29 - The Oath (13 page)

Bristol

Sir Stephen Siward wore his accustomed affable smile as he walked from the market, but in his heart he knew that there was trouble brewing – trouble that could affect him personally if it was not nipped in the bud as quickly as possible.

Cecily had plainly been shocked to her core. He had seen her while he stood buying a pie. She appeared moonstruck, as though she might faint away at any moment. Women were prone to such odd humours – it was the womb, he had heard. It was a curious organ, and could move about the body through the month, causing much of their temperamental behaviour . . .

And then, even as she turned and fled, he saw the men, and with a shock of recognition equal to her own, knew where he had seen them before. They were the fellows Cecily had accused at the inquest.

The King, in his desperation to find any man who might support him, had proclaimed that all those in prison for theft or homicide, or those who had abjured the realm, if they would go to the King they would receive
litteras de pace
¹⁶
, and could return to their homes as free men after serving in his host.

Sir Stephen had heard that Squire William was to be freed some weeks ago, but he hadn’t expected the men to come back here, not to the place where they had been accused and held, ready for hanging.

As Cecily fled, Sir Stephen eyed the men. If the city grew aware that the killers of the Capons had been released, there could be widespread unrest, he thought. And that maid may just stir it up. Where she had seemed unstable before, now she looked wild, and a woman in her frame of mind could be irrational.

If the men noticed her, they could well decide to take revenge for her evidence against them. They could capture her, torture her, kill her . . .

She might turn to
him
for protection. She might assume that he would defend her. True, she had thrown his money in his face when he tried to offer her support – but then, she probably thought he was buying her off and was proud enough to be offended. Truth was, she had also admitted to him that she held an affection for him. But her feelings were not reciprocated, and he could hardly waste time with her now. Not with the kingdom on the brink of war.

Sir Stephen sighed heavily. If those men learned where she lived . . .

Near Whitchurch

Simon Puttock looked about him warily as they rode on westwards.

It was two days since they had passed over the great bridge at London, and he had kept a suspicious eye on any who so much as glanced at him or his wife as they trotted down into the Surrey side of the river, away from the great city. That first day of travel had been one of intense anxiety at all times. After witnessing the mobs wandering London’s streets on the rampage, seeing so many deaths, no one could be unaffected.

The lanes of Southwark stank, filled as they were with the Bishop of Winchester’s brothels, tanneries, and other more noisome businesses which were not wanted in London itself. It had been a relief to escape to the orchards and fields just outside. By the time they had reached a little village called
Wandelesorde
¹⁷
, Simon had already felt a little safer.

Yesterday they had made better time, travelling from dawn to dusk, and getting as far as a small village outside Farnham, where they had been able to sleep in a friendly peasant’s barn; today they had already made good progress, and with every mile that they put between themselves and the city, Simon grew more content.

‘I never want to see that place again,’ his wife breathed.

Simon was not surprised to hear her say so. They had both been shocked by the sudden explosion of violence as the King fled his capital and the Queen approached.

‘Nor me, neither,’ he said. ‘Nor Westminster.’

In the last months he had been forced to travel here too often, mostly supporting his friend Sir Baldwin, but also on the King’s own business. This last time, he and Baldwin had witnessed the hideous slaying of so many people, including their good friends . . . but he wouldn’t dwell on it. He would have gone to their rescue, but luckily Baldwin had stopped him. There was no courage or cowardice involved. It was simple mathematics: there were so many men in the crowd that anyone attempting to divert them from their prey would himself become the target of their uncontrollable rage and immediately be killed.

‘We shall soon be home,’ he said. ‘A week, no more, and we’ll be away from all this.’

‘I hope so,’ his wife said.

He had fallen in love with his Meg the first time they had met. She was tall, slender, and blonde as a ripe cornseed, while he was heavier, squarer of feature. He hadn’t expected to be able to win her heart, but she had succumbed to his charm, and they had soon been married.

‘Don’t suppose it’s time for lunch yet?’

This was Rob, a whining, malcontented lad whom Simon had acquired when he was Keeper of the Port at Dartmouth under Abbot Champeaux at Tavistock. Such a short while ago, that seemed, and yet so much had changed. The Abbot had died, the post at the port was taken from Simon while the Brothers at Tavistock bickered over who should take the reins of power, Simon’s own home had been stolen from him by the Despenser, and now he had only his farm for his livelihood. Yes, much had changed.

‘Shut up, boy!’ Hugh, Simon’s servant, snapped.

‘Are you sure it will take a week to get home?’ Margaret asked.

‘I am afraid so,’ Simon said.

‘A whole week of that fellow complaining,’ Margaret said wonderingly. She knew her man too well, and his concerns were apparent to her now. He was worried about their son, Peterkin. She hugged her son to her belly. Peterkin was already yawning, and while he was safe enough here, she didn’t want to drop him. The boy was not yet four years old, and very precious to them both. He was their second son – their first-born son died when only a baby, of some foul wasting disease that took him gradually over several days – and both were ever wary of danger to this, their second. Meg had suffered miscarriages and had fallen pregnant only after many attempts, which made Peterkin still more important to them both.

‘He may improve,’ Simon said, glancing at Rob without enthusiasm.

Margaret nodded. ‘A week . . . I had not realised it was so far.’

