King's Gold

Matteo protested, ‘There are gangs all about the city – a man on horseback is an easy target for their rage and enmity.’

‘I am not slim like you. If I meet with a mob, I need a means to escape,’ Manuele said with a smile. ‘At least on a horse I am more fleet than the London mob.’

As Manuele trotted off into the distance, his two henchmen with him, Matteo watched anxiously. He saw a mass of men erupt from the side streets and envelop his elder brother. A thin scream of terror came from Manuele, and then Matteo too was running away, pounding for his life up a side street with his own two remaining guards.

He only managed a few paces when his legs were knocked from beneath him, and he fell on the cobbles. Something clubbed the back of his head, before the blade slid into his flesh and he toppled into a vast emptiness.

Cornhulle, London

Sir Jevan de Bromfield ran along the roadway at full tilt, and seeing an alleyway, he hurtled into it, hiding in a little corner and gripping his sword tightly.

The mass of feet went thundering on along the main road, and he slowly began to relax. Risking a glance around the corner, he saw the alley was clear.

But then there was a step behind him. He knew that it must be one of his pursuers who had outflanked him to get behind and slip a knife between his shoulderblades while he stared back towards the road like a fool.

He would not die like this!

Whirling like a berserker from a Viking ship, he slashed with his sword and felt it slither into soft flesh. The dragging of meat on his blade was enough to slow his movement, and he had time to gaze upon the young woman’s face as his blade sliced deep into her neck. And then his blade was through the bone, and with a gush of blood, her head flew away.

Behind her, the young man who was her swain stood with his mouth wide in horror, so shocked that even as her torso collapsed and the blood besmottered his face and shirt, he could not speak or cry out.

Without hesitation, Sir Jevan reversed his blade and stabbed twice quickly before the lad could call, both wounds in the fellow’s breast. One at least punctured his heart, for he died without speaking, the two bodies entangled in death.

Sir Jevan cursed quietly under his breath, then wiped his blade on the young woman’s skirts. Her face was pretty, he thought, studying her dispassionately. He regretted their deaths, but for him, a man who had been declared outlaw and exiled by the King, it was better to take no chances. The couple should not have crept up behind him like that.

He moved up the alley away from the road, hoping to avoid any other embarrassments. All he wanted now was to get away from this God-forsaken city and out to the safe, open countryside. But first he had to attend to the Queen’s business.

Reaching the end of the alley, he made his way westwards again until he saw the building he sought. Heavy stone walls and small, slit-like windows gave it a grim appearance, but in times like this, it was a welcome sight. Sir Jevan rapped smartly on the door.

A small peephole snapped open and he saw an eye peer at him, then behind and around him.

‘You know me,’ he said. ‘I am here to see him.’

The bolts were drawn back, and the door pulled open to reveal a narrow passage.

Sir Jevan walked inside, but was pulled up short by the sight of two swords pointed at his throat and belly: one held by Benedetto, one by a servant. ‘What is this? You mean to betray us and our cause? Your deaths will be sealed if you harm me!’ he hissed.

Benedetto’s sword wavered. ‘I’m not betraying you,’ he whispered. ‘I’m betraying my family . . . and the King.’

‘A pox on your family, and the King. He betrayed us all,’ Sir Jevan sneered. ‘He’d sell the kingdom if he thought it a pretty enough bauble for his darling Despenser!’

‘It is agreed, then?’

‘You keep up your side of the bargain, Master Benedetto, and yes, Her Royal Highness will be pleased to make use of your money.’ Sir Jevan moved forwards, slapping away both swords. ‘I have details with me of where to deliver it. You are sure you can provide it? Your brothers won’t cause trouble?’

‘I can promise it,’ Benedetto said. There was an edge in his voice that did not go unnoticed.

‘Good,’ Sir Jevan said. ‘Don’t fail us. The Queen may be forgiving, but by the Gospel, I swear Sir Roger Mortimer is not – and neither am I.’ He turned with a feline grace, drawing his dagger and pulling the banker off-balance. His blade rested on Benedetto’s throat as he warned, ‘And next time you hold a sword to my guts, man, you had best be ready to use it. I don’t take kindly to such a reception!’

Alured the cooper had never known a time like this.