‘Perhaps,’ Edgar said. ‘In which case it will hurt no one if I keep my eye on him.’
‘Your man has a good brain in his head,’ Sir Richard remarked to Baldwin.
‘I know. But like a good guard dog, sometimes he is inclined to bite first, and ask questions afterwards,’ Baldwin said, smiling at Wolf, who stood sniffing at a wall nearby.
Sir Richard chuckled at that, and although Edgar kept his eyes on John and the friar, who had started to walk alongside the guards, he saw nothing that led him to suspect that there was any foul play planned.
Until they met with the cart, there was nothing out of the ordinary on their ride that morning.
Senchet was walking alongside the cart when he spotted the first of them. Harry was dozing on the board, and Dolwyn was lying back on the bed of the cart, his eyes closed in pain.
‘Harry,’ Senchet called desperately, ‘wake up!’ but it was already too late. The leading horsemen had seen them, and now three men-at-arms approached, calling to them to halt the cart.
Senchet bowed politely as the riders approached. ‘Mes Sieurs, how can we help you?’
The leading man was a squire, and he appeared young and calm, but the man behind him was a more dangerous fellow, a large, strong-looking, green-eyed knight. Senchet saw his eyes moving to Harry and back to Senchet, noting the weapons both carried, and then moving aside from the squire so that if Senchet tried to attack, he would have complete freedom of movement. No fool this one, Senchet thought.
‘Where are you from? Where are you going?’ the squire demanded.
‘We are travelling from Wales, m’Sieur, to the north, in the hope of finding a new lord.’
‘Who was your lord?’
‘My apologies, but why do you wish to know?’
‘Answer him,
‘If you insist,’ he shrugged. ‘We were loyal members of the old King’s household.’
‘Really?’ the man said. He kept his sword at Senchet’s throat.
‘Sir Jevan, please, lower your weapon. There is no need to threaten them,’ the squire said.
‘Perhaps, Squire, but we would be foolish to take any chances. This fellow should drop his weapons, and his companion too. Squire, please send your man-at-arms to my Lord de Berkeley and warn him that we have a cart blocking our path. Suggest that he comes here to speak with the man.’
‘Very well,’ the squire said. He was a young man of perhaps five-and-twenty, who surveyed the countryside with a world-weary air. ‘But I do hope you can be swift. I was looking forward to a good lunch at Berkeley, and I am sure that Sir Edward would appreciate it too.’
‘We shall see,’ Sir Jevan said. He glanced at the man in the back of the cart. ‘Who are you? Are you injured?’
‘I was set upon by footpads, and I have a wound in my flank. These kind gentlemen have saved my life, taking it upon themselves to bring me to safety.’ Dolwyn had spoken with his eyes closed, but now he opened them and suddenly took in Sir Jevan’s face. His face paled as he recognised him.
Sir Jevan saw his expression change, and his attention quickened. He peered at Dolwyn’s face closely, his eyes narrowed. ‘You were the churl who slowed me when I chased the felon!’ His glance fell upon the cart, and he saw the shape of weapons concealed by a blanket.
‘Climb down from the cart very slowly,’ he advised them. Harry and Dolwyn moved obediently. Senchet tried to slip sideways, but Sir Jevan spun his horse about. ‘Move further, man, and you will lose your head.
Senchet smiled, but there was no humour in his face. ‘What now?’
‘Drop your sword-belt and any knives about you.’
There was the sound of approaching hooves. An order came from behind him, and Sir Jevan turned to see the chief guard of Edward of Caernafon.
‘
‘You haven’t hanged yet then, friend Senchet?’
It was the bad fortune of the age, John reflected. He was unlucky enough to have been born in a period when no man could live an honourable life, free of fear. Everything conspired always to swyve the best plans possible.
He fretted on his horse, staring ahead at the huddle of men, and it was all he could do not to shout and demand that they get moving again. He had to keep his head down below the back of the man in front so that Sir Jevan would not see him, but even so, he flinched every time Sir Jevan glanced in his direction.
‘Why have we stopped?’ a man asked him, and it was all he could do not to punch him for his stupidity.
He spoke with frigid precision. ‘There is a cart in the road. Perhaps it is the cart of a local farmer, eh? But what if this wagon is the property of a man who has a desire to kill Sir Edward of Caernarfon? There are many about who have cause to hate him, are there not?’
‘Oh.’
