All he needed to do was to find the man.
Chapter Fifteen
Simon and Baldwin had met the King before when they had been to Thorney Island, where the palace of Westminster stood. There the King had been a forceful character, strong-willed and cunning. But then, too, he had had his wife nearby, and he was the undisputed commander of all England. Now his wife was away in France, he was distracted, and petulant at the thought of the price the King of France would levy for the return of any of his estates in France. That was a thorn in his side, a thorn that twisted and stabbed no matter what he plotted.
He was still remarkably handsome, though. His longish face was strong and deceptively masculine, his eyes clear blue, his hair clean and blond, his beard smartly trimmed. About his powerful frame was a tight-fitting blue cotte, and there was a fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders.
All this Baldwin took in as he entered and made an elaborate bow. It was the rule that common men and those of lower classes should bow and remain bent, eyes downcast, in the King’s presence. Only those who merited some regard were permitted to stand.
Clearly, Baldwin did not deserve such respect, then, for the King made no suggestion that he and Simon should stand straight.
His tone was peremptory. ‘Sir Baldwin. I am told by the good bishop that you have a personal message for me from my good lady wife. I would be most grateful to hear it.’
Baldwin closed his eyes, wondering for an instant whether he should be blunt or persuasive, but then the little speech which she had given him came back to him, and he began to speak.
‘Your royal highness, I was called to the Queen and asked to bring you this message. She said that her brother King Charles would not be content to allow you to keep your French possessions without formally paying homage to him as your liege-lord for those territories. She has attempted to propose alternatives to him, but her sole victory so far has been to extend the length of the truce. She finds this deeply shaming, and would return at once to your side, were it not possible that there could be another solution.
‘Your lady, her Majesty Queen Isabella, is fully seized of your feelings of disgust for the suggestion that you should travel abroad to show subservience to your equal. For this reason she would like to propose that another take your place in paying homage.’
‘Yes? And who would she suggest? My falconer? My fewterer? My chief steward?’ the King demanded sarcastically.
‘Your lady the Queen suggests that because you are reluctant, rightly, to travel to France, perhaps you could create another who would be more fitting.’
The King frowned. ‘“Create” another? What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Queen Isabella begs that you consider a different route. If you elect to rest all your French assets upon your son Edward, you can then send him to France in order to pay homage for his lands held under the French King. If you settle your French territories on your son, he could then go in your place, my Lord,’ Baldwin persevered. ‘Earl Edward could have the Agenais, Montreuil and the other lands given to him, and then he could go to France to pay homage for them to the French King.’
‘Let my son go there?’ the King wondered with a frown of incomprehension. ‘How will that help me, or the Crown?’
‘You will have divested yourself of responsibility in that regard, so the French King, your brother-in-law, will have no recourse against you. If he withholds the lands from their new master, the Earl of Chester, your son, he will be reviled throughout Christendom for such unwarranted cruelty. The French King naturally looks upon you as his equal and rival. That is surely one reason why he wishes you to go to him. It would humiliate you to do so, and it would only serve to enhance his position in the world to have you bend your knee to him. Both must be attractive to him,’ Baldwin said. ‘But if he were unkind to his own nephew, your son, he would squander any advantage. Treating an English earl in such a manner would not win him any friends.’
The King was tempted to gape. He had an almost unbearable urge to turn to Hugh and ask his thoughts, but he knew that to turn to Hugh at this moment would be to appear weak.
‘There is more, my Lord,’ Baldwin said. ‘The Earl is also the King’s godson, I believe? If he were to mistreat his own godson, he would be despised throughout Christendom for his lack of chivalry. He cannot be so base to your son.’
King Edward had a fluttering in his breast, and he could feel the muscles of his belly growing taut with expectation, but he made no sign. That she could have thought up this! The woman whom he had treated with such little regard recently, was yet capable of a stroke of genius like this!
Genius, he had called it, and genius it was. The boy could go over to France as a duke in his own right, give up his homage, and, by so doing, leave Edward more perfectly secure than ever. If he disliked it, as Baldwin had said so clearly, King Charles could do nothing without embarrassing himself and showing that he was acting in bad faith.
‘Are these your words or the Queen’s?’
Baldwin allowed himself a smile. ‘My Liege, I would not dare become embroiled in such matters of state. This is something so far beyond my capabilities, I would not wish to speak my own mind.’
‘You have been to Paris. You have met my brother-in-law, King Charles?’
‘Yes, my Liege.’
‘So what is your opinion?’
‘In my opinion, I think the lady is quite right. Her brother would be most content to see you embarrassed, and to have you taken to him to pay homage would enhance his own standing. Others would look and see a king paying him homage. That can only serve to benefit him.’
‘But?’
‘But if you were to send your son, having just made him Duke of all the French territories, that would confirm your independence, retain the French territories under the English crown, and protect the revenues from those lands. I feel sure that King Charles would feel entirely unable to embarrass your son, his nephew and godson. Would he wish the world to see him take advantage of a lad little more than a boy? That would indeed shame him.’
