Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘It is one thing for you, a knight and well-travelled man who has seen much of the world,’ Simon muttered, ‘but I fail to see what a mere Bailiff from the moors can do to help him discuss matters of great importance.’

‘Perhaps he wishes the views of the common man,’ Baldwin laughed. ‘The most common man he could think of!’

Tuesday before the Feast of St Julian 2

Great Hall, Thorney Island

The next day was the sort of day that only a frog could like. Cold, grey, miserable, and wet. God, was it wet!

Earl Edmund of Kent detested it. He was happier by far in warmer climes, but he was forced to remain here in England against his wishes, just because any man who left his manors could return to find them filched by that gannet Despenser.

There was a sermon Edmund had once heard preached by the Archbishop, which said that no man should covet his neighbour’s property or cattle or wife. But that had never been made clear to Sir Hugh, plainly. Everyone knew what sort of man Despenser was. He controlled access to the King, demanding payment before he would allow anyone to submit a petition, restricting visits to only those whom he knew would not embarrass him. He helped himself to anything he wanted. And now Earl Edmund was sure that he wanted his estates and title too. It wasn’t good enough that his father had been made Earl of Winchester and that the title would become his on the older Despenser’s death. No, Sir Hugh had always been greedy for immediate gratification, and now he wanted his own Earldom.

‘The man is intolerable!’ he muttered.

‘My Lord?’

‘ Sweet Jesus!’ Earl Edmund blurted, starting at the sudden interruption to his thoughts.

From behind a large pillar, Piers de Wrotham cast a look up and down the hall before beckoning his master into the darkness, out of reach of torchlight. ‘I have news,’ he breathed.

‘Well?’

Piers was agitated. Even the Earl could see that. His fingernails were bitten almost to the quick, and his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. ‘Master, you are in great danger.’

Earl Edmund felt a tightening in his throat. Ever since the shameful truce he had agreed with the French last year, he had expected to be arrested and held in the Tower, or to suffer a simpler fate, grabbed one night from behind and stabbed in the back while his mouth was covered. ‘Who is it?’

‘Sir Hugh. He wants you to die,’ Piers said earnestly.

‘There is little new in that!’ Earl Edmund said, unimpressed. ‘He never liked the fact that I used to be the King’s constant companion. It made me a rival for his affections.’

‘There is more. I have heard,’ Piers continued, ‘that he intends to make it impossible for the King to travel to France. He cannot afford for Edward to leave the country without him, but daren’t go to France himself.’

‘What could he do to make it impossible for the King to go?’

‘He could harm him — wound him sufficiently so that he couldn’t travel?’

‘Not even he would dare do something like that. If his plot became known, the King could well decide to charge him with attempted regicide — and that would mean death.’

Piers shook his head. ‘But my Lord, you have to understand, he is desperate. If he is left alone here with the King in France, the barons will undoubtedly slay him. But if he goes with the King, the French have already declared that they will execute him as their own enemy. He must do anything he can to keep the King over here.’

‘What could he do?’ Edward asked again. ‘He must either make King Edward so fearful of travelling that he dare not, or make it appear that our King has committed some crime against the French that would sufficiently annoy their own King … What could he have attempted?’

‘My Lord, because he wishes to ruin you in the eyes of the King, perhaps he could seek to make more of your failings in France last year. Perhaps he seeks to send someone else to make a better truce than the one that exists.’

‘Aye.’ Better than the one I sealed, Edmund told himself. ‘How would that hurt me?’

‘If he were to persuade the King that he had learned you were plotting against him, or that you were negotiating with the French to take over the lands which were confiscated from the Crown, you could be arrested. And of course if you resisted arrest, you could be stabbed in the ensuing struggle. It would make for a simple resolution.’

‘The bastard! I shall double my guards immediately!’

‘Protect yourself, my Lord.’

‘Aye. And take a care yourself, Piers. But find out anything you can about any plots he may have.’

‘That I will, my Lord. And you shall be the first to learn everything,’ Piers promised.

‘What else for now?’

‘The same as before, my Lord. I should continue to demonstrate your ability as a politician. You are cleverer than almost any other at court.’

‘And what action should I take?’

‘You have to prove that you are more worthy of trust than Despenser. Well, you know that he wishes only to keep the King with him here in England. The best outcome for the King would be for a strong negotiator to go to France …’

‘You think I should recommend myself?’ the Earl snapped. ‘Do you realise I am being blamed for all the ills of the realm since I negotiated the truce last year? It was Despenser’s fault, but …’

‘My Lord, I know all that. However, if you were to propose someone who had diplomatic skills, who knew the French King, who was fluent in his language, even Sir Hugh le Despenser could hardly argue. And it would delay the need for the King to go so soon.’

‘How could that upset Sir Hugh? It is all that he could wish too.’

‘If you can persuade some of your peers, some Bishops and others, so that Sir Hugh does not suggest it himself, perhaps it would lead to the Queen being selected on your advice. Then the success of her mission would redound to your credit.’

‘You are sure she would be successful?’

Piers looked at him with that unblinking expression the Earl knew so well. ‘How could the sister of the French King fail?’

His voice was calm, but there was a faintly accusing tone in it which implied that the Earl should not doubt her ability. ‘Very well. So my strength is to advise this before the Despenser?’

‘It is merely another proof of your statesmanship compared with his muddle.’

Earl Edmund nodded. It was little enough, but in this context every little would help. He had a long journey to make up the distance he had lost over last year’s war.

‘Very well, Piers. I shall start on this. You keep on at your sources, though, and see what else I may use to the detriment of the Despenser.’

Piers nodded, sidling deeper into the shadows as Earl Edmund marched off back into the light, his body casting a shadow that lengthened over the floor as he went.

Sighing, Piers turned away. It was sad to betray the Earl, for he rather liked the man. But money was money, and knew no loyalty.

Thursday before the Feast of St Julian 1

Hall of the Bishop of Bath and Wells, Straunde

Edmund Woodstock, Earl of Kent, was disgruntled to be made to stand here, kicking his heels until the Bishop deigned to appear. Apart from anything else, he was hungry. He’d come here as soon as he could, before even breakfast, to catch the Bishop first thing after his morning Mass.

He was an Earl, half-brother to the King, an important man, and this petty cleric kept him hanging about like a berner awaiting his lord and master’s command to set the hounds loose. He had half a mind to leave this damned palace and make his way homewards to the inn he was renting, when he heard feet on the steps outside.