29 - The Oath

by Michael Jecks

  ‘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.

  ‘You?’

  ‘At first you wanted me to search for the killer of the woman Cecily. I learned all I could, but it wasn’t that which you wanted.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You said you wanted to bring law and order to the city, that allowing her killer to go free would show people that anyone could break the law. But if you were serious, you would have left me there and given me more time to seek her murderer. And yet here I am, joining you on a hunt for the King.’

  Mortimer smiled. ‘So?’

  ‘So you didn’t have any real interest in finding the woman’s killer.’

  ‘I spoke to your friend Sir Charles, and he said something quite interesting. He suggested that the woman could have been killed by the same man who killed Squire William. Perhaps it was your priest.’

  ‘Father Paul? It is highly unlikely. I didn’t think he seemed guilty when I spoke to him, but I admit his cloth could have blinded me to his guilt.’

  ‘So: you discovered the probable killer. And I can do nothing with him because he enjoys the Benefit of Clergy, and is secure from secular authority. Only the Church can arrest him and prosecute him. So if I go to him, what do I achieve? Instead of showing that no one is above the law, I wonderfully reinforce the view that a whole section of the community is precisely that. And not only will he not be punished, he will also very likely make others decide to take the law into their own hands. Which would mean you had forced me to incite other men to break the law. So a gang of men would go to this Father Paul’s church, and slay him, and defile the church, and themselves in the process. And I suppose then I would be entitled to round up his killers and hang them. So some justice would finally have been done. Is that what you would like?’

  Simon grimaced. ‘I think I prefer my part of Devon and the laws I maintain there. It is easier than the judgement you display.’

  ‘You are wise, my friend,’ Sir Roger said. ‘Now, you did ask what I wanted with you. Let me give you another riddle. I should like to learn who killed Thomas Redcliffe, the merchant I told you of. He was slain by the Severn. That is all. Find who it was, and I will set you free immediately.’

  ‘With no body, without seeing the land? You think this is possible?’

  ‘I don’t know. I do know that it occupies my mind all the while. I would know who killed him – and why.’

  Caerphilly Castle

  The castle was quieter this morning.

  Baldwin went out to the battlements and made a circuit of the walls, looking out over the encircling lands, trying to see the approach of Mortimer’s army, but there was nothing in sight. Only the town and the spread of the valley all about, the hills far off. It was a beautiful sight, and a tormenting one. He was sure that Mortimer was out there, that he would appear soon. Until then, all they could do was wait.

  ‘Sir Baldwin, a fine morning, is it not?’

  ‘Sir Ralph,’ Baldwin said. ‘I wish you a good day, sir.’

  ‘We can only hope,’ the other knight replied. He cast an eye into the outer ward. ‘Quiet today. All the men still sleeping off their drink.’

  ‘I think so,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘It is alarming to see so many turn to ale for comfort. They are despairing of ever seeing their homes again, I think.’

  ‘They are not alone,’ Sir Ralph chuckled, but without humour. ‘Still, if I could, I would not leave now. I owe much to the King and his patronage.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘I have sworn loyalty. I would not willingly be forsworn.’

  He mused on that strange aspect of his life, staring out at the hills to the east, his elbows on the battlements. When he had joined the Knights Templar, it had been in a spirit of humility and gratitude. He would have died at Acre when the Moors invaded the city, were it not for the Templars rescuing him. They put him on one of the last ships from the stricken city before the Temple was overrun, and it was to demonstrate his thanks that he took the three vows: poverty, chastity and obedience. They were the same oaths taken by monks through the centuries, and just because the Templars were formed to protect with all their strength the pilgrims who tried to make their way to the Holy Land, that did not change their monkish behaviour. Their Rule was as stringent as that of the Benedictines, or the Cistercians. In many ways, it was harsher.

  But then the King of France demonstrated his vile greed, and persuaded the Pope to join with him. The two conspired to destroy the Templars, and arrested the entire Order throughout France on Friday 13 October 1307 – a date that would live on in infamy. Not since the false trial of Christ Himself had a more deplorable court submitted a more unjust act than that of the Pope when he later sought to destroy the Order utterly.

  So Baldwin had been released from his vows. Not willingly, not by his choice, but irrevocably. Even when he married his wife, Jeanne, he found making the new vow, so entirely contrary to his existing oath of chastity, very difficult to speak. Perhaps he had now earned his freedom. He had, he hoped, lived a worthwhile life. Honour and truth had guided him on his journey, and if he were to die here in the service of the King, well, he could accept that he had to die at some time, just as all men must, and at least dying to protect his liege-lord would be honourable. He only prayed that his wife Jeanne would understand.

  Sir Ralph was speaking. Baldwin cocked his head. ‘I am sorry, I was wool-gathering. You said?’

