‘Yes. Thank God. Sir Charles was there,’ Simon said. ‘He saved my life.’
‘Oh,’ Sir Laurence said.
‘You do not like him?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘I mistrust those who will seek mercenary reward,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘In my youth, all men gave their oaths and were rewarded from their lords’ largesse. Now, apparently, a man’s body and soul are likewise for sale.’
‘Sir Charles was forced into it,’ Simon said protectively. ‘And surely, if you feel like that, you would not wish to go to a banker and make money from your position.’
‘No. I would not wish to do so, and would not do so in practice.’
‘Really?’
Sir Laurence glanced at Simon with some surprise. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘I’ve heard it said that you yourself were involved with projects in Bristol, and that you were close to Arthur Capon,’ Simon said.
‘Whoever said such a thing was lying to you!’ Sir Laurence snapped. ‘I scarcely knew Capon – and never had any dealings with him. I saw my position there at Bristol as a position of trust, not a venture from which to gain profit. And in any case, I have no need of money. My manors bring in plenty each year, unlike those of others.’
‘Of whom do you speak?’
This was Sir Baldwin, and there was a curious intensity about him as he asked the question.
‘I was thinking of no one in particular,’ he answered. ‘But if you must have an example, I would say that the best is a man your companion here knows only too well. I am sure that it’s the reason why he sold the city and castle of Bristol.’
‘Sir Stephen, you mean?’ Simon said.
‘Yes. It is no secret that his manors have failed him, and that he cannot maintain the standard of expenditure that once he managed. There was a time when he was among the wealthiest in the land; now he is almost penniless. He needed money desperately badly, and I am sure he was counting on the gratitude of Mortimer when he opened the city gates.’
The next morning, Simon and Baldwin sat down to breakfast together in a small building near the hall. It was cold, but was at least quieter than the main hall, where many of the men had not bothered to sleep, and instead continued drinking through the night.
‘Interesting that Sir Laurence denied anything to do with the moneylender,’ Baldwin said. ‘From all you said before, I had thought that he would be a more vain, self-conscious man.’
‘Me, too’ Simon thoughtfully kicked a pebble from under the table and watched it roll across the floor to strike the wall. ‘If he is right, Sir Stephen is more likely to have seen Capon, but then Sir Stephen is the man he most detests in the world, because he surrendered the city at Bristol, and directly led to Sir Laurence being forced to give up the castle as well.’
‘Well, all I know is that I shall be inordinately glad to be home again,’ Baldwin said as he drank a little of the weak ale. He bit into a crust of bread and pulled a face. ‘Dear Heaven! Someone made this from a piece of moorstone, not flour.’
Simon smiled as he chewed at his own. ‘Anyway, surely it’s a fact that the men who killed Capon weren’t motivated by money.’
‘No, not if you are right,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘That was a matter of a simple family dispute. There are enough cases of men who kill their wives, whether by accident or intentionally.’
‘Yes, although it’s rarer for them to kill their parents as well,’ Simon said.
‘True enough. But not unknown,’ Baldwin shrugged.
They finished their meals in comparative silence. Only when they were done did Baldwin look across at his friend with a pensive frown.
‘Simon, did Sir Roger actually say that we could leave now? I am not sure that he did, and yet that was the implication, was it not?’
‘So far as I could tell,’ Simon said.
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, ‘we should ask for a letter of safe-conduct for ourselves, just to make sure.’
Simon agreed, and soon they presented themselves to the clerks who were serving Sir Roger in a chamber in the castle’s keep.
‘Safe-conduct? Why would you need them?’ the harassed senior clerk demanded. ‘If you are attached to remain here, remain here. If you haven’t been taken, then go, if you want. It’s nothing to do with me, but if you think I have the time to get my boys here,’ he waved his hand, taking in the seven middle-aged clerks behind him in a belligerent sweep, ‘to write foolish notes for all and sundry, you have another think coming!’
‘I am Sir Bald–’
‘You could be the Holy Father from Avignon, and I’d give you the same answer. I have suddenly discovered that I am the senior clerk to the King, the Queen, their son and heir, and the kingdom, as well as Sir Roger Mortimer, so begone. Now!’
And to their surprise, Simon and Baldwin found themselves pushed unceremoniously from the hall.
‘That cheeky…’ Simon said, and would have returned into the chamber, had Baldwin not taken his arm and begun to laugh.
Simon glared at him, until Baldwin’s mirth communicated itself to him, and soon the two men were helpless, Simon leaning against the wall, while Baldwin wept with the tears falling down his cheeks, while he held his stomach to try to stop the pain of so much amusement.
‘What is the matter with you two?’ the clerk demanded, throwing the door open. ‘If you don’t bugger off, I’ll call the guards to have you arrested immediately. Did you hear me? I’ll have you arrested, I said!’
Simon tried to hold his gaze, determined but the sheer incoherent fury on the clerk’s face forced him to turn away and face the wall, his whole body jerking with the gales of laughter that enveloped him.
‘You must be moon-struck. Madmen the pair of you,’ the clerk sniffed disdainfully, and then, unsure that they were not deriving much of their delight from his own discomfiture, he slammed the door again.
‘Simon, Simon,’ Baldwin protested weakly, ‘my belly aches so much!’
Simon sniggered again, wiping at his eyes. ‘I think we are safe to leave, don’t you?’
‘First, old friend, I think I need another pot of wine!’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Simon and Baldwin made their way back to the tavern they had attended the day before.
It was open today, and quite well-filled, but Baldwin was able to forge a path to the plank set on two barrels that served as a counter, and the two of them were soon gripping large jugs of wine, leaning against a wall while they discussed matters of less importance than their safety.
And Baldwin felt as though this was truly a wonderful, safe day. Over the last few days, he had feared that at any moment he might be arrested and raised to a gallows, kicking his heels in a scaffold’s dance while the crowds laughed and jeered. To go from those nightmare visions to this peacefulness seemed little short of a miracle.
Preparing his soul for death had been a hideous strain, he realised, because now that the fear was gone, he was aware of a ridiculous feeling of freshness and gaiety. It was as though he had been reborn, and with the feeling came a flood of gratitude and joy that he had never known quite so poignantly before.
He could not keep the broad smile from his face.
‘You look like you’ve just been given the whole of Devonshire for your own hunt,’ Simon commented.
