Michael Jecks - The Prophecy of Death

‘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!’

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.