‘An easier dedication, I suppose,’ Simon said with a grin.
‘It’s all easy enough. We’re just peasants, we do as we’re commanded,’ Otho said, but with a sidelong look that proved his seriousness was false.
‘Masters, it is good to hear an English voice again,’ Sir Laurence said, riding up alongside Sir Charles. ‘Bailiff, good day to you, Sir Charles.’
‘Are you finding it hard to converse with the men here?’ Simon asked. ‘I thought it was only me.’
‘No, their speech is difficult for me as well,’ Sir Laurence said. He lowered his voice. ‘In truth, though, it is the company of Sir Stephen Siward which I find more unappealing.’
‘Ah,’ Sir Charles said.
‘Well, you can hardly trust him, can you? The man is a disgrace to the Order of Chivalry. To have run out on us and given up the city to the Queen, in denial of all his oaths to the King, was a shameful act – the act of a man who has no sense of honour.’
Simon nodded. ‘I too found it repellent. I just hope the bastard keeps away from me.’
Sir Charles shrugged like a confused Hainaulter. ‘You have to admit, he probably saved all our lives. You may choose to dislike the man for a number of reasons, my friends, but do not lose sight of the fact that you are alive now due to his cowardice. I wouldn’t consider it such a terrible fault!’
Sir Laurence smiled thinly. ‘You are incorrigible, Sir Charles. Master Puttock, may I ask if it is true that you have been asked to investigate a homicide?’
‘Yes, Sir Roger asked me to look at the death of a man called Thomas Redcliffe,’ Simon said. ‘Why?’
‘I have no idea whether it is relevant, but he used to be a successful merchant who imported destriers and other horses for the King. The King used him as a confidential messenger occasionally into Aragon.’
‘But Mortimer said he was a trusted friend of his!’ Simon said, confused.
‘Perhaps the man was a friend to
‘I am, and I thank you,’ Simon said.
‘Well,’ Sir Charles breathed as Sir Laurence trotted away. ‘So, was there anyone this merchant was not friendly with?’
In the end, Baldwin was not sure whether it was compassion or the urge to flee that weighed most heavily in the balance.
The King was almost silent the night before at the evening meal, and left soon after to return to his little portable altar, communing with God as best he might. After he left, the men in the hall were subdued. A couple grew quietly drunk in a corner, but even they were moderate in their language, and neither tried to draw steel. It was as though everyone in the castle realised that their situation had indeed grown hopeless since the departure of Bogo’s men.
Sir Ralph was feeling the strain too, Baldwin saw. The lines at the sides of his mouth were graven more deeply, and there were bruises under his eyes. This was not mere tiredness from lack of sleep, it was the lassitude of a man who had been driven too far. While riding and preparing to fight, a man could retain a semblance of his former fortitude, but when those pursuits were removed and he was left to wait for an attack, even a knight would grow fretful.
Thus it was that the news that they were all to leave the castle came as a surprise – and a most welcome one.
The castle was to be left in the hands of Sir John Felton and Sir Hugh le Despenser’s oldest son, Hugh, who was sixteen years old and would need Sir John’s help. It was stocked with provisions enough to survive a siege lasting many weeks. All the King’s unnecessary belongings, even his chamber book which recorded all his expenditure, were to remain, and he and a small force of men would make their way west to Neath via Margam. King Edward had a desperate hope that he might still meet with some of the men from North or South Wales, and enlist them in his support.
Only a small number of men were to join him – the remainder of his household knights, Despenser, Baldock and some few others. Their intention was to ride away at speed and outrun the slower host of Mortimer, which would almost certainly be hauling large weapons of war with them.
The King appeared in the inner ward when all the others were prepared and ready. At the steps to the hall, he went to the son of Sir Hugh le Despenser and Sir John Felton, offering his best wishes for their security and insisting that they held on to the castle and did not surrender it shamefully. Then he gave his thanks to all the men in the castle for protecting him so well, and reminding them that he was their lawful King, the one who had been anointed with God’s holy oil.
With that, and as the men all shouted their approval, he strode to the mounting block and easily threw his leg over his horse. Always athletic, he looked like King Arthur now in his armour, and Baldwin, for all his usual cynicism, felt his heart thrill a little at the sight.
The King’s standard-bearer hefted his great flag, and the King’s banner opened out, displaying the royal arms of gules, three lions passant gardant in pale or, armed and langued azure. As soon as the bearer’s horse began to move, a little wind caught the flag, and the lions rippled on the bright red material, their blue claws and tongues catching the light.
Baldwin waited in turn until he too was at the gate, and suddenly, as he rode beneath the massive gatehouse, he felt as though some of the worry of the last few days was at last dissipated. He looked across at Jack, who wore a fretful expression, as though wondering whether he would ever stop this aimless travelling about the country. Wolf was at his left foot, his allegiance apparently switched from Baldwin to the boy. And in the distance, Baldwin was sure that he could see a familiar slim figure: Roisea.
Yes, action was enough to remind him that he was a man, not a caged animal, and as his horse’s hooves thundered over the timbers of the bridge across the moat, Baldwin could have sung for joy, just for the fact of being on horseback and free once more.
Over the bridge, Despenser paused and Baldwin saw him look back towards the castle. And in his eyes, Baldwin saw genuine tragedy.
Sir Hugh le Despenser knew he would never see his son again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
After another long ride, they at last reached Hereford in the middle of the day, and Simon was pleased just to clamber down from his horse.
He had always prided himself on the fact that he was hardy, and that his common practice of riding each morning, and travelling over Dartmoor to his various duties, made him more resilient than most, but after riding for so long, since the middle of October, he was feeling more than worn: he felt bone weary.
It was not only him, either. As he dropped heavily from the saddle and looked about him, he saw that the others were in a similar state. Even Otho and Herv moved in a lacklustre manner with stiff legs and backs as they set about gathering firewood from some trees at the edge of the roadway. Sir Laurence too was saddlesore, climbing gingerly down from his mount. He had spent too long in the castle dealing with the administration of the place, and was unused to so much exercise, and it was clear that Sir Charles too was ready to drop.
Simon gathered up his few belongings and made a little pile along with Otho and Herv’s packs, before
