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Day Four
Math
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A half-hour earlier ...
It had been Math’s role to be one of the men standing guard outside the king’s door at the point the king retired to bed. He often returned to his chambers early because he liked to wake early, before the first petitioners arrived and the expectations of the day began. It also gave him an opportunity to get started on the endless stacks of paperwork that were required for ruling his kingdom. Probably also, he was looking to have a moment alone in peace.
Tonight, Math had heard movement within the room for some while after the king shut the door. It seemed as if he might be asleep now, but he could also be reading. Math shifted his stance, preparing himself for a long, quiet night.
Then Thomas, one of the Normans among the king’s guard, appeared in the stairwell. In a low voice, so as not to disturb the king, he said, “Take a turn around the castle. I’ll stand here for a time.”
Math couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Is Janet after you again?”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “She isn’t allowed up here, but if I’m out in the bailey or patrolling the palisade, she sees me as fair game.”
“You can stay here as long as you like tonight.” Math pushed off from the wall, pleased to be able to combine being helpful to Thomas with his personal preferences. Standing for so long made his lower back ache. It was much better to move about. He also liked knowing what was happening in the castle instead of being shut away in a tower.
Owen had given King Edward the best room in the castle, located at the top of the keep. He had his own men keeping watch from the tower’s battlement and the walls of the castle, but three of the king’s own guards were specifically tasked with his personal security. At all times, one of them was posted outside his door; one kept watch outside the main door to the keep; and one was on patrol.
The third member of their group tonight was Fulke, one of three Frenchmen amongst the king’s guard. He had bright red hair and a very large physique which appeared to Math to be a throwback to some earlier barbaric ancestry.
“You all right?” Math asked him as he went by.
“A cup of water wouldn’t go amiss.”
“I’ll find someone to bring you a carafe.”
They weren’t allowed to drink alcohol on duty, but a man who was thirsty was not at the top of his form.
“Not Janet.”
Math smirked. “Surely not. Apparently we are protecting Thomas tonight as well as the king.”
Fulke grinned back.
The motte was not a particularly high one, so it was a matter of two dozen steps down to the bridge across the dry moat in order to reach the inner gatehouse.
The guards keeping watch there let Math through with a wave, at which point Math said, “How goes it?” He always tried to be friendly. So far, he had felt no animosity from Owen’s men. Their lord was loyal to the king; Math was too. He couldn’t fault them.
“Well enough. Quiet. Most are asleep by now.” This particular guard was half-Welsh and remembered the language. “It’s my favorite time of night.”
Math surveyed the bailey with him, noting a light in the stables that meant someone was seeing to a horse. A couple of drunk young men, arms around each other, staggered towards the gatehouse. He thought one of them might be Patrick, Moriddig’s son, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance. Really, he couldn’t blame the boy for drowning his grief in ale, although Math could have told him it wouldn’t lessen his sorrow. The pain of his father’s murder would remain, just now with a sore head.
Otherwise, the bailey was empty. The blacksmith’s fire was banked, with just smoldering coals. One of the remaining kitchen workers came to the door, yawning and stretching. It was almost midnight, which meant for about four hours nobody would be in the kitchen either. Then the work would start up again for another day.
All of a sudden, the guard beside Math took one step forward and said, concern in his voice, “Do you smell something?”
The air always smelled of smoke, but Math sniffed with him. “That isn’t a wood fire, it’s—”
“Oil!” The guard’s exclamation had Math hustling towards the center of the bailey, still not sure exactly where the smell was coming from and trying to follow it with his nose. Whatever its source, it had a sharper bite than woodsmoke.
Then, off to his right, the thatch roof of one of the smaller buildings, sandwiched between the stables and the laundry, burst into flames. Hardly three breaths later, the nearby wall of the stables caught fire too and then, before Math could take another step, flames came through the roof.
“Fire! Fire!” The guard took off at a run, not towards the buildings that had just gone up, but towards the main gatehouse where he knew other guards like him would be awake.
Math made a similar assessment of how quickly the fire was spreading and turned to run up the steps of the motte. Fulke met him two paces from the door.
“Stay here. Nobody gets past you. I’ll wake the king.” Then Math was through the entrance and up the spiraling stairs of the keep to the king’s room.
By the time he reached the top, Thomas was alert with his sword bare in his hand. “What is it?”
“You won’t need that, at least not yet,” Math said as he went by him. “The castle is on fire.”
“I heard the shouts.” King Edward opened his door before Math could knock. “Do I have time to put on my boots?”
“Yes.”
The king held the door wide, implying Math should enter his personal chamber. And, for the first time ever, Math did. Even when the king’s valet came hurrying in a moment later, Math didn’t leave, helping the other man shovel the king into his mail armor and even buckling on his sword while his servant adjusted his cloak exactly right.
“Come. Let’s see what this is about.” King Edward led the way to the door and then down the stairs to the entrance to the keep.
Fulke was still there, standing guard. He hadn’t even allowed Owen de la Pole, who’d arrived all a-fluster, to enter. Fulke knew, as the whole of the king’s guard knew, that the fire could be a distraction for an attempt on the king’s life. The concern wasn’t necessarily about Owen, but they had a plan for incidents like this, and any deviation from it could be the difference between success and failure—a live king or a dead one.
From their vantage point at the top of the motte, they could see above the castle wall to where a hundred people or more were streaming towards the castle. The main gate was open, and some had already taken their places in a line from the closest water source, a winding brook that was almost small enough to leap across, passing buckets hand-to-hand. Others rescued horses from the stables, having covered the horses’ eyes so they wouldn’t bolt.
