Michael Jecks - The Prophecy of Death

‘No, I have not,’ Baldwin said reasonably. ‘I have decided I need to return to speak with him, though, to try to ensure that there is no further risk to Simon and Margaret from his men. There is no point in his attacking people who have nothing whatever to do with his affairs. If that itself will not work, I shall petition the King himself.’

‘When you say there’s no point in his attacking someone, you mean yourself?’

‘Jeanne, I have not picked a fight with the man. Not intentionally, at least. Yet he now appears to blame me for something which he is solely responsible for. If he proposed to hound us to death, I may as well ask why. And if I can deflect a little of his ire from Simon and Margaret, that is worth attempting.’

‘You are going again, then? How long will you be gone this time?’

‘In honesty, I do not know. All I can say is, I shall be home again as soon as I may be,’ Baldwin said.

‘Husband, I ask you not to go,’ Jeanne said. Her face was pale, and she leaned towards him beseechingly. ‘Please, Baldwin, don’t do this. I have already missed you so much this year, and I do not want to have to live as your widow yet.’

‘I will not be gone for too long. Hopefully only a week or so,’ Baldwin said. ‘Now, Margaret, do not fret, and don’t think of moving from here yet. Leave it to me, and I shall let you know the best thing to do.’

‘But I have already decided to leave Lydford and return to Sandford. It is more sensible. It is safer there, and nearer to you.’

‘That itself does make sense,’ Baldwin muttered.

Another horse clattered over the cobbles, and Simon crossed to Baldwin’s side. ‘I can’t leave you to go alone, Baldwin.’

‘In heaven’s name,’ Baldwin cried. ‘Is there anybody else? Do you want to bring your chickens, too?’

‘You are both determined?’ Jeanne said, looking from one to the other. ‘Is there nothing that your wives can say to you both that would cause you to reconsider? Not our sorrow, nor our fears? How safe will Margaret be here if you go away, Simon? How safe will I be, if Baldwin’s gone from his home?’

That was also in Baldwin’s mind. He sat on his horse a moment, considering. ‘Simon, could you have Hugh travel? Good. Then let him accompany Margaret and Jeanne along with Edgar. Your Peterkin will go with them, as well as any valuables, and Edgar will deposit them at my house. They will be safe enough at Furnshill, won’t they, Edgar?’

‘Aye. Especially if I can recruit a couple of men from the vill.’

‘Then it is settled. Margaret, you are to bring your boy to Furnshill, where you will have a peaceful time. Meanwhile, I should install someone else here in your house, someone who can defend it,’ Baldwin continued.

Simon grinned. ‘There is another bailiff from the moors who’d like the chance to live here: Ham Upcott. I’ll ask him to come. He’d enjoy beating up a king’s officer or a man from Despenser.’

‘Make sure he realises the sort of men we’re talking of, Simon,’ Baldwin warned. ‘These are harder men than many about here.’

‘Christ’s cods — do you really think so?’ Simon asked. ‘You’ve forgotten what sort of men they are who mine for tin on the moors. I’d have more sympathy for the next poor fool Despenser sends down here, than for a moorland bailiff.’

Vigil of Ascension Day 30

Guildford

Jack’s worst fears were not realised.

To his amazement, the men who were with the King were so efficient and organised that every day, the majority of the men set off before dawn, and the next lodgings were always ready before they stopped travelling. This meant that they were outpacing Jack and the Bishop’s journey from Canterbury to Beaulieu, which was only helped by the fact that the roads were much better here. The King was often about this part of his realm, Jack assumed, and the Keepers of the King’s Peace maintained the roads and verges with more care than elsewhere in the country.

‘Are you all right?’

Thomas was at his side, riding along with a fixed expression of distaste on his face every time he caught sight of the Despenser or his men. ‘I am fine.’

It was fortunate that Jack had possessed two blankets, for having seen what Despenser had done to Thomas’s own, he was able to share one of his. It did mean he grew a little chilly on some of the evenings, but for the most part he was fine, and it was good to feel that he had performed an act of kindness. A strange feeling, but curiously warming to the soul. ‘You should try not to keep staring at him.’

‘Despenser? Why not? He ravaged my belongings, accused me of murder, suggested I stole the King’s possessions, and you think I should forgive and forget?’

‘Neither. But I do recommend that you leave him alone. He’s too powerful, too rich, for you to think of hurting him.’

‘Perhaps so — but I can dream!’

‘Save your dreams for the night. You don’t want to fall from your horse.’

‘No. And thank you.’

‘What for?’

‘For helping to keep me sane. Without you helping me, I daresay I would have tried to jump on him and kill him. And that wouldn’t help me a great deal.’

‘It would be one way of ending all your wordly problems,’ Jack said with ponderous humour.

‘I’d rather find another means of resolving them.’

‘Good. Now, since he says you stole a possession from the King — can you tell me what this was supposed to be?’

‘There is a phial of oil at Canterbury — or was. It was given by St Thomas, they say, to help our King.’

‘So it was that? I heard about the robbery — it was the week before I got to Canterbury with the Bishop. Who would want to steal it?’ Jack asked.

‘Only someone who intends the King harm. Or someone who wants to do someone else good, I suppose.’

‘If this is holy oil from St Thomas, then it must be marvellous indeed, and very potent.’

‘I believe so. But since it’s been stolen, we may never know.’

‘Why does he say you stole it?’

‘I happened to be there at the priory a few days before the theft.’

‘So were many, I daresay. That’s no reason to accuse you.’

‘Yes. I don’t know why he thinks I may have taken it. I can’t see any reason to.’

‘You don’t hate the King, then?’ Jack said lightly, but regretted his words as soon as he spoke them. ‘Ignore my words. I sound like a cheap spy trying to have you confess to treason just so I can have you arrested.’

‘It is all right. No, I don’t hate the King. And I love our Queen. Those two I would do much for.’

‘But not Despenser, eh?’

‘Him, I would not piss on him if he was on fire,’ Thomas said, and in his mind’s eye he saw that cruel, arrogant face once more, spitting at the ground after he had cuffed Thomas for reaching to his dying brother during the coronation.

If he could, he would happily kill any number of Despenser’s men — and Despenser himself, if he had the chance.

It was late that night, when Thomas had rolled himself up in his blanket and cloak to keep the night chill off, sharing some straw for his bedding with a number of other men and some rats, that he suddenly woke.

He was not usually good at waking up. To him early mornings were a form of unpleasant torture that must perforce be endured, rather than enjoyed. But this time he woke with a start as though suddenly hearing the last trumpet.

It was no trumpet, though. Perhaps a rat had scrabbled past, too close to ignore, too fast to see? Or was it a random thought, something which had sparked like flint and steel in his brain and made him wake?

He was aware of the talk he had had with Jack earlier in the day, and suddenly he felt a wariness. Jack had said that he sounded like a spy, and in truth, yes, he did. It was precisely the kind of conversation which a spy would have had with a man, letting his words ramble on until enough had been said and the spy could denounce him.