29 - The Oath (29 page)

Sir Laurence shot him a look. Sir Stephen was eyeing him strangely. ‘I knew him a little. Did you learn who could have killed the maid?’

Sir Stephen shook his head slowly. ‘No. I suppose it was one of Squire William’s men.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘Perhaps it was.’

He saw her face again – the sharp, bright eyes, the thin mouth – and remembered how she would keep whining on about Squire William and his men now that they were freed. She had been a pain in his backside, especially when she had her mistress set on him as well. It was inexcusable!

Sir Stephen was watching him. ‘You knew her?’

‘She came to speak with me – complaining about feeling scared since the Squire and his men were released from gaol. God knows what she expected me to be able to do about it!’

‘And we all have enough to worry us just now,’ Sir Stephen said quietly.

‘Yes. At least we know our duties. It is our place to remain here and protect this castle. While the castle survives, we are safe and the approaches to Wales and the King are guarded. They couldn’t bypass us and hope to make it to the King. They would always fear a sally from us.’

Sir Stephen nodded, and he studied his splinter. ‘How long do you think we could survive?’

‘We have food for at least twelve weeks if we are cautious. I suppose it’s possible we could acquire some more, if the siege is not effectively maintained. The city, though, is a different matter. I assume that it will be running short within the week.’ Sir Laurence walked over to the small table in the corner, where a jug of wine stood. He took up his gilded goblet, which he filled and drank deeply.

‘So we have a week before the city itself decides to surrender. That is when our own predicament becomes more acute,’ Sir Stephen said.

‘No,’ Sir Laurence said firmly. ‘Our predicament is acute from the moment the Queen appears. Have you heard nothing of her progress? She has been stopped by no one. All the men whom the King has sent against her have surrendered to her and her son; not a one has tried to oppose her.’ He strode to the middle of the floor, where he paced up and down, as was his wont when anxious. ‘The Navy refused to leave port to defeat her at sea, even though they could have done so with ease; the men of the coast who were told to prevent her landing preferred to bow to her and go to her side; towns and cities from London to Oxford have rebelled and murdered the King’s own advisers, even the priests. Bishop Walter of Exeter had his head hacked off, and his body thrown to the dogs, did you know that? A
Bishop
, in Christ’s name! What of the others – the men who are his servants? They go in fear of their lives. Some have been pilloried in London and elsewhere. There is nobody to stand up for them, my friend. No one.’

He slammed his fist against his sword hilt.

‘And the worst of it is, it is our own Queen and the King’s heir who stand against us. What is a man to say – that his own Queen is to be rejected? That her son is? The kingdom is at risk of disaster, yet the disaster doesn’t come from a foreign power or even a traitor amidst our own barons. It comes from within the Royal Family.’

‘Aye, well, we can hope that we merely do our duties and that the Queen honours us for that,’ Sir Stephen said.

‘I would trust Queen Isabella with my life, and I would trust the Duke of Aquitaine too. But not Mortimer,’ Sir Laurence said, but his anger was flown, and now he wandered to his seat once more and sat. ‘There are few men I would trust less than Sir Roger Mortimer. He is burned up with jealousy and bile. God forbid that we should fall into his clutches.’

‘It is said he only ever seeks more money,’ Sir Stephen remarked, looking at the gilded cup.

Sir Laurence eyed him coolly. ‘That could be said of many.’

‘Yes,’ Sir Stephen agreed. He shrugged. ‘Perhaps that poor maid Cecily was lucky to die when she did. Who can tell what will happen to this sorry city in the coming days?’

Bristol

It was some little while before Emma was recovered enough to be able to continue. ‘I feel so ashamed to have let her down.’

‘Madame, you have let no one down,’ Simon said kindly. ‘This Squire William – is he still in the city?’

‘I do not believe so. I certainly have not seen him for a long time now. I think he left Bristol when he was released – else many could have attacked him. I hope the shame drove him away, but then I doubt he knows what shame is. The man was a monster. It is one thing to slay those who threaten you – but a mere child of a few days old? How could he be so brutal? He is probably with the King’s host, fulfilling his parole.’

‘What of the boy’s father? This priest – you think he was the father?’

‘I would imagine so. I am sure that Squire William had nothing to do with fathering the child.’

‘Clearly. But if this Squire is gone, who else could have killed Cecily?’

‘There are others who were with Squire William when he committed his murders. Perhaps it was one of them?’

Simon considered. ‘This all happened when?’

‘Some months ago.’

‘Why, then, would the men seek to hurt her now? They were pardoned, why punish her and risk imprisonment again? Surely even murderers would be more rational than that?’

‘I do not pretend to understand such men,’ she said, ‘but I do understand how they might like to take revenge on someone who had caused them trouble. It’s a matter of honour to some of them.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. But what about the Squire? Is there aught else you can tell me about him? What did he look like?’

‘Middle height . . . very dark hair, the sort that looks thin always. Green eyes, I remember. Very pale and calculating. And his face wore a look of cruelty.’

Simon nodded as though noting her words, but for the most part he thought them useless. A man who had a ‘look of cruelty’ to a woman who considered him a foul murderer might well look like an amiable old charmer to another. Still, if the story was true, this man had deserved a far harsher punishment than a short period in gaol and then release. Which led him to the next logical question. ‘What happened to the priest?’

‘Father Paul? He was sent away. You’d have to ask someone else where he went.’

‘I shall do so. And you do not think that she knew Sir Laurence, apart from going to him to plead that these felons be re-arrested?’

‘No. He is the last person she would speak with.’

‘Very well. I am sorry indeed to have to tell you of your maid, madame. If there is one good piece of news, though, it is that she did die very quickly. There was one thrust, straight to her heart, so far as I could tell. She wasn’t raped, either. The inquest did make sure of that.’

