29 - The Oath (53 page)

Sir Charles had landed well, and as soon as he was at the other side of the hedge, he whipped and spurred his mount after the others, but even as he leaned down over his horse’s neck and felt the mane slap damply against his cheeks, he cast a quick look to his side, looking for Simon. Nothing. He shot a glance backwards and saw the horse trying to follow; it looked odd somehow – and he suddenly realised there was no rider on it.

‘God damn the fellow!’ he muttered, and pulled on the reins. His great horse pounded back, and that was when he saw Simon being dragged along by his leg. Sir Charles slapped his beast’s rump hard to make him hurry on, and was soon able to turn level with Simon’s horse. Calming him, Sir Charles grabbed at the reins. He had to do so twice before he managed to catch them, and then he pulled on both sets of reins to slow both horses; his own and Simon’s. It was hard work, and Simon’s horse snorted and tried to pull his head free, his eyes terrified, forgetting all his training and becoming almost a wild animal.

Sir Charles stood up in his stirrups, then sat down and hauled, and gradually both horses slowed, then stopped, and as soon as they were still, Sir Charles was out of his saddle and down beside his friend’s body. He saw that the stirrup was caught about Simon’s foot, twisting the whole of his leg, and without ado, drew his dagger and cut the leather. Simon’s leg dropped instantly, and he groaned.

Rolling him over gently, Sir Charles saw how his back had been lacerated, and winced at the sight.

‘My friend, you need help – badly!’

The King reined in his horse and stared at the men confronting him. There were thirty or so in this motley band. Ten on horseback, and those on foot already had their polearms, braced.

There were men in front, men behind, and a party over the brook. ‘Sir Hugh!’ he cried in desperation, and he saw Hugh turn to him. Under his helmet, Despenser’s handsome face was twisted with anguish.

‘My King!’ he shouted, and for a moment King Edward thought his friend might throw himself on the spears of the schiltrom before them, but then he bent his head and covered his face. There was no spirit left in him to fight further.

And that was it, King Edward thought. They were all too worn with trying to gather a force to defend his reign, with hiding and running again. A month and a half of trying to avert disaster – and it had all been in vain.

Sir Ralph rode up to him, with Sir Baldwin close by.

‘Your Royal Highness, we are ready to die for you,’ Sir Ralph said quietly. ‘Command us.’

The King looked at them both, at their resolute expressions. ‘Sirs, there is no point. Fighting will avail us nothing. How many more must die?’

He saw behind Sir Baldwin the armour and face of Earl Henry of Lancaster, and walked his horse to the man.

‘Earl. I submit.’

Llantrisant Castle

Simon was able to do little more than cling to his horse for the journey to Llantrisant, and he was fortunate that Sir Charles rode at his side all the way, for he was continually passing out and at peril of toppling off.

They rode into the castle before dusk, and the whole party entered the hall together, Sir Charles and Sir Stephen assisting Simon to walk. As soon as he was set down on a bench, he turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall, and began to snore.

It was only a small castle, this. It had been Sir Hugh le Despenser’s for some little while, but now it had been taken over by Mortimer’s men, and the place was filled with men-at-arms and their weapons. The King and Sir Hugh looked about them in astonishment to see how many men there were crammed into the place as they were taken up into the hall. While the King was given due honour, and many men tried to encourage him, Sir Hugh was set in a corner and left to his own devices. Food was brought, good simple fare, set out on wooden trenchers, but neither man appeared to have any appetite.

Sir Charles stayed with Simon for the most part of the evening, and when he saw Sir Baldwin and Sir Ralph, he beckoned them.

‘What happened to him?’ Baldwin said in a hushed tone.

‘Fell from his horse and got dragged over the ground. His back is in a bad state,’ Sir Charles commented.

‘He needs a physician,’ Baldwin muttered.

‘I will see what may be done,’ Sir Charles said. ‘There should be someone with leeching skills.’

‘I am most grateful,’ Baldwin said, sitting at Simon’s side.

