‘I should like to think that I could be trusted.’
‘Then let’s go and see the Duke. We can ask him for permission to leave. There can be no need for us to be held here any longer.’
The room to which they were conducted was a small chamber a little away from the hall, and here they were told to sit and wait.
Simon and Baldwin looked at each other, both of them feeling the boldness caused by their wine fade away.
Baldwin could feel that strange hollowness in his belly again. There were noises of festivity coming from the hall – singing, clattering of dishes and cheering, as though this was a warrior’s hall from King Arthur’s day. It was a strange counterpoint to the helplessness Baldwin felt.
There was the sound of marching. Soon, two men walked in and stood at either side of the door, before the figure of the Duke appeared.
Baldwin and Simon both knelt and bowed their heads.
‘Sir Baldwin, please, and Bailiff, stand. There is no need for this.’
‘My lord, I need to apologise,’ Baldwin began, but the Duke shook his head emphatically.
‘No, Sir Baldwin, you do not. You have served my father well, and you deserve to be honoured for that. You performed your duty admirably, and I am very grateful to you for it.’
Baldwin bowed his head again, and suddenly felt as weak as a new-born calf. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘And you, too, Master Puttock,’ the Duke continued. ‘I would have you rewarded for your service – but I fear that the strings to the realm’s purse are closely bound as yet.’
‘I’m content if you are happy with the service I have performed, my lord,’ Simon said.
‘How could I not be?’ Duke Edward smiled.
‘Simon has told me of your agent, Sam Fletcher,’ Baldwin said hesitantly. ‘I must apologise, Your Highness. I thought he was trying to kill the King’s own messenger. Redcliffe had told me he was the King’s man and I saw no reason to disbelieve him. And when your man tried to kill him…’
‘It is understandable,’ Duke Edward said, saddened. ‘I trusted Fletcher entirely. He was a good man, and decent. Very loyal.’
‘You should know that he and his party succeeded in killing Redcliffe,’ Baldwin said.
‘I am glad of that, at least,’ the Duke replied.
Simon cleared his throat. ‘But you should also know that Sir Roger has been asking who killed Redcliffe. He asked me to investigate personally.’
‘What will you tell him?’
‘I don’t know what to tell him,’ Simon admitted.
The Duke grunted. ‘Then tell him that it was a band of men from Hainault. They saw Sir Baldwin here, and gave chase, killing a man from the party.’
‘It was two they killed,’ Baldwin said. ‘And they injured Sir Ralph’s squire too.’
‘So much the better. There are witnesses to the deaths. You did not kill Redcliffe, after all, did you, Sir Baldwin?’
‘No. It was one of the men with your fellow Fletcher.’
‘Then there is nothing for you to fear. I will tell Sir Roger that you have investigated the affair, Master Puttock, and that you should be permitted to return home now.’
‘I am most grateful to you, your lordship,’ Simon breathed.
There was a great bellow of laughter from the hall, and the Duke’s face stiffened. ‘They executed Despenser today, and those laughing in there all witnessed his awful end. I confess, I find my appetite is somewhat curtailed.’
A step at the door heralded the arrival of Sir Roger Mortimer. ‘Your Highness, you should be in there and celebrating. Oh, you have guests, I see.’
The Duke’s chin rose slightly in defiance. ‘These friends are here to tell us of the death of a man.’
Simon hurriedly spoke. ‘Sir Roger, you asked me to find out what happened to Redcliffe. Well, Sir Baldwin here was present when he was killed.’
‘Speak!’ Sir Roger said.
Baldwin told the story as briefly as he could, without embellishment. ‘I had no idea who the men were who attacked us,’ he finished. ‘I can only think that they were men from your host – perhaps Hainaulters? Certainly the man I killed was not dressed as one of your regular men, but he and the others appeared set upon stopping us from escaping.’
Mortimer nodded slowly, then shot a look at the Duke and at Simon. ‘This all true?’
‘I believe it,’ Simon said.
‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’
‘Are we released, then?’ Simon asked hopefully. ‘Can we return to our homes? I want to see my wife and make sure that she is safe and–’
‘Soon, I would think,’ Sir Roger said. ‘For now, there is still much to be done. You may wait here until you are told you may go.’
‘I have already thanked Sir Baldwin for his service and assured him that he is free of any stain on his character,’ the Duke said.
‘He was with the Despenser when we caught him,’ Sir Roger said.
‘I was never a companion or ally of Despenser,’ Baldwin said coldly. ‘I
‘Do you mean you would serve his interests?’ Sir Roger said.
‘Absolutely,’ Baldwin said, feeling his belly churn at this statement. He had no idea how Sir Roger would respond to such a declaration. ‘I made him my oath of allegiance. I honour that vow.’
‘Good. So you should,’ Sir Roger said. He pursed his lips. ‘Come, Sir Baldwin, I believe you are a fair and reasonable man. Come with me, both of you, and share in the festivities. There is no reason for any of us to feel rancour towards each other, this day of all days.’
Sir Laurence was forced to fix a smile upon his face and raise his mazer to his neighbour as another toast was given in honour of the brave men of Hainault, as their leader, Jean, stood, braying with delight.
The hall was filled with shouting, joyous men. At the head table, Jean de Hainault sat with Sir Roger Mortimer and the Queen, while her son had been sitting near her at the end of the table. The rest of the hall was given over to merrymaking knights, squires and men-at-arms, all engaged in mutual congratulation at their part in the destruction of the King. Drinking vessels were all raised periodically in toasts, while men staggered from one table to another, as drunk as a peasant at a midsummer’s feast.
It was revolting to be forced to witness this, Sir Laurence thought. To listen to the paeans offered to these grubby mercenaries, one would think that they were the epitome of all that was chivalrous and honourable, when in reality they were nothing more than paid servants without even the merit of having given an oath. He sipped his wine, feeling the desolation of loneliness in this hall filled with happiness, and offered up his own prayer for the King, his master.
‘Sir Laurence, I hope I find you well?’
He looked up. ‘Master Puttock. You survived the capture of the King, then.’
‘Only by the merest margin, I fear,’ Simon said. His head injury was making him feel unwell, and he motioned to the bench. ‘May I join you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you know Sir Baldwin de Furnshill?’
‘I believe we have met.’
The two knights nodded amicably enough, and Sir Laurence moved along his bench to make space for the other two.
‘You were hurt in the action?’ Sir Laurence asked.
Simon winced. ‘I fell after a jump, and was caught in my stirrup and dragged a distance. I’m lucky to look this well.’
Sir Laurence whistled. ‘I had a friend who died in such a manner. You are fortunate.’
