The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) (18 page)

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!’

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 fool 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?’

‘A valuable treasure of the King’s,’ Baldwin said evasively. ‘It appears to have been mislaid.’

Ayrminne gave a low whistle. ‘Really? But surely a herald wouldn’t steal something from his master?’

‘We do not know. All we can do is seek the truth,’ Baldwin said.

‘Then good hunting, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Except we’re not, are we?’ Simon said pointedly as they walked away from Ayrminne.

‘Hmm?’

Sir Hugh le Despenser acknowledged the demand for his presence with a curt nod, and as the messenger from the King turned
to walk out, Sir Hugh was already following.

‘Sir Hugh, come in. So, Sir Baldwin has already seen you about this dead herald?’

Despenser smiled without humour. ‘Yes indeed.’

‘And have you managed to discover anything about him? Sir Baldwin mentioned a necklace of pilgrim badges. Is that right?’

‘Quite right. He was a well-travelled man. That should make it easier to find out who he was.’

‘Good. Sir Hugh, do you know of a Brother Gilbert who was living in the Canterbury priory?’

‘Yes, he’s the son of my old friend Sir Berengar. Why?’

‘Didn’t you know? He has apparently been killed. In Christ Church Priory. Sir Baldwin told me just now.’

‘Sir Baldwin did? How good of him.’ Despenser nodded to himself. His face displayed none of his internal turmoil at this sudden
revelation.

The King turned his back and was discussing some matter of his purchase of new horses from Spain, but Sir Hugh could barely
concentrate.

That knight from Furnshill had known of the murder all the while he was in his room.

And forebore to mention it.

‘I was thinking,’ Baldwin said quietly, as he walked to their room with Simon, ‘that the man killed in the roadway in those
woods was probably the King’s herald, and after stealing the oil and murdering Gilbert, he perhaps rushed on to bring the
oil to the King, and was waylaid and killed. By sheer misfortune, he happened upon felons who slaughtered him, and he was
left there.’

‘You didn’t mention the theft of the oil in front of the King!’ Simon protested.

‘No. A degree of caution struck me while I was speaking to him – it was Despenser’s attitude. It was teasing at my mind. But
so was the matter about the tabard. What if the man was, for example, involved in the theft of the oil? It seems a little
remarkable as a coincidence that the King’s herald was killed at about the same time as the theft. Could that mean that the
thief passed along that same road?’

‘That would be possible, except …’

‘Yes?’

‘It is a little unlikely, isn’t it? The chances of a man coming along that road by chance? How many roads are there from
Canterbury? What on earth would be the reason for a man coming along exactly that route?’

‘I think it is not so unlikely. King’s messengers and heralds will know the same paths, and they always tend to use these
ones. One messenger will pass on his knowledge to the next to take his path, and thereby the roads used tend to be the same.
The interesting possibility of this, though, is that the herald stole the oil and then was robbed of it in this area. Could
that mean that the theft of the oil came to be more common knowledge, or that the herald had an accomplice who killed him
to steal the oil?’

‘That is hardly likely. That presupposes two killings by accomplices. One, the monk, I could believe; two, I cannot. An escalation
of violence isn’t credible. Not to me, at any rate.’

‘An excellent point, Simon. And another is the fact that we are told that the dead man was not from the good William Ayrminne’s
party. You remember, the coroner told us that he thought that a herald had been seen on the night of Gilbert’s death. He appeared
to assume that this herald was from the men with Ayrminne. But not so, according to Ayrminne himself. So this thief was not
one of the men who came back from France with the ambassadors.’

‘No.’

‘So let us consider it from another angle. A thief took the oil. Perhaps he rode to the woods, and was there waylaid by felons,
then; felons who live in the wood. They killed this false herald, and stole the oil. Yet why would they take the oil? I cannot
believe that. I doubt they needed oil for their meal that night! And I doubt whether ordinary outlaws would have killed a
churl and thrown his body aside like that. It was merely left by the side of the roadway. Surely an outlaw would
have hidden the body a little so that the murder would not be brought to his door?’

‘Outlaws can be astonishingly dim, Baldwin. I have seen it on the moors.’

‘Perhaps, but concealment would surely be more likely. And especially given the rank of the dead man. Murder of a herald is
not common, and more to the point, it is astonishing that such a thing might happen to the very man who had just stolen a
phial of inconceivably valuable oil. What is the likelihood that the thief, clad in a King’s tabard, would then come across
a felon set on murder?’

‘So what do you think happened?’

‘I have no idea. Perhaps the man was already dead, and when the man with the tabard happened along with the stolen oil, he
saw the corpse, and chose to conceal his own identity by shoving the corpse’s head through his tabard. That is possible … also possible is that the killer of Gilbert came by the same route – there are only a few through those woods and that
one may have been commonly used by messengers, for example – and killed the first man he encountered, throwing his tabard
over the dead body to conceal his own identity.’

Simon considered. ‘That would involve a lot of boldness on the part of the killer.’