Sir Ralph looked at him with some surprise. ‘You know this man?’

‘He may not look like much just now,’ Baldwin said, ‘but he is a good man, a good friend.’

Baldwin remained with Simon as Sir Ralph walked away to sit with the rest of the men held captive. Some saw Baldwin sitting quietly at Simon’s side, but most ignored him. There appeared to be a feeling of anti-climax now that they had the King in the hall with them. A few stood aimlessly with sheathed swords near Edward, as though to reinforce the fact that he was captive, but for the most part, men idled about the place, unsure what to do with him.

That changed as it grew dark. There was a rattle of hooves in the ward, then loud bellowed commands, and a short while later, three men marched inside, closely followed by Henry of Lancaster. He strode in without looking to either side, going straight to the King, and standing at his side without kneeling. It was a while before he appeared to make a decision, and he dropped quickly to one knee, then stood again, his short demonstration of respect complete.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I am glad to have you safe in my custody. You will consider yourself my guest, and I will ensure your protection. Is there anything you require?’

‘I have all I need.’

‘You will be gracious enough to tell me or my men if you require anything else. Tomorrow we shall set off for Monmouth, thence we shall travel to Hereford, where we shall meet your wife and your son. I fear that the accommodation here will be stretched to its limits, but I can at least provide you with the solar block, if you wish some solitude.’

‘No. I will remain here with my men.’

‘Very well. I will leave a guard here for your safety, and hope that you rest well, my lord.’

The King nodded. His reverse of fortunes, while expected, had still come as an appalling shock, and he glanced at Sir Hugh as though expecting his friend to chastise those who had taken him and now held him in this demeaning way. But Sir Hugh had nothing to say.

As the Earl made to walk from the room, he said, ‘Sir Baldwin! I hope you are well?’

‘As well as a prisoner may be,’ he answered. He held no malice for those who had caught him, only trepidation. All could be executed for remaining at the King’s side, if Mortimer wanted. It was a distressing situation, but not so worrying as the thought of how Jeanne would survive without him. His only consolation was that Edgar, his Sergeant from his Templar days, was still with her and would ensure her safety, if it were humanly possible. ‘Thank you for not binding us.’

‘There is no need with honourable men. Is that the Bailiff? Was he with you?’

‘No, my lord. The good Bailiff was with your men, but when your fellows charged through the hedge, he was knocked from his saddle and dragged along by his mount. His back is sorely lacerated. Sir Charles of Lancaster has gone to fetch a leech for him, and I will stay at his side, if my captor will allow it.’

‘For my part, Sir Baldwin, if you give me your parole not to try to escape, that will be good enough for me.’

‘I so swear.’

‘I will have wine brought for you both. I hope he will recover. Is there anything else I can do for you?’

Baldwin saw that Sir Charles was returning with a fretful-looking cleric hurrying along behind him. ‘Only that you tell your men that if the clerk asks for hot water, or anything else they might have here for treatment of wounds, that they fetch it for him. I am worried that Simon is sleeping. A man with a broken head will sometimes sleep and snore, and I fear his

injuries may be worse than I realised.’

‘I’ll tell them. You make sure that he recovers.’

The clerk stood at Simon’s side, gauging his injuries, but when he tried to cut away the clothing to look at Simon’s back, the Bailiff suddenly woke, staring about him in a state of shock. ‘Settle yourself, my son,’ the priest said, wincing at the sight of his back. ‘This will take time.’

It took an age to clean Simon’s back. The priest had a bowl which the guards filled with hot water, and in that he steeped rose petals and lavender, using it on a clean linen strip to wash the damaged skin. There were so many thorn splinters and bloody gashes there that he could only dab gently, while Simon hissed and muttered. He seemed very drowsy still, and Baldwin felt sure that Simon must have hurt his head badly. The wound resembled one that a mace or cudgel could produce, and Baldwin knew that on occasion a man would die from such a blow even when there was no sign of blood or broken bone, and he worried more now for Simon than he did for himself.