‘When we came from Porchester, that was a shorter distance,’ Simon agreed. They had been forced to stay at the coastal town for some time, helping search for spies, whose messages were rumoured to be sent by ships. The King had ordered that all men with experience in such matters should monitor all shipping and capture the letters. As Simon had said, it was about as effective as searching for a needle in a field of corn. An utter waste, in fact, of his time.

‘I believe that as the crow flies it is some seventy leagues
¹⁸
,’ he said, peering ahead. ‘We should be home again in a little over five days, with fortune.’

They had asked directions as they left Farnham, where they halted to buy provisions, and were told to find their way to Winchester, and thence to continue west.

‘Are we likely to be waylaid?’ his wife asked in a lower voice.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and grinned at her. ‘And the Queen’s riding north of us.’

‘We hope.’

‘The King’s been gone for two weeks,’ Simon said. ‘He’s probably in Wales by now.’

‘Why would he go there?’

Simon shrugged. ‘From his point of view, he needs friends. He hasn’t many, but at least Despenser is still with him, and Despenser owns the whole of South Wales. It’s his power base, so I suppose the King thought it would be the best place to install himself. From one of the great castles he can begin to form a host so he can stand up to his wife and son.’

‘What a terrible position,’ Margaret murmured, pulling her cloak about her shoulders and tightening her grip on her son. ‘To know he has the enmity of his wife and child.’

‘He should have kept closer to them,’ Simon said without sympathy. ‘It was his choice to ignore them and turn to Despenser in their place.’

Margaret nodded, but her thoughts were far from the King and his wife.

Simon cast an eye at her. ‘You are thinking of Edith, aren’t you?’

Their daughter Edith had married only the last year, and had given birth to her first child, but before the birth, her father-in-law became estranged from Simon. The Despenser had decided to make use of Edith and her new husband in an attempt to force Simon to his will, and as a result the newly-weds had been separated and forced to suffer greatly. Edith’s father-in-law swore after that that his son would have nothing to do with Simon and his family, and that if Edith wanted to maintain her marriage, she must renounce her father and mother, and agree never to see them again. It was a terrible act, and one that made Margaret and Simon desperately sad, for they had not been able to see their grandson. The only contact they had was through Baldwin’s wife, who managed to keep in touch with the girl.

‘She’ll be fine,’ Simon said.

‘Yes,’ Margaret said, but without conviction. There was no telling how their daughter might be. Not while they could not speak to her.

Third Sunday after the Feast of St Michael
¹⁹

Bristol Castle

Sir Laurence left the pile of requisitions and other papers with his clerk David, and walked out to the battlements, as was his wont, checking that the men on the ramparts were awake and alert, seeing for himself what the mood of the city below was, and glancing about the castle’s inner ward as he walked. Only out here in the open air, did he feel a man again. He was not suited to dealing with clerks and papers.

It was one of the regrets of his life that he must now subject himself to this office incarceration each day. Staring out over the city, he felt the resentment of a prisoner. This castle might be a glorious fortress, and the city might be his favourite in the kingdom, but when a man was effectively tied to them, it took the savour from both. He gazed longingly out to the east, over the woods and fields. The trees of the ancient woodlands and coppices rose high, while the cattle in the pastures moved sluggishly in the cold morning air, and he felt envious of those men out there now, peasants with their billhooks ready to attack the trees in the coppices, preparing to go hedgelaying, or merely running or riding for the pleasure of it.

If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself on horseback again, the wind in his face freezing his shaven cheeks, his hair flying behind him, the smell of sweating horse in his nostrils as he bent down to hurtle all the faster along the roads . . .

He opened his eyes as he heard footsteps, and saw his porter hurrying along the walkway towards him.

‘Yes?’ he said testily.

‘Woman to see you, Sir Laurence.’

Near Amesbury

They had started off in good spirits, but by noon it seemed the day was to end in disaster for Simon and his wife.

Their beasts were well-rested, and Margaret had slept better than for many weeks past in that little inn. It was not too busy this morning, for most people were sensibly keeping close to home at this time of trouble for all. The alehouses in the villages, by contrast, would be making plenty of money as the locals gathered to swap stories about the progress of the Queen in pursuit of her husband, for men enjoyed gossip as much as women, but the amusement ended as the men left the ale behind and went home. None of them was certain what the future would hold.

This part of the country appeared to have little enough reason to fear battle, Margaret thought. The crops and apples in the orchards had been harvested, and the peasants were out in their fields preparing for winter, trimming hedges and collecting faggots for their fires, and dealing with the numberless little jobs which had been put off during the harvest. None had suffered from the ravages of violence in the same way as the people about London, or the folks of the Welsh Marches in the last four years. The Despenser had enraged other barons to the limit of endurance, and they had risen against him, rampaging over the Despenser territories, killing, looting, pillaging wherever they went, and finally marching on London itself, where they held the King hostage until he agreed to exile his favourite.

But King Edward had had no intention of honouring his promise. While Despenser agreed to take to his boat and leave the kingdom, in reality he based himself on the coast, while the King prepared to bring him back. The resulting war devastated swathes of peasant lands, and Despenser returned, only to bring ferocious revenge upon those who had dared to try to curb his ambition.

Here, thank God, there was little evidence of such violence. Margaret cuddled her son closer to her and began to relax, but in the middle hours of the morning, trouble arose once again.

They had ridden into a large village not far from a place called Basingstoches, when they were accosted by a man riding fast from the south.

‘Beware! Stop! There are men up there who’ve clubbed others for what they can steal! Don’t head that way, friends, as you value your lives.’