‘Perhaps. Bishop? Do you have anything to add to this?’
‘I would only say that this knight is an astute observer of human nature, King Edward. I would commend his advice to you.’
The King nodded, and then glanced at Simon. ‘What of you, Bailiff? You have a good mind, I think. What do you make of this suggestion?’
‘Me?’ Simon said. He felt his face colouring as he spoke, and resisted an urge to babble. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, desperately thinking. ‘I believe your wife has your best interests at heart, my Lord. I’m sure that my friend Sir Baldwin speaks his mind, too – but I’m only a simple countryman. I don’t understand matters of this—’
‘Bailiff, you have met the French King, and you have judged his character. Do you think I could trust my son to his care?’
Simon considered carefully, and then said, ‘If he were my son, and I was asked to send him to the French king, I would fear my son’s exploitation, Your Highness. But if the French king was his uncle, I think my lad would be safe. The French King is a king. He is surely a man of honour.’
‘As are all kings, eh? My good bailiff, you have much to learn about kings and the quality of their ambitions!’ the King chuckled. Taking a small purse from his belt, he continued, ‘but you must have been fearful to come to me and say such things. The last thing in the world a bailiff from the wilds would expect would be to be asked to advise on affairs of national importance like this. So here – take a reward! And now,’ he said, having tossed the purse at Simon’s feet, ‘leave me to consider this matter in full. I must consult with Sir Hugh, I have need of his thoughts.’
Jack had finished with his horse when he saw them.
It was an ancient rule that a man who relied on his mount must see to it before attending to his own needs, but for Jack it was more than a principle of kindness to the beast – it was the careful assessment of a man who was accustomed to being ch
ased, in the past, by those who wanted to try to kill him. There were too many who wanted to see him dead for him ever to leave his horse without checking him over, grooming him, and seeing that he was well-watered and comfortable.
He had stowed his brush away, and slapped the fellow’s rump in farewell for the day, when the men at the gates showed an unwarranted energy, and he peered in that direction with some interest. There stood Pons and André, glaring about them as they were questioned.
‘Where did you two run to?’ he asked, once he had persuaded the guards that these two were indeed with the Bishop of Orange’s party.
Pons ducked his head and gave one of his little smiles. It always made Jack think of a monkey he had once seen in Paris, the way that Pons drew his upper lip over his teeth. ‘It was that coroner, you see. He told us he would have us arrested for lying. Us! All the jury had already agreed that we were innocent, and said we should be permitted to go, but no! The grand coroner said we must remain and he would hold us there for so long as he wanted, stuck in the worst, nastiest gaol in the castle. He was a very nasty man, that coroner.’
‘Really? He gave us two more men to look after us for the journey, so he was not so very unkind to us,’ Jack said. ‘I think the Bishop preferred them to you two.’
‘Ah, you are joking, are you not? This is not kind.’
‘Where have you been? You could have joined up with us at any time.’
André answered in his supercilious manner. ‘You think so? Eh, we travelled urgently as soon as the coroner made those disagreeable suggestions, but we missed our road. Instead of turning, we managed to make our way south in our panic. Otherwise we would have been happy to come straight to the Bishop’s entourage, naturally.’
Oh, yes, naturally, Jack thought. Except that, from the smell of these two, they had managed to find their way to a tavern. They had probably been sitting there inside it for the last few days.
‘Where is the food? The buttery?’ Pons asked, looking about him with that eagerness that spoke of the true warrior, always ensuring his next meal before any other matter.
‘Follow me,’ Jack said. He was not particularly keen on their company, but he had to admit, they were more appealing than John and Peter, the two men supplied by the castellan at Canterbury. At least these two looked less dangerous.
Baldwin was about to move backwards from the King’s presence, when Simon nudged him sharply in the ribs. ‘The oil,’ he whispered.
‘What is that, Bailiff?’ the King demanded.
Simon was appalled to have been noticed, and flushed violently this time, incapable of speech.
It was left to Baldwin to explain about the oil’s theft, but that was not his duty. No. ‘The Prior asked me to tell you of this monk’s death, Your Highness. Brother Gilbert.’
‘Brother Gilbert?’ the King frowned. ‘The name is familiar.’
‘The second thing we discovered was, while travelling here, a body at the side of the road.’
‘What of it?’
‘We think that it was a man killed by outlaws.’
‘Outlaws lie everywhere,’ the King swore. ‘Keepers of my peace should be more assiduous in seeking the perpetrators of such vile crimes. Was it anyone of significance?’
‘I believe it may have been a man from your household, my Liege.’
‘What?’ The King gaped.
‘He wore a herald’s tabard, but there was nothing else upon him to show who he was. I think he had lain there for a week or more, and there was no distinguishing mark I could see on his body. Only some personal items.’
‘The coroner will hopefully be able to make some sense of it. If not, the locals will have a large fine to pay. Will he be able to find the body?’
‘I marked the position of the body most carefully. I would have posted a guard, were it not for the urgency of my own mission here, and the need to protect the Bishop through what were clearly dangerous woods. Others before we reached the woods told us of the dangers. There have been several killings there.’
