdom. My doom is fast approaching.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Simon’s worst fears were realised on the way to Gloucester. All the last day, they had plodded on in rain that seemed to fall more heavily the further north they travelled, and by the time they stopped for the night, all were entombed in misery. There was no way for the men to warm themselves or to dry their sodden clothing. The only thing that served to lighten Simon’s spirits was the efficient foraging of the man Otho.
Otho reminded him of Hugh – but an older Hugh with a more pleasant attitude. As soon as the order was sent for the men to make camp, Otho and his companion, Herv, had headed off towards a small shaw. There, beyond the trees, Simon found them a short while later. Although there was no firewood or hot food, at least Simon and Sir Charles could settle down in the dry of the hovel.
‘How much further is it to the city?’ Herv demanded as he tugged his boots from his feet and stared at the blisters. ‘My boots may make it, but I don’t know that me feet will.’
‘Goose grease,’ Otho said knowledgeably. ‘That’s what you need for them.’
‘Oh. Good. Don’t suppose you’d noticed, Sergeant, but there isn’t any here.’
‘No?’ Otho reached into his pack and withdrew a wide-mouthed pot stoppered with a piece of cork. He opened it, and passed it over. ‘Don’t use too much. God knows when we’ll find any more.’
Simon had closed his eyes soon afterwards. There was some bread and biscuits to eat, but he had little appetite. He was more interested in where they were going, and what he was expected to do. Mortimer had given him little idea what he intended to do with him, and Simon found it made him anxious. And yet, no matter what Mortimer intended, Simon was less afraid of him than he would have been of Despenser. The latter was a far more dangerous and unpredictable foe.
The next morning, thank the Lord, the skies were leaden but dry. They gathered up their belongings, and while Simon and Sir Charles saddled their rounseys, Otho made a little fire, enough to warm some water, into which he threw some chunks of dried bread to make a drink that, while fairly tasteless, was sustaining. They also had some cured sausage, too, which they chewed as they returned to the column, and joined in the general march northwards again.
It was when they had been travelling half the morning that a rider came down the line, seeking Simon, and asked him to go to speak with Roger Mortimer.
Simon bade Sir Charles godspeed, and cantered off to the front of the column.
Sir Roger was a different man from the fellow Simon had seen in France or even in Bristol. In France the last year, Sir Roger had been living under a shadow, aware that the King of England would stop at nothing to see him executed. He was living under the protection of the French King, but that support was liable to be removed at any time, since Charles was a fickle ally who would use any lever to try to unsettle his English neighbour, especially if it gave him a pretext for snatching of the English territories remaining in France. Guyenne and the rest of Aquitaine were enormously valuable lands.
The position of sitting between two powerful men meant that Roger Mortimer’s life was always at risk. But now, he was once more a leader of men, with thousands behind him, ready and able to challenge King Edward and his right to rule. There was a feeling that Mortimer had God behind him, as if even He was distraught at how King Edward II had squandered all the good fortune with which he had been so liberally showered at birth.
‘Master Bailiff. I hope you slept well?’
Simon drew in closer to the man. Sir Roger rode with a straight back, his left hand gripping the reins, his right resting on his thigh, while he surveyed the lands ahead. Simon thought he looked like an emperor, studying his next conquest. ‘Very well, I thank you, sir.’
‘Good. The hovel was comfortable, then.’
It was a comment designed to remind Simon that he was under constant surveillance. The Bailiff saw no need to respond.
‘We should be in Gloucester soon. We shall not stop, but will continue on to Caerphilly. And there we shall encounter the King.’
‘Good,’ Simon said.
‘After that, I may release you. There is much to do, to rebuild this country. Despenser has done so much harm, would you not agree?’
Simon cast a look at him. ‘Sir Hugh le Despenser has persecuted me for the last year or more. He has threatened me, my family, and my livelihood. He has taken my home from me. You would find it hard to make any comment about him that I wouldn’t personally consider too gentle.’
‘You too?’ Mortimer smiled. ‘Still, I imagine he has not procured your death warrant, as he did for me. No matter. There is one thing, though. I told you a man of mine was found dead recently – a fellow called Thomas Redcliffe. He lay on the banks of the Severn. Are you sure you did not know of him?’
‘No. He is not a man I have met,’ Simon said.
‘Others will know of him. I want to find out who killed him. There is a tale that there was a man there when his body was found – a knight called Sir Baldwin.’
Simon was taken aback. ‘If you mean Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, he should be home again in Devon by now. Are you sure it was him? There are other knights who bear the same name.’
‘Home again? Where was he?’
‘He and I were in London with Bishop Stapledon, but Baldwin left before me, and he was intending to head straight back to Devon,’ Simon said. ‘He wanted to see his wife again, and make sure she was safe.’
‘Perhaps so.’
‘Who was this Redcliffe? Why should Baldwin seek his death?’
‘As for that, I do not know,’ Sir Roger said, but his eyes were thoughtful. ‘Redcliffe was only a merchant, but he was a friend of mine, and I would not see him killed and not try to find the culprit.’
‘Unless he tried to waylay Baldwin, I see no reason why he would want to kill the man.’
‘You were in London, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘How was it?’
‘Very bad.’
Sir Roger gave him a quick look and nodded. ‘I heard about Bishop Walter. I didn’t owe him any gratitude, but I was sad to hear of his end.’
‘I saw it,’ Simon said. ‘It was terrible. No man deserves that sort of a death.’
‘All too many die for the wrong reasons. The kingdom deserves better than it has received in the last years,’ Sir Roger said grimly. ‘And I shall do all in my power to see that it does. From now on, there will be fairness and justice. No more of Despenser’s thieving.’
‘I see.’
His stoic response was enough to make Sir Roger grin. ‘Come! You will find your life improved, too, when Despenser is gone. For now, though, we still have to capture him. That may take a little time.’
‘What do you want of me?’ Simon asked.