‘I see. I am glad of that at least,’ Emma said. She dried her eyes and sniffed a little, then sat back. ‘So, master, will you search for her murderer?’

Simon gave a sad smile. ‘If ever a man picked a good time to commit a crime, it was this fellow. If you are right and the Squire has long since left the city, it will be difficult to accuse him. Also, he could not return with the gates locked. And if Squire William did not kill her – who did? Cecily was only a maidservant, so I do not imagine that she had anything of great value to attract a thief. Did she carry a purse?’

‘Only a small one.’

‘So the motive was unlikely to be robbery.’

‘Perhaps the Squire
is
here? He could have got back yesterday before the gates were locked,’ Emma said.

‘Perhaps so,’ Simon said, unconvinced.

‘So you will seek the murderer? Please?’

‘I will do what I may,’ Simon said.
While the city holds
, he wanted to add, but he could not be so unkind. Meanwhile, he would need to speak with the castellan.

River Avon near Bristol

Baldwin and Jack fretted as they waited, although Redcliffe was quick enough, throwing clothes into a leather satchel while his servants were packing the few belongings of any value and concealing them about the house. A hostler prepared his mare, and soon he was with them again. ‘I am ready, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Then let us go!’ Baldwin said, keen to be off.

‘One moment.’

There was a clatter of hooves, and Baldwin turned to see Roisea trotting around the corner on a great bay mare.

Baldwin turned to stare at Redcliffe. ‘You think to bring your wife?’

‘Would you expect me to leave her here, so that she can be raped and perhaps slain?’ Redcliffe said anxiously. ‘Come, follow me!’

They were soon out of the suburb and hurrying along towards the west. It was dark and grim, the rain still falling heavily. Baldwin’s rounsey twitched his ears irritably as the rain began to soak his coat, but beside him, Baldwin saw, Wolf wandered contentedly. There was no weather that could upset him. Still, it was a relief when the rain began to ease a little, just as they were making their way down towards the river.

It swept about here in a great arc, bulging northwards into the belly of the city but, following Redcliffe, Baldwin rode westwards towards the lower level of the river. They cantered along a track by the banks and soon came across a little shed with a thatched roof over cob walls. Down at the water’s edge, a large boat lay rocking gently.

‘Ferryman? Is there a ferryman here?’ Baldwin called, and dropped from his horse.

The door opened a little, and a bearded face peered out at him suspiciously. ‘What do you want?’

‘What should I want with a ferryman?’ Baldwin asked reasonably. ‘I want to cross to the other side of the river. How much for us and our horses?’

‘Just the four of you?’ the man asked.

Redcliffe sprang from his horse. ‘You know me, don’t you, old man? Remember Thomas who used to pay you in wine when my ships came in?’

‘Oh, Master Redcliffe. Course I remember you.’

‘Have you space for we four? The Queen’s men are behind us.’

‘Suppose so. There aren’t any others, then?’

‘What, do you expect me to bring the King’s host with me?’

‘Wouldn’t be surprised to find some o’ them trying to escape,’ the man grunted. ‘It’ll be getting exciting enough for anyone soon.’

‘I hope it will,’ Jack said.

The ferryman shot a look at Baldwin. ‘Aye, well, those who’ve not fought are always keenest for a fight,’ he muttered, and set about preparing his boat.

‘What did he mean?’ Jack asked.

‘Just what he said,’ Baldwin said. ‘Jack, war is not easy or pleasant. It’s not something to hope for.’

‘But I want to help the King!’

‘Perhaps so. And I do as well. But if there is a war, it means many good men will die on either side.’

‘If they are fighting against our King, they can’t be good,’ Jack said, and Redcliffe nodded.

‘The boy’s right,’ he said ‘The King’s enemies are the enemies of all.’

‘Men are men. On both sides there are good and bad. It is not the side on which they fight, it is the way that they live their lives and honour their responsibilities and duties. Remember that, if you can.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Jack frowned.

‘Yes, well, I doubt fewer than half the men who go to war will either,’ Baldwin said with a sigh.

It was Roisea who comprehended best. She dropped lightly from her mare and looked up at him sympathetically, but without speaking.

‘You lot ready?’ the ferryman called out sourly. ‘I don’t want to be waiting here all day.’

Baldwin helped his horse down the bank and into the boat, then stood soothing the worried beast while the others brought their own down, and then, as the ferry edged into the water, he watched the bank behind them gradually fade away. It seemed to him then that his old life was being left behind in some way, and there was no possibility of his ever finding it again. It was a deeply sad feeling.

Bristol Castle

It was the beginning of the end, Sir Laurence Ashby told himself. From here on the tower’s battlements, he could see the mass of men appear. They arrived like dark ink flowing over a page – men on horses in the centre, while at the edges were bowmen and men-at-arms. All wandered closer in their centaignes while their Captains rode about, agreeing the dispositions of the host.

There was one figure whom Sir Laurence noted in particular: a big man on his destrier, with armour that shone even in this grey light. He sat on his horse staring fixedly at the castle and city, and Sir Laurence saw him pointing at specific locations. They were the places he himself would have chosen for placement of artillery. That must surely be Sir Roger Mortimer.

‘So they’ve arrived at last,’ Earl Hugh said, coming to join him. ‘They have taken their time.’

Sir Stephen then emerged through the little door, peering about the landscape with interest. ‘They have chosen their places with skill.’

‘Don’t forget Mortimer was here only ten years ago. He knows all the weaker points of the castle and city,’ Sir Laurence said glooomily.

‘Ah, of course. So he will try to attack from the same positions as before.’

‘The city can withstand the assault better now,’ Sir Laurence said. ‘He destroyed much of the walls, and they have been rebuilt since.’