‘Let us hope the coroner will find the body, then. You are fortunate that you were not harmed. I would have expected a man of your experience to avoid a wood when you had already been warned of the danger.’
‘The Bishop is a man of strong views, Your Highness.’
The King was not amused. ‘It hardly matters. I prefer live emissaries, not murdered ones. In future, you will act more cautiously. Was there anything else?’
‘There was one thing that may have some significance,’ Baldwin continued. ‘The dead herald wore a necklace of pilgrim badges about his neck. He must have been a most devout Christian.’
‘I will have my men ask whether such a man is missing. Can you tell me more about him?’
‘I would say he was about five feet and ten inches high, not running to fat, probably young, with brown hair, worn rather long for fashion. He had a strong, square jaw, and good teeth.’
‘Where is the necklace?’
‘It is deposited with Sir Hugh, Your Highness. He has it so he can learn who was the dead man. Do you know whether any of your heralds have disappeared?’
The King looked at him. ‘You expect me to monitor the movements of all of my household? Now, leave me to consider my Queen’s suggestions.’
Outside the hall, Baldwin sighed with some relief. There had been moments in that room when he had wondered how the King would react to his words, but, so far, the man had been entirely reasonable and sensible. It was fortunate, he felt, that he had avoided mention of the oil.
The Bishop of Orange was making his way across the court towards the rooms which had been allocated to him when Baldwin saw the dog again. The beast was sitting near a pillar, and as soon as he saw the Bishop approaching, the dog sprang to his feet, tail wagging. But the Bishop was uninterested, and instead of trying to stroke the head thrust towards him in a display of affection, he lifted a hand as though to strike it. Instantly the dog was cowed, and drew away, an expression of uncomprehending despair on his face.
Baldwin frowned. ‘That poor beast …’
‘Sweet Jesus, Baldwin, look at this!’
Simon had tentatively opened the purse so casually thrown to him by the King. Inside the velvet interior nestled a good handful of silver coins. ‘It’s a fortune! Ten pounds, I think!’
‘Protect it well, then, old friend,’ Baldwin chuckled. ‘In God’s name, don’t flash it around here too much.’ Looking up, he saw Pons and André. ‘Yes, keep it hidden. That much money would tempt many men to knock you on the head – even me!’
Chapter Sixteen
The Bishop of Orange was content now to see how the King would react. There was plenty for the man to consider, it was fair to say. He had sown the seeds of the ideas, hopefully. Now to see how King Edward turned.
It had been deeply interesting how the knight and his friend had not mentioned the stolen oil. He would have to consider that. When Sir Baldwin arrived, he assumed the fellow would tell all about it immediately. Perhaps he would prefer not to bear bad tidings. A messenger was often victim to his master’s rage.
For the same reason he was keen to make no mention of it himself. It would be too easy to offend. Better by far to deny knowledge. In any case, it would be easier with the arrangement with the Queen to keep as far from discussion of that cursed liquor as possible.
In the meantime, it was interesting that Despenser had said little before him. The fool was perhaps beginning to realise the limitations of his abilities – and of his power. Either that or he had been instructed to hold his tongue while in the presence of the Bishop. Interesting, either way. Could it mean that the King didn’t trust him so much any more?
He was walking across the court while silently considering the effects of his embassy here, and now the Bishop looked up to see Peter, the older guard from Canterbury. The man nodded briefly, and then the Bishop saw him give a little smile. It was enough to make a frown pass over his features.
The f
ool shouldn’t make any signs that they knew each other. It was too dangerous, especially here, in the King’s stronghold. Secrecy was all.
Baldwin was almost at the door of the little house where he and Simon were supposed to be lodged when he saw the figure of Ayrminne leaving the small church.
‘I think that is William Ayrminne,’ he said quietly to Simon, and then called to him. Soon he and Simon were at the side of the canon.
‘I think we met earlier this year when I was in London with my Lord Stapledon of Exeter?’ said Baldwin by way of introduction.
‘Yes? Ah, yes, I think we did,’ Ayrminne said. He nodded towards Simon affably enough when Baldwin gave his name. ‘Do you wish for something?’
‘It is possibly nothing,’ Baldwin said, ‘but on our way here, we passed by a body in the woods near Crowborough.’
‘How sad.’
‘Yes. And I was wondering whether you lost anyone from your party on the way here?’
‘Why? What on earth would make you think this fellow could have come from our group?’
Baldwin considered for a beat, and then nodded. ‘The man was dressed as a King’s herald. I was wondering whether one of your heralds left your party?’
‘It is true that we did have a herald with us, but he is still here. His name is Thomas, Thomas of Bakewell. A most reliable man, too. And perfectly alive, I assure you.’
‘I am very grateful. You have put my mind at rest.’
‘But there is something else? You didn’t ask me just because a man was killed, did you?’
Baldwin smiled and shook his head. ‘No. There was something which might have been stolen from Canterbury, from Christ Church itself, and some say that this man may have been the thief.’
‘Truly? In God’s name, what was stolen?’
The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) Page 16