“You are too exposed here, my lord,” Math said in an undertone, having kept close to the king’s side. “If the fire was set in order to lure you out of the keep, we’ve played into the assassin’s hands.”
“And if we don’t leave the keep, I could burn along with the rest of the castle,” King Edward said. “Owen, I commend the speed at which your people have set to work, but those buildings are a lost cause.”
“I fear you are right, my lord, but we will try to save what we can,” Owen said. “I will direct some of the folk to turn their attention to the hall and barracks. They aren’t on fire yet.”
“Shall we take our chances in the bailey ourselves, my lord?” Math asked.
“That would be my preference.” The king set off without haste down the steps to the inner gate. Fulke’s huge bulk partially blocked any view of the king from those below, and Thomas and Math buttressed him on either side. Owen took up the rear. Math had already decided that if Owen was going to stab the king in the back, literally instead of figuratively, he would have done it by now.
By the time they reached the bailey, Simon had arrived, along with four more of the king’s personal guard, all of whom should have been sleeping. They spread out around the king, forming a protective circle.
“We can go through the postern gate.” Owen motioned towards a small door on the northern side of the bailey.
“Where does it lead?” Simon asked.
“To a path above the Dee. We can take it towards the eastern fields.”
He was referring to where the festival was being held. To the west, behind the motte, was a steep drop to the River Dee.
The king raised his eyebrows, looking to Simon for confirmation, but it was Math who shook his head. “Bad enough we were seen leaving the keep so obviously. If I were waiting for you, hoping to do you harm, I’d be waiting outside the postern gate.”
“Math is right, my lord.” Simon instantly agreed.
King Edward put a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I won’t be whisked out of sight, even to keep me safe.”
“Yes, my lord.” Owen bent his head, the very epitome of a loyal subject, which by now Math had decided he truly was.
They set off again towards the main gate. Math and Owen somehow had taken the lead, with Fulke guarding the king’s back and Simon among those pressed in close to him. The stables were fully engulfed in flames now, as were other buildings along the southern side of the bailey. That included the blacksmith’s workshop, which was always a hazard because of the open fire. The guesthouse was on the other side of the stables, and people were streaming out of it now. Others had already started tossing water on the thatch roof, but their buckets were drops compared to the ocean of water they needed to save what remained.
Because of the number of people attempting to enter through the castle gate, Simon had the king step to one side until the way was clear. As they waited, Owen spied Adam, Moriddig’s brother, among the lines of people and waved him closer. “Find someone to take your place.”
Adam had been helping to direct where to throw the water, while at the same time hefting a few of the buckets himself, one after another. “But, my lord, they need me—”
“Anyone can do what you’re doing. I need you in the hall. I have documents to protect, if the fire jumps that far. I want you in charge of saving as many as we can.”
“Yes, my lord!” Adam set off at a run as he’d been directed. A moment later, Patrick, Moriddig’s son, looking much less drunk than before the fire started, also separated himself from the crowd and went with him.
“At least I still have Adam. Though—” under his breath Owen scoffed to himself, “—there’s irony for you. Because of the events of the last few days, he and Patrick moved from their rooms in the castle to festival grounds. Their possessions are safe. And yet, here they are, as loyal as ever. Even Patrick can prove his worth, since Moriddig trained him in reading and writing too.”
Math listened to this outpouring of regret without comment. Owen had been speaking musingly, and not really to him—or to anyone, for that matter.
The king must have heard something of what he said too, however, because when Owen made to continue amongst his guard, he stopped him. “See to your people. I am well protected.”
Owen bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lord. My deepest apologies.”
“Unless you set the fire, I can’t see how this is your fault.” As usual, the king’s manner combined a demand for subservience with impatience at its forms. Owen had done nothing wrong, as he’d said. He didn’t need to apologize. The royal temper was well known, but the king wielded it like a weapon, unsheathing it only when needed.
Owen himself went to the line where Adam and Patrick had been working, becoming instantly wet as he accepted his first bucket. On the surface, it didn’t make sense to send Adam to do an important job, one that Owen could do himself, while Owen helped put out the fire. But Math saw it for the piece of diplomacy it was. Owen was showing his people that he was willing to work side-by-side with them to save his castle. Math didn’t think he was imagining that each person around Owen began to work a little more quickly and diligently.
Then the gate was clear enough to move the king through it. He too received bows and accolades. “God bless you!” One man said in English.
Others nearby took up the chorus.
Edward put up a hand in acknowledgment and replied, also in English, recognizing the need, “Many thanks! Thank you for your service here.”
Rhys met them on the road just outside the gate, with Miles and Hywel on either side, and the three of them seamlessly joined the king’s party, moving away from the castle in earnest. When Rhys took Owen’s place at the front of the company beside Math, he soon voiced Math’s ongoing assumption: “Is it our thought that the fire was deliberately set?” He spoke in French, which meant he intended those with them to understand.
“Yes,” Math said.
Not a single man broke stride to hear this assessment. The king’s guard would always assume that any danger developing in the king’s vicinity was a genuine threat to his person. But there was a difference between assuming it because it was their job and knowing it for certain.
Most of the people in the road were still heading the other way, towards the castle. To avoid them, Math and Rhys led their party down a side street that ran parallel to the high street between the church and the castle, with the festival grounds their intended goal. The king could spend what was left of the night in his pavilion.
“Tell me why you think so,” King Edward said.
“I saw the first flames, my lord,” Math said. “They began in the dead house, the little building where Hugh’s body is lying. There was nothing in there to start a fire, not even a lantern.”
“Could be I missed something,” Rhys said to Math in an undertone.
“Or maybe that’s just what the killer wants us to think.”