Sir Ralph had assisted, and now that the clerk had completed cleaning and salving and binding Simon’s wounds, he advised the two to go and rest themselves, for they could do no more to help Simon now. His health was in the hands of God.

Reluctantly, Baldwin walked away, while the clerk pulled a blanket up over Simon’s poor back and settled at his side.

‘At least he’s stopped that snoring,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘It worried me to hear that.’

‘Yes, I’ve known men snore like that, and vomit,’ Sir Ralph agreed. Both had seen enough men die in such a manner for them not to need to discuss it further.

Robert Vyke was sitting a short way away with Wolf, stroking the great mastiff’s head. He looked up as the two approached.

‘Do not worry,’ Baldwin said, for Vyke looked terrified, as though he could be punished for making a fuss of his dog. ‘Wolf enjoys attention.’

‘He is a handsome animal.’

‘You like such brutes?’ Baldwin said. He could not deny his own affection for the dog, but it always rather surprised him to see others who had the same feeling. ‘I bought him from a Bishop who detested him. He would keep beating and kicking poor Wolf, wouldn’t he, fellow?’

‘I dislike cruelty to dogs.’

‘I know I distrust those who would use such behaviour. A good dog is a wonderful thing,’ Baldwin said. He was suddenly struck with the thought that if he were to die, Wolf would have no master. Perhaps, if Simon was well enough, he could take Wolf back to Jeanne.

It was his last thought as he settled himself later – that he had so many people and animals dependent upon him. It left him feeling feeble. At this precise moment, was unable to support anyone.

He had nothing left he could give.

*

First Monday after the Feast of St Martin
⁴⁵

Llantrisant Castle

The Earl of Lancaster was as good as his word the next day. Baldwin was woken by a servant to tell him that a light cart had been procured for ‘the good Bailiff’, and would he be ready to travel with the rest of the men?

Simon did look a little better. His eyes opened when Baldwin sat beside him, although the right one was bruised and bloody, and had swelled alarmingly.

‘I imagine I am a pretty sight?’ he croaked.

Baldwin chuckled. ‘It is good to see you in your usual humour, Simon. I think it is fair to say that Margaret would find it hard to recognise you.’

‘Aye, well, she may desire a new man, of course,’ Simon said with a grunt of pain as he tried to ease himself upright.

‘I would take your movements cautiously for now,’ Baldwin said. ‘Your back is a mass of scabs.’

‘I’m not surprised. I feel as though someone’s thrown me into a bear pit for the fun of watching me be torn apart.’

Baldwin said, ‘If not for this good priest, you would feel greatly worse.’

‘I thank you, Father.’

The priest yawned expansively. ‘I am glad I have provided some service to you, my son.’ But soon he made his apologies, and hurried off to his chapel to hold services for those who wished to pray and confess.

The two old friends chatted quietly for a while, about the small matters which both felt comfortable discussing, nothing to do with their arrival at that place, nor what might happen to Baldwin once they had returned to England. His future was uncertain, and both knew it.

In the clear morning, they were herded outside, and mounted their horses. Simon was helped to the back of a cart, but looking at the worm-infested wood and the wheels with their worn and rusted tyres, he shook his head firmly. ‘No. I’m not travelling on that. Bring me my horse.’

It took some little time to get going. A number of men were injured from the fighting the day before; they lay in three carts, moaning piteously at every rut and pothole.

The rain of the day before had given way to a steady drizzle now, and more than one man was shivering with an ague as they marched or walked their horses.

Simon did not feel too bad. His head still hurt abominably, but apart from an occasional desire to vomit, which he reckoned was as much due to the poor food he had eaten yesterday as to any injury, he felt well enough in himself. A spare chemise and jack had been found for him, and his cloak, mercifully, had not been too badly torn during his terrible dragging, but the stitches where the earlier damage had been mended were now ripped a second time. His leg was extremely painful where the muscles had torn, but his back was surprisingly good, provided he did not try to move too suddenly and reopen the scabs that dotted it. The cold seemed to soothe it.