King's Gold

Manuele read the parchment, then, taking up a reed, he slowly wrote his name at the bottom in ink. ‘For the House of Bardi,’ he muttered to himself as he sprinkled some sand over the wet ink. Removing his seal ring, he melted a little wax in a candle-flame, and sealed the document, setting it aside to cool on the table.

‘I will see that it reaches the King’s friends,’ Matteo said, feeling the warm glow of success. With this letter the House was safe again, and with fortune, he would soon control it.

A sudden pounding on the front door interrupted their discussions. Matteo was relieved. He had feared that the visitors might have been waylaid. ‘Let them in,’ he called.

There were four men-at-arms in the party, all wearing mail and coats of plates and, from the way that they held themselves, it was clear that they had been expecting trouble on their way here.

Matteo introduced the men. ‘Stephen Dunheved, John of Shulton, Harry le Cur, and Senchet Garcie. These gentlemen are here to listen to our position regarding the King.’

‘Not only that,’ Stephen Dunheved said, ‘we are here to have your absolute declaration of loyalty to the King of England, my lord Edward II. He demands your obedience, else he will have all your House closed in England, your funds sequestered and all loans cancelled.’

Matteo reached for the signed document, but before his hand could touch it, Manuele had removed it. ‘Brother?’

‘Quiet, Matteo.’ Manuele stood slowly, the parchment in his hand. ‘You come to my house to threaten me?’ he demanded of Dunheved. ‘Do you know who I am?’

Matteo swore under his breath. He had won the day already, and if these men would only show a little respect due to Manuele, they would win all they wanted. But he could see Manuele was having second thoughts: if one of these men were a traitor who had already turned his coat to support the Queen, he dared not talk of the parchment nor ask any of these to take it to the King. The risk of betrayal was too great.

Dunheved, a weatherbeaten man with the build of a fighter, took a step forward, his hand on his sword, but before he could pull it more than half-free, there was a rush and clatter of steel, and Manuele’s servants had their own weapons drawn and ready. Three held swords at Dunheved’s throat.

‘So this is your answer, then? Betrayal and deceit?’ Dunheved hissed.

Manuele walked to him and studied him for a moment. ‘No, it is not. I will consider how best to aid your master, but I will not be treated as a churl in my own home. You will leave, and we shall speak no more of this. When I am ready, I will invite you back to discuss this with me. Perhaps.’

‘It will be too late! The Queen knows you have maintained the King. And remember that you denied her money when she was in Paris. You think she will forget that and reward you? She will ruin your House, and impoverish you!’

‘She may try,’ Manuele said suavely. He walked to his sideboard, the parchment still in his hand, and picked up a goblet of wine. Sipping, he gazed at the rich gold and enamel about the bowl. ‘You realise that my House is more wealthy than your King’s? I have more money at my disposal than he – which is why he sends to me to beg for gold. Well, I am of a mind to answer his call. But not yet.’

As though to emphasise his words, just then a rock the size of a man’s fist flew through the window, narrowly missing Benedetto. ‘Stronzi,’⁵ he snarled, his hand on his sword.

Manuele walked to the stone and peered at it. ‘It would seem that your mob is interested in meeting with us, too.’ he said. Then, more seriously: ‘Your King will have my answer in a few days. But this city is dangerous just now. You may leave.’

Dunheved set his jaw and would have spoken further, but the man called Senchet called quietly, ‘Stephen, you escaped death once before, my friend. I think we should depart while it is still a possibility.’

‘Very well,’ Dunheved said. ‘You will find us at the House of the Lion near the Black Friars.’

He turned, jerked his head to his companions, and they were gone. The servants of the house walked with them, and soon there was a bellowing from the front of the hall.

‘I think,’ Manuele said with a small smile, ‘that the people there wish to talk to our friends.’

‘And what of the letter?’ Matteo demanded.

‘Your letter is good. It will suffice,’ Manuele said. ‘Send it as we agreed, by a safe messenger.’

‘We should leave,’ Benedetto said urgently. ‘The mob is enraged, and they may well attack us. Let us go by the back gates!’

‘Very well,’ Manuele said absently.

Matteo led the way to the rear of the house, past the kitchen and gawping servants, and out to the gate at the back. There was a short alley here, which gave onto Cornhulle. When sure that the road was safe, he called the others to follow.

Manuele was last to leave. He insisted on his taking his palfrey, and stood tapping his toe until his groom brought the beast.