  ‘I was thinking aloud. I have no children, you see, so my lands will go to my brother, who has remained with Mortimer. We agreed that he should do so. That way, if one was found to have acted as a traitor, at least the lands would remain in the family somehow. But I would not go to Mortimer in any case. The idea of tying my fortunes to an adventurer like him . . . no, treachery has never appealed to me.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Baldwin said. He looked out over the countryside again. ‘They will come from there, I think.’

  ‘Yes, although I do not know how Mortimer would attack a place like this.’

  ‘It would be a lengthy siege,�
� Baldwin agreed. ‘And he would have to accept heavy losses. The troops would freeze in winter; in summer they would soon succumb to fevers. And he would have the expense of paying them all, with so many mercenaries in his force. Add to that the fact that mining to destroy towers and walls would be impossible with these lakes, and the double circle of walls, and the assault would be enormously costly.’

  Sir Ralph nodded grimly. ‘I keep thinking about Bristol’s collapse – the notion that Earl Hugh of Winchester surrendered the castle. That was a surprise. To do that, knowing that he must surely die – that speaks of courage.’

  ‘You think he knew he would be killed? Perhaps he tried to sue for peace on terms which were later denied?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘I would say many things about Sir Roger Mortimer, but that he would knowingly lie and break an oath, I reject. He was always honourable until he was arrested by the King. Even now, I doubt he would be dishonourable to that extent. No, I would think that he rejected all applications for terms. Which adds to Earl Hugh’s courage. He must have known he would enjoy no quarter if he submitted.’

  ‘Indeed, if that is so, he acted with enormous bravery,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘I suppose he did so to protect the city from attack, and to spare the lives of all those in the castle.’

  Baldwin nodded, and then found his gaze moving to the town at the feet of the castle as he considered how many men, women and children lived inside it. ‘I wonder if his courage is shared by his son?’ he thought aloud.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Two Fridays before the Feast of St Martin32

  Caerphilly Castle

  Baldwin stood in the deep recess of the doorway and stared out at the greyness. There was no possibility of seeing ten thousand men approaching in this. It was raining, with an all-encompassing fog.

  He made his way out onto the slick stones of the walkway, careful not to come too close to the edge. It would be a demeaning end to slip from the wall here and tumble to his death in the inner ward. There was a hooded and cloaked figure up ahead, whom he assumed was Sir Ralph, and Baldwin put his head down and walked to him. ‘Miserable weather again, sir.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Baldwin stopped in shock, then bowed low, about to drop to his knee. ‘My lord, accept my apologies, I did not realise in this weather . . .’

  ‘Sir Baldwin, please. No one saw, no one can guess,’ the King said. He sounded peevish from lack of sleep and from worry. Then he sighed. ‘Please, Sir Knight, you and I, out here, are no more than two knights who have found a few moments in which to enjoy some leisure. Soon our leisure will be over. Please, humour me in this.’

  ‘My lord, I can try,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘This castle was built by the Earl of Gloucester forty or more years ago. Strange – it was a cause of dispute with the Welsh even then. They stopped its construction a number of times. Of course, my father would not brook any obstruction to his plans, but he showed some patience, I believe. Even when the Welsh wouldn’t come to pay homage to him in Westminster, my father journeyed all the way out to Gloucester so that Llywellyn didn’t have to travel to London. That was when he broke with the Welsh, since Llywellyn did not deign to travel even that far. It was a humiliating insult. So my father returned, but this time with fifteen thousand spears behind him, and took the country.’

  He was silent a few moments and then, when he spoke again, it was so mournfully that Baldwin felt a sympathetic lump in his throat.

  ‘Have I truly been so foul as King that none will support me?’

  ‘My liege, please!’ Baldwin said. ‘You know you have my sword at your side – and Sir Ralph’s.’

  ‘Yes. Two of the very best knights in my kingdom. And what will be your reward, eh? Death, I suppose – the same as awaits all the others who remain with me. My Chancellor, my closest adviser. All will die.’

  Baldwin could not help but glance towards the town. ‘And the people here, my lord. They will lose all.’

  The King shook his head with an enormity of sadness. ‘They called me the Prince of Wales. I suppose it is natural that I should fight my last battle with my people. But to cause so much hardship, so many deaths . . . better by far I should do something to prevent any more bloodshed.’

  Baldwin said nothing. The King was staring out into the greyness with eyes shadowed by his hood. All Baldwin could see was a gaunt face, the beard sodden and thin, the cheeks sunken, the man’s eyes gleaming with despair.

  ‘My King, I wish I could do something to help,’ Baldwin said quietly.

