Free 30 - King's Gold by Michael Jecks Page A

of his brawn, not his brains. His skills lay with knives and daggers, not with the tools Matteo was happier to employ: words and information. The attack had made Matteo appreciate how different were their two worlds. ‘Who?’
    ‘All about Bristol and South Wales I heard the same: everywhere the people had relied on the Despensers, there is a clamour for the return of Edward of Caernarfon.’
    Matteo considered. There was merit in telling Mortimer this news, but the latter had his own spies so it would not be news to him. No, the only man who might not be aware of this, secluded as he was, was Sir Edward of Caernarfon himself. In the event of a coup, he would be very grateful to those who had aided him . . .
    Matteo glanced at his reeds and inks, thinking that he could write to Sir Edward himself, offering the same as the letter from Manuele. The man would surely appreciate that. But if the letter were discovered, after the King’s abdication from the throne, the author could rightly be suspected of treason against the new King and be sentenced to die a painful death. It was a shame that the original had not been sent.
    And then he had an inspiration. ‘I have a letter,’ he informed Dolwyn. ‘I need you to take it to Sir Edward of Caernarfon and deliver it to him, and him alone.’
    It was perfect, he thought. The letter had been written and signed by Manuele before his death. The delay in sending it was explicable by the kingdom’s upset in recent months, and if it was discovered, it was clear that the man who wrote it was now dead and could not be punished – and nor could those who had arranged for it to be sent on to the recipient in good faith.
    In short, if Sir Edward received it, he would be assured of the bank’s efforts to aid him, but if it was found by Mortimer’s men, Matteo could explain the mistake.
    Two Saturdays before the Feast of the Annunciation, first year of the reign of King Edward III 13
    Willersey
    Matins was over for another day. Father Luke smiled at young Jen and her mother Agatha as he wiped the chalice clean and began to tidy away the silver.
    It was easy to smile at Jen. Small, like so many of the children after the winter, she had the fair hair and blue eyes of her mother, and the quick alertness of a hawk. The way that she set her head to one side and considered the priest while he spoke was utterly entrancing. If he had not taken the vow of chastity, he could have wished for no more appealing child as his own.
    ‘I didn’t see your husband here today,’ he remarked to Agatha.
    ‘The fool took a job delivering ale and food to the castle,’ she said. ‘A purveyor arrived last night demanding a cart, and Ham agreed a good price for his time.’
    ‘Warwick Castle?’
    ‘No. The farther one: Kenilworth.’
    ‘Ouch!’ Father Luke said. Warwick itself was more than twenty miles, and Kenilworth must be a deal further. ‘That is a long way. I have never been that far since I came to the parish myself. Has he already left?’
    ‘Fat chance of that!’ Agatha sneered. ‘You think my Ham would be up at this time of day and out on the road?’
    ‘Father is seeing to the animals,’ Jen said.
    ‘There is always much for a man to do,’ Father Luke agreed. ‘Who will look after the beasts when he is gone?’
    ‘I think I will,’ said Jen. For all that she was a child of only seven summers, she sometimes had the manner of a mature woman. The effect of living with her parents, Luke told himself sadly. She shot a look at her mother now, he saw, as though nervous of a buffet about the head for speaking out of turn.
    Father Luke gave her a reassuring smile as he set all the church valuables inside the chest and locked it. Agatha was already sweeping the floor while Jen watched.
    The priest knew Ham quite well. Ham was a happy-go-lucky fellow who enjoyed his ale and cider, as did Father Luke. However, he did suffer from his wife’s nagging. She was convinced he could improve their lot