Michael Jecks - The Prophecy of Death

‘You are apprenticed to Harold the Merchant?’

‘I was. I am not now. I have finished my apprenticeship, and I work with him.’

‘What of your father?’

Peter was embarrassingly keen to tell Simon all he needed to know, and as the sun passed slowly around, the pool of light from the southern window moving two feet across the floor, Peter told all about his youth, his father’s business as a merchant in the city of Exeter, and his own hopes to become a freeman of the City himself.

‘Enough!’ Simon said, pouring the last of their drink. ‘You will look after her?’

‘Of course. I love her, Master.’

‘You can call me Simon,’ he said, and with those words, he felt an emptiness as deep as a well in his heart.

With those few words he had agreed to give away his daughter.

Morrow of Feast of the Apostles 23

Furnshill

Baldwin had finished a leisurely breakfast of cold meats and a hunk of bread when he heard the clattering of hooves outside on the cobbles, soon followed by a deep bark from Wolf. He turned his head to one side to listen, glancing at his wife as he did so. ‘Who can that be?’

He did not have long to wait to find out. The man who entered was a grim-faced, glowering man who gazed about him with the natural suspicion of a shepherd in an inn full of rustlers. Baldwin knew him as Hugh, Simon’s oldest and most trusted servant. Hugh had no great affection for dogs other than the native sheepdogs he had grown up with as a shepherd out near Drewsteignton.

‘Hugh, please come and take some wine or ale. What are you doing here?’

‘Have a note.’

Baldwin smiled as he took the scrap from the taciturn man, and read slowly. Gradually, his smile faded, to be replaced with a cold scowl. ‘How is Simon now?’

‘Angry.’

‘And Meg?’

‘My lady is very anxious.’

‘She is right to be.’

‘Husband? What is it?’ Jeanne asked.

Quickly Baldwin explained what had happened to Simon. ‘He asks me to send for help from Stapledon.’

‘Is he in Exeter? The Bishop is so often away in London and elsewhere.’

‘I think he should be there,’ Baldwin said. ‘I will send Edgar to seek him out.’

Hugh nodded, then turned and would have gone, but Baldwin called him back.

‘Wait, man! Where are you going?’

‘Back to Lydford. Don’t know what the man’ll do next, but my master needs me. I was the only man he could send to you, but he’ll be in danger without me.’

‘Wait, Hugh. I will be with you in the time it takes to have a horse prepared. Jeanne, do not worry about me. I shall be back in a day or two, but this matter must be resolved. The idea that Simon and Margaret could have their house stolen from over them is appalling.’

Jeanne smiled, although with a trace of fear. ‘That is fine, Baldwin. But why should Despenser seek to hurt Simon?’

‘That, my love, I hope to learn before long,’ Baldwin said. ‘Sadly, I expect it is only a vengeful, brutish sport for him. Nothing more. Still, we shall inquire as best we may.’

Monday before Feast of Gordianus et Epimachus 24

Beaulieu

The King threw down the notes and swore again. It was enough to make Sir Hugh le Despenser want to hit him. This temperamental display was growing tedious. Christ’s teeth, he had better things to be doing than listening to the regular complaints of the King.

‘The shits! They think they can scare me into this pathetic peace! I should be negotiating with-’

‘There is no one with whom you may negotiate. Not now. If you wish to keep your territories in France, you have to remain constant to the French King, my Liege.’

‘Constant to him? The base-born bastard wants all my lands. Mark my words, Sir Hugh, he won’t be content until he holds the keys to the Tower itself! He complains of my behaviour, but he would scarcely dare to do so to my face! In God’s name, the man steals from me and then demands I pay him for his efforts!’

‘Your reply will be sent once you have consulted?’ Despenser said with a mild yawn.

‘Yes. Ayrminne and Stratford must do their best as soon as I know the council is behind me. But it’s so unreasonable. I think I may write to the Pope and beg his assistance. Perhaps if he were to consider the matter …’

‘What good could he do?’

The King snapped, ‘The Pope could instruct the French to be more bloody reasonable ! I’m expected to surrender my territories to the French Crown, perform homage, and hope that they’ll be restored to me, and all in so short a breadth of time as to make it next to impossible! Is that fair?’

‘Of course not,’ Despenser said smoothly. It was not the first time the King had made this speech, and he knew it would not be the last. However, it was dull to have the same arguments regurgitated so often in the space of only a few days, and Despenser was heartily bored with it.

‘And what of the other matter?’

‘I do not know what you mean.’

The King span to face him. ‘You were investigating the theft of my oil, Sir Hugh! I want that oil back — I must have it back! It could be my salvation.’

‘Why now? What does it really matter?’

The King shivered. ‘Build up that fire!’ he commanded a servant, and then he eyed Despenser. ‘What does it really matter, you say? I tell you this, Sir Hugh, that oil may just protect me and the Crown. Have you not paused to think what it may be worth to me? If the French do take my lands in France, what then could I do, other than retire in shame? But if I could make use of the oil, then I may become revered again. People would look upon me and think, “Yes, he has been anointed with the oil blessed by the Holy Virgin and St Thomas!” That would mean people would respect me again, and then, perhaps I could take a host to France, even win back my lands again, and all …’

Despenser listened with a rapt expression on his face. To listen to the King, it was almost possible to believe that he was rational. Could he seriously believe that the mere presence of a cardinal or bishop with a pottle of oil could change the attitude of his barons and people? Perhaps he did. In Christ’s name, Despenser thought, it is fortunate that I am here to protect the King, because if I weren’t, he would lose his crown, realm and probably head in an instant.

‘So I need that oil, Sir Hugh,’ the King finished. He held out a hand, and Despenser was ashamed to see that the King had tears in his eyes. Not tears of shame or embarrassment, though, only those of a man who saw salvation. ‘You understand me, don’t you? I must have it so that the people can renew their faith in me.’

Despenser studied him a moment, then nodded. ‘I have issued instructions to the Sheriff of Kent to eradicate the outlaws who are living in those woods. There is as yet no sign of them. It is quite possible that they have moved somewhere else. In the meantime, I did not worry you about this when you had so many other concerns,’ this was as close to irony as he dared sail, ‘but I am fairly content that the dead man was Richard de Yatton. You remember him?’

The King shook his head.

‘He was with you when you were last in York, and I think he served you when you were at Castle Rising.’

‘I think I vaguely remember him … a strong jaw, square face?’

‘That was him, yes. He left here to take a message to your son, and never returned, so far as I know.’

‘What else?’

‘I have had my own men visit the Christ Church Priory, and they have told me that the oil was stolen from a monk there, who was himself slain. The man who committed the murder ran off into the night. But it is said that he was seen, and that he was a man just like Richard de Yatton. He was described even down to his tabard.’