‘Yes.’

‘It would also surely imply a purpose. The King would not steal the oil – it was his own, stored where he had ordered it –
so it was someone else, if you are right.’

‘Yes. Someone who had something to gain by removing the oil. Either that was someone who wanted the oil for his own purposes,
or it was someone who sought to ransom it to the King.’

‘And your guess would be?’

‘What would the King do to someone who thought he could ransom the King’s own property back to him? He would have the fellow
in his gaol in no time. A blink of an eye. No, this was no simple theft for swift gain. This was a carefully plotted theft
with a longer-term benefit in mind.’

‘Who could think in those terms?’ Simon asked. And then he thought a moment, and added, ‘Oh.’

Baldwin nodded. They had both had enough experience of Sir Hugh le Despenser to know what he was capable of. ‘Yes.’

Simon’s face hardened. ‘Well, in that case, the best thing we can do is leave well alone and return home as soon as possible.’

‘Simon, he could well have been responsible for the murder of that monk – and the man in the woods.’

‘Yes, Baldwin. And I don’t want him responsible for our murders. Baldwin, if he were guilty, what could we do about it? Accuse
him in front of the King? The man who is his best friend? You think we’d achieve anything by doing that? Who are you trying
to fool, Baldwin? There is no possibility of our getting anywhere. Me? I’m for leaving him alone. He’s the most powerful baron
in the country after the King himself. If you accuse him or irritate him, you will be signing your own death warrant. Do you
want that?’

‘I am a keeper of the King’s Peace. I have a duty to justice.’

‘No, Baldwin,’ Simon said, and this time his voice was more gentle. He stepped forward and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
‘You have an honourable duty to finding the truth in your own lands, back in Devon, and you have a duty to protect and serve
your
wife
. You and I have to look to our families, Baldwin. If you go chasing Despenser, you will die. You know that. And when you
die, he will not stop from persecuting Jeanne and your children. You know Despenser.
He is relentless and ruthless. He will destroy you, then your family, and he will steal your lands and property to leave your
widow utterly penniless. You will have nothing at all to leave to Jeanne and your children. Think of them, Baldwin.’

‘But if he was guilty of that murder …’

‘He is guilty of other killings, Baldwin. We both know that. We’ve seen the results of his jealousy at Iddesleigh and at Westminster.
Remember that innkeeper? What would it serve justice for us to die too?’

‘You won’t help me, then?’

‘Yes, I will. I’ll help you all the way home, Baldwin. But I won’t help you to see yourself destroyed. That will serve no
useful purpose.’

Baldwin had been looking at the ground. Now he looked up, and Simon was relieved to see that the veil of grim determination
which had harshened his features was now gone. In its place a shamefaced smile appeared. ‘Yes. You’re right. It’s time to
give up any ideas I may have had of a great destiny, and to return to my quiet life in Devon. I was forced into the limelight
by Stapledon, and we have done our part by escorting the Queen to France. Surely that is enough. We’ll go home.’

‘Good,’ Simon said with a grin. And then he slapped Baldwin on the back and laughed aloud. ‘I cannot wait to see my wife’s
face when I appear!’

‘Nor I mine,’ Baldwin said. And as he spoke, his eyes took on a faraway look. The Bishop’s dog lay asleep a few yards away.
‘But before I go, there is one purchase I should like to make.’

Third Thursday After Easter
¹⁷

The summons came a little after his midday meal. Sir Hugh le Despenser had elected for a quiet lunch with his steward and
two clerks to discuss the income of his Welsh estates, and the messenger received a cold stare when he demanded Despenser
join the King.

Matters of state came before his own estates, though. At least it was nothing more that the slimy turd Furnshill had slipped
into conversation. He had been glad to see that prickle riding off a couple of days ago with his friend the bailiff. At least
they were two problems fewer for him to deal with here in Beaulieu.

‘If His Highness desires it,’ he said, rising.

The King was in an even more explosive frame of mind than usual. ‘Did you know? Did you?’

‘Know what, my Liege?’ Despenser responded mildly. He observed the King’s mannerisms with interest. The man appeared to be
losing control of his mind.

‘Look! This messenger has just brought news from Prior Eastry. You remember him? The wretch who was so persuasive on behalf
of my wife, and insisted that she should have large funds to draw on while she was over there in France. Him! You remember?
I told you that one of his brothers had died, didn’t I? That young fool Gilbert.’

‘Yes. What has happened now? Sir Baldwin told me most of this.’

‘Did he also mention that my coronation oil has been stolen!’

‘Your … what?’

‘St Thomas’s oil is gone!’ the King snapped. In an instant his face had blackened with anger. ‘How would someone dare try
such a thing?’ His fist slammed down on the table, making the jug and goblets jump. ‘My oil!
Taken!
I want you to instigate a full inquiry into how this was done, Sir Hugh. Seek for it, and find it, and when you do, I want
the men responsible to be punished for this. Punished so that no one will even think of stealing such a thing again!’