‘Yes,’ Benedetto said. ‘My poor brother. I sometimes fear he will not live long.’
‘Really?’ Sir Jevan said distractedly, observing the group with Sir Baldwin, the priest and the woman heading towards the gaol.
He wanted to speak with that carter too.
Dolwyn squatted at the wall. He had spent a miserable night incarcerated here, but it was no worse than the nights at Newgate, and he could contemplate his future with some equanimity.
He had seen the two Bardi brothers. That was interesting. He had taken money from one in order to kill another: if that story was not to be betrayed, the man in question should hurry and secure his release. Dolwyn was not going to the gallows without ensuring that those who had hired him suffered the same fate.
And he still had a parchment in his purse. That was something that plenty of men would be interested to see. Yes, he felt that he had some protection.
The other two prisoners showed little interest in him. They were more concerned with their own situation, and clearly they had reason to be alarmed. In recent months, they had been enemies of Lord Berkeley and Sir Roger Mortimer, the King’s Regent, and could expect little in the way of sympathy from their captor.
There was no water to drink, other than a bucket of foul-smelling liquid that could have been dredged from the moat itself. It stank of mud and rancid weed. One other bucket was provided in the room, for which he was grateful. He had heard that many gaolers did not bother with such niceties. He only hoped that the two had not been mixed up.
It was just as he was beginning to think seriously about how long he could survive without some food, that the door’s lock moved. There was the sound of keys turning, and they all stood up. It was better to face whatever might happen while on their feet.
The door was pushed wide, and outside there was a series of faces staring in.
‘Father, do you recognise any of these?’ a man asked.
Father Luke peered inside, studying Harry, then Senchet, and then his eyes fell on Dolwyn, and he shook his head.
‘No, I know none of these.’
‘But I do,’ Sir Jevan said. ‘I would like to speak with this man now.’
He had seen them over there, Benedetto and that tall knight, pointing at him. Benedetto looked like a farmer, pointing to which sheep he wanted slaughtered, Matteo thought. Not that he would use a man like Sir Jevan as an assassin. Not when there were cheaper men to be bought, like Dolwyn.
As Sir Jevan left Benedetto and hurried after Baldwin, Matteo walked across the court, Benedetto had scarcely been able to meet his eye. Matteo had that feeling in his back again, as though the blade had never left it.
He had never felt so lonely and threatened.
Baldwin was glad of the aid of Sir Jevan. With his help Baldwin was able to summons two men-at-arms, who stood nearby with their weapons ready as the three men were brought up the long, narrow stairs from their cell and out into the sun. There Baldwin called on them to give him their names.
Only one night, and the sight of them was already enough to inspire sympathy, Baldwin thought to himself. The foreigner, Senchet, was trying to smile, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. Harry was more grim-faced, and spent much of his time peering at Edgar, who stood a short way to his side, wearing his usual easy smile. It was an expression designed to goad others to fury when they saw it, but Harry was clearly not angry, only anxious and wary.
It was the last man who attracted Baldwin’s attention. He stood with his head lowered, rather like a bull preparing to charge. He did not look concerned at his incarceration. Indeed, he might have been a long-serving prisoner from the way that he glared at Baldwin and the others. He had the gaolbird’s contempt for his guards. His only admission of weakness was the hand he held at his injured side.
‘He was the man who delayed me when I was chasing a felon,’ Sir Jevan said.
‘You were in charge of the cart?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Sir Jevan here remembers you.’
‘Aye – and I remember
‘You were preventing me from chasing a criminal,’ Sir Jevan said between gritted teeth.
‘I was walking along a road when you and your companions rode past me. You were the one who couldn’t pass – the others did well enough – and because you were enraged at your poor riding, you stabbed me.’
‘You deliberately moved your cart into my path!’
‘I was hiding
‘You are lying!’ Sir Jevan spat, and lifted his arm as though to hit him.
Baldwin shot a look at Edgar, who smilingly stepped forward and shook his head.
‘Out of my way,’ hissed Sir Jevan, but Baldwin spoke quietly.
‘Sir Jevan, I am Keeper of the King’s Peace and I will not have a prisoner maltreated in my care.’
