Matteo eyed the castle with interest. Its age was evident. Ancient-looking stone was scarred with white where pigeons had roosted. Mortar between stones had been pecked away by generations of sparrows. There were three or four holes in the wall of the keep itself which he could see, and he decided to avoid standing beneath the castle’s walls or the towers. To be struck by one of those lumps of red-gold stone would be to die instantly. He needed no second brush with death.
Whole sections of wall had been demolished. A pile of rubble lay at the base of one tower, and this made him frown in concern. The castle was not so strong as it appeared from without.
Matteo did not care for heights. While labourers climbed up and down ladders with their hods full of mortar, some apprentices scampered about like monkeys on the narrowest of walkways, defying death at every leap and sending Matteo’s heart into his mouth.
The men-at-arms shouted and swore as their horses were taken by grooms and led away, and there was a rush of bodies towards the buildings as they ran to lay claim to beds, palliasses or even sections of filthy floor. Only then did Matteo see the cart again, with the three men found on the way here. It was clear that the three were viewed with suspicion, because they were kept apart from all the others, and a man with a long polearm stood watching them with his weapon at the ready.
Matteo saw Dolwyn’s eyes move towards him, and quickly averted his gaze.
‘Brother mine, I am pleased to see you,’ Benedetto called. He was standing at the door to the hall, but hurried to meet Matteo, offering a helpful hand from his horse.
It was irritating, this patronising solicitude which Benedetto displayed towards his younger brother, but that was not why Matteo almost rejected his aid. It was the thought that this hand might have held the knife that stabbed him. Or paid the assassin who wielded it.
He took Benedetto’s hand.
Throughout his life, Manuele or Benedetto had always been at Matteo’s side, and while he often resented their casual treatment of him, he knew they needed him. Without Matteo and his network of informers, the House of Bardi would have lost a vast sum in recent years.
Alured slipped from his horse as Matteo and Benedetto began to stroll together. He followed them.
‘Are you well, brother? You look tired,’ Benedetto said.
‘It has been a weary journey. I had to see Sir Roger Mortimer.’ Matteo explained about his journey to Wales, and the delivery of the indenture to Kenilworth.
‘Tell me, do you recognise any of those men there?’ Benedetto asked, staring at the three by the cart.
Matteo felt his heart lurch. He looked at Harry, Senchet and Dolwyn, and saw Dolwyn’s eyes glitter. The two beside him saw Matteo and Benedetto at the same moment, and Harry looked as though he was about step forward to speak with him, when the polearm dropped before him. Harry gave the guard a look of poisonous contempt.
‘They are the two who came to see us in our house in London,’ Matteo said quickly. ‘On the day Manuele was murdered.’
‘Perhaps they are here to finish us off?’
‘Why?’ Matteo scoffed. ‘Because Manuele held back? I do not think so. They were angry with him, but it was the mob which caught him and pulled him from his horse.’
‘True, I suppose. But I will ask Lord Thomas who they say they are,’ Benedetto said. ‘Even if they did not kill Manuele, if they were the men who attacked you, they should be made to pay.’
Matteo said nothing. Benedetto was right that the three men were dangerous, but he had no idea just what shocking information Dolwyn could give him.
Or did he? Matteo wondered again whether Dolwyn had been responsible for his wound. Benedetto could afford an expensive assassin. Dolwyn was bearded and filthy, so it was understandable Benedetto might not have recognised him, but if Dolwyn was
‘Lord Berkeley will know what to do with them,’ Matteo said at last.
‘If you are sure,’ his brother said. ‘So,’ he continued as they walked towards the castle’s hall, ‘you came from Kenilworth with Sir Edward of Caernarfon. How is he?’
‘Sad,’ Matteo said.
‘A good thing we supported the Queen then, eh? Have you news from Sir Roger Mortimer?’
‘None that he intends you to have,’ Matteo said with a thin smile. ‘He seeks to strengthen his grip on the country, but dare not alienate any. Especially now, with war brewing in the north.’
‘Does he want war?’
‘It has been forced on him. The Bruce demands that King Edward III renounce his claim to Scotland, that the first act of his government should be to relinquish his Scottish territories. Preparations for war are under way, and Bruce is ravaging the north. King Edward and Sir Roger must march before too long.’
