‘Well, you can tell him that today’s journey will be a short and easy one,’ John said. ‘There are only some five leagues or so to Berkeley, so we can hope to be there by noon.’
‘Noon? Perhaps so,’ Edgar said.
John nodded and patted at his horse’s neck, ignoring the impudent churl. He was glad to hear the fellow ride away a short while later. As though he could be intimidated by some knight’s servant! He only hoped that Edgar’s unwelcome attentions would not become obvious to others. Especially Sir Jevan.
He eyed the others in the party again. When they had set out he had been so terrified of being seen by Sir Jevan that he took little notice of the others. Now, however, he paid more heed to them as they came closer to Berkeley and the possibility of an attack increased.
Most of them were not of the highest calibre. There were all kinds of dullards among them, lads who should be back at home prodding oxen, as well as some aged warriors with more white than grey in their hair. But there were the odd few to watch out for. That servant of Sir Baldwin’s, and also Master Simon, who was clearly a close companion of the knight. He looked a dangerous man, and while his servant might ride like a sack of turnips, he had a belligerent look about him. The other knight, Sir Richard, was too fat and slow to pose any kind of a threat.
Of course, there were others: Gilbert had four or five men about him and the King who looked competent with their weapons, and there were another thirty or so amongst the rest who could be challenging, too, but overall John was content. The garrison of Berkeley, if these men were representative, could be overwhelmed by a strategem.
A shout, and the rattle of steel, and the King appeared walking slowly from the abbot’s house. He stood bleakly surveying his guards, his long fair hair moving in the wind, his shoulders still strong, a powerful man, but yet a man broken. He no longer stood erect like a knight, but bent, like an old man. When he moved to go to his horse, he shuffled at first, as if the weight of his worries was all but unsupportable.
It was not difficult to see why, John thought.
As he walked to the horses, another man pushed rudely past him. Without even glancing at the man who had been his King, Lord Thomas de Berkeley strode to his horse, pulling on soft pigskin riding gloves. He reached his mount and sprang up into the saddle in a moment, gazing about him expressionlessly. The only time he smiled was when he saw his friend Sir John Maltravers. That knight strolled indolently along the court to his horse and climbed up easily. Both men were enormously resilient, John thought, bearing in mind how long each had been in gaol or exile in recent years.
The former King Edward II – he who had ensured Lord Thomas’s arrest and Sir John’s flight – must surely feel all the horror of the last years lying heavy on his conscience. He had done so much damage to the kingdom, to his God-given inheritance – and now all that harm was being repaid, with interest. The kingdom itself had finally rejected him. All could see how the Queen’s departure for France, her ensnaring of her own son to join her, and now her taking of the kingdom, had affected him. And then, of course, he had seen his friend Sir Hugh le Despenser literally cut to pieces. His best friend and most loyal adviser, and yet he could do nothing to save him.
Yes, he thought, Sir Edward must bear a hideous weight of guilt.
Baldwin watched Sir Edward stumble across the court to his horse, and with the help of a page climb up into his saddle.
‘He looks like a man on the way to his noose,’ Simon observed.
‘The thought of what must be going through his mind does not bear considering,’ Baldwin agreed.
‘Ha! There are some who wouldn’t mind seeing his pain eased,’ Sir Richard stated. He was quiet for a moment, then continued: ‘The thing is, no man knows what goes on in another fellow’s mind. He’s taken many poor decisions, based on poor advice given him by poor advisers. Is that a reason to blame him? He only saw a limited number of men each day, after all. If they were churls and incompetent, it was not his fault, but the fault of his advisers.’
‘He allowed free rein to Despenser,’ Simon said. ‘I can never forgive him that.’
‘Despenser has paid for his crimes,’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes. And is no longer here, which is a blessed relief,’ Simon said, looking up at the sky. ‘Should be good weather.’
Sir Richard tilted his head back and gazed up at the small wispy clouds floating by. ‘Aye, you’re right.’
There was a blare of horns, the herald shouted a command, and the men began to file off towards the gate.
At the last gate, Baldwin saw a friar with thin, ascetic features. He noticed that Edgar was watching the man.
‘That friar,’ Edgar muttered, ‘was with the fellow John yesterday. I conceived a dislike for their companionship.’
‘For all you know, the two may be brothers,’ Baldwin said. ‘This John is an honourable man, I deem.’