  ‘My friend, there is nothing any man might do for me without men! That is what I need. I sent for them days ago. Messengers were on their way here before I even reached Gloucester, to Gruffydd Llwyd in the north, and to Rhys ap Gruffydd in the south, but neither has appeared. They were both loyal in the past – I don’t understand why they have deserted me.’

  ‘Perhaps they themselves have been attacked on the way here?’ Baldwin suggested.

  ‘Perhaps,’ the King said, and sighed. ‘It matters little. If no one comes soon, the castle will be overrun. I have demanded procurers to fetch all the food they can so that we can survive a lengthy siege here, but what is the point when there are no men to eat it? You know Bogo de Knoville? No? I pardoned him last year for supporting my enemies, in return for only a thousand Marks. He has served me well, and I agreed to rescind half the fine for his loyalty three weeks ago. For his efforts in the last week, I was to rescind the remaining half – and what has he done? He has ridden off with his men today. All of them. I fear he will join the Queen too.’

  Baldwin winced. Bogo de Knoville had been the leader of the last significant force the King possessed here. Without him and his men, there was no possibility of surviving an attack even by a small force. They were stuck here, in one of the kingdom’s strongest fortresses, and to leave would be near suicidal.

  ‘And you know the worst, most galling fact?’ the King asked quietly. ‘Down in the undercrofts I have more than twenty thousand pounds in gold and silver. Enough money to arm all the men in Wales, if need be. Enough to reward all of them like princes, were they only to step forward. But no one comes! No one supports me any longer!’

  Gloucester

  Simon woke to the rattle of armour, the rasp of swords being sharpened, the tramp of boots and everywhere the squeak of harnesses and leather under strain.

  Rubbing his eyes, he eased himself sideways from the bench on which he had slept, and sat for a while, hunched, running a hand through his hair and grumbling to himself. He had the beginnings of a sore throat that felt as though he had swallowed broken glass, and his head was heavy. To sniff made his skull ache.

  ‘Awake, Bailiff?’ Sir Charles enquired. He wandered over with a quart of ale and half a loaf of bread. ‘Best ready yourself, I think. It’s likely we’ll be ordered to travel on soon.’

  Simon groaned. ‘I’m going to give up travelling when this is all over. Once I get home, I will stay there, I swear, and will never again try to take up arms or interest myself in any aspect of the realm. It’s nothing to do with me. All it does is give me a headache and a chill.’

  ‘Drink up. It’s a good ale, this. I fetched it myself. Have you some of that smoked sausage still? I’ve lost mine.’

  Simon searched for his pack, and found it near the wall where someone had kicked it. Inside was a small chunk of sausage, which he cut in two, giving half to Sir Charles. His own piece he sliced thinly, chewing each morsel one at a time. At least the strong garlic and salt soothed his throat a little. ‘So what do we do today?’

  ‘We’ll ride to Hereford first, then on into Despenser lands. Wales – that’s where the King is now. And I dare say he will be trying to raise an army.’

  ‘With what?’ Simon said sourly.

  ‘Oh, he has money with him, and plate and gold. Despenser has plenty of coin of his own, too. You can be assured that where those two are, there is no shortage of money.’

  ‘Wond
erful! So I must continue on this mad rampage through the countryside in the hope of catching the King, when all I want to do is investigate the murder of the man as Sir Roger instructed me to, so I can release my family.’

  ‘Simon, you are present at the scene of an adventure,’ Sir Charles said, hurt. ‘It is the kind of event that many would dream of experiencing.’

  ‘I have a cold,’ Simon reminded him, sipping some of the ale. He threw back his head and gargled with it. The ale soothed him for a moment or two, but then the glass renewed its attack, and his sinus was trickling into it too. It made him want to choke. ‘All I want is some peace.’

  But there was to be none that day. The column was soon mounted and off again, this time heading north and west to Hereford, as Sir Charles had told him.

  At least with the weather improving a little through the day, Simon was able to study the men about him. He was surprised to see that Otho and Herv and their group were quite rare; the rest were mostly Hainaulters, with a number of French freebooters, and he could understand only a little of what they said. Even when he was speaking in his own fluent French, he received little more than expressions of bemusement and shrugs.

  It was because of this that he and Sir Charles tended to remain with the men in Otho’s little group.

  ‘There was a hundred of us, nearly, when we set off,’ Otho explained. ‘But there was one got run down by a horse, one fell into a well in the dark, another slashed his leg and we had to leave him, two got fevers . . . There’s scarce seventy of us now.’

  ‘Who do you march with?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Our lord was with Leicester. He’s a knight banneret called Sir Daniel of Henret. His is only a small manor, but he has a number of vills under his lordship.’

  ‘So you were marching for . . .?’

  ‘The King, until Leicester changed sides and moved to support the Queen. So now we have to be as loyal as possible to her.’

  ‘An easier dedication, I suppose,’ Simon said with a grin.