The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25)

by Michael Jecks

  But it did not seem right with Jack. Jack had been so helpful, so friendly, that he surely couldn’t be involved with Despenser.

  He couldn’t be.

  Near Sherborne, Dorset

  Simon could not help but keep casting sidelong glances at Baldwin all the way as they rode, Wolf reluctantly loping along behind them.

  They had made good time so far. Two days ago, after Baldwin had stated his desire to hurry, their little party had reached Okehampton by evening. Yesterday they had reached Furnshill fairly early, and then Simon and Baldwin carried on at a more urgent pace, and to Simon’s surprise they reached the old town of Ilminster. With luck today they might get as far as Shaftsbury, and tomorrow, perhaps, they would get to Winchester, although Baldwin had already said that they would be best served by making sure that they reached Stockbridge and then letting their mounts have a good rest.

  Baldwin had been a good friend for so long now that Simon could hardly remember a time when they had not been companions. It was nearly ten years ago when they first met, over the fire at the little vill. They had discovered a band of trail bastons, ‘club men’ who were ravaging the countryside and killing wantonly. There were so many men who took to violence in those terrible days. The famine was hitting everybody hard, and there were starving families all over the country. Although Devon was not so badly affected as some regions, that only meant that there was an incentive to foreigners from up-country – Somerset and Wiltshire and beyond – to travel to Devon to steal what they could. That was what it felt like at the time, anyway.

  Simon had been new to his elevated position as bailiff. It had been largely due to Baldwin’s help that he had caught the trail bastons and firmly secured himself to his post at Lydford. How ironic it would be if he was now to lose everything because of his friendship with Baldwin.

  ‘I don’t know that this is the best thing to do, Baldwin,’ he said at last. ‘Despenser is an irrational creature. He knows that you and I are thorns in his flesh. What if he decides that the best way to remove us both is to have us murdered?’

  ‘If he were likely to reach that conclusion, and thought he might get away with it,’ Baldwin said, ‘he would already have done so. No, he is a shrewd and cunning man. If there was merit in killing us, he would have sent that man Wattere with more men and killed you as soon as possible. But he did not. All he did in truth was send you warning that he intended to deal with you at some time in the future.’

  ‘True enough, but if he finds that we’ve followed him to London, won’t he think that we’re just growing too annoying to be supported? He’d rather just remove us.’

  ‘So you think you’d be best served by remaining at home and hiding?’

  Simon wanted to make a sharp rejoinder, but instead he looked away. The idea of running from any man was repugnant to him, but there were some situations which deserved caution, and this was one such. The man Despenser was the most dangerous in the whole country. He had money, men, and the ear of the King. ‘Running away has never been part of my character.’

  ‘Nor mine. You could run away from him, Simon, but if you do, you will be forced to run for ever. Yes, if you were to sell the house in Lydford and return to Sandford, he would be thwarted for a little while, but he’d soon find you. He has spies all over the country. But it’s not you he wants, I don’t think. I hope I do not suffer from unjustified arrogance when I say that I think he is more concerned about me.’

  ‘So what do you intend to do?’

  Baldwin gave a twisted grin. ‘I hope to have a chance to have a frank talk with him. I have never sought to be thrown into politics. At every possible opportunity I have tried to avoid it. And he may not realise that, nor that I have done all in my power to keep away from him. It is not that I mean to harm his interests, only that I have barged into his affairs wherever I have gone. He is strangely ubiquitous.’

  ‘And then, because you have always seen that his affairs tend to be unjust and unfair to the others who are affected, that is the only reason you have deliberately thwarted him?’ Simon said. ‘I don’t think that is entirely the right way to convince him to leave you alone, Baldwin!’

  ‘Perhaps not. But I would have an accommodation with him if it were possible. I do not wish to live with a permanent fear of him, dreading what he may do to Jeanne or the children; nor what he might do to you and your family. That is unbearable. So if I am forced, I will beg of him that he leaves me in peace.’

  ‘Beg?’

  ‘For the peace of my family and yours, yes I would beg,’ Baldwin said firmly.

  ‘Well, if we are to endure such an unpleasant experience, let’s get it over with,’ Simon said.

  ‘Yes. If only we had something we could use against him,’ Baldwin said. ‘I would feel much happier entering negotiations with him knowing that I had something more than begging as a last resort.’

  ‘I think you will have to wish for that.’

  ‘Yes … and yet we did wonder about the oil, didn’t we? The oil stolen from the King.’

  ‘Yes. And we agreed to avoid Despenser.’

  ‘We would be happy to do so, Simon, if only he had left us alone. But when we considered the murder and the theft of the oil, you were asking me about the dead man in the woods, weren’t you? Do you remember, I said that perhaps the killer of that man was the same as the murderer of Gilbert at the priory? The man killed Gilbert, stole the oil, and took to horse through the woods towards the King. He met with a man in the woods, and sought to …’

  ‘Sought to what?’ Simon demanded irritably.

  ‘I just had a most curious thought,’ Baldwin said. ‘What if he sought to conceal his identity by throwing his tabard on to the dead man he saw at the side of the road?’

  ‘How would that work? Unless he was a herald himself, of course,’ Simon scoffed, and then frowned.

  ‘Yes, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? A man who was dressed as a herald would know that a king’s herald would be sought for the murder of Gilbert, so as soon as he could, he threw aside that uniform. From that moment he would be seen as an innocent when it came to the murder. People would seek a man in that tabard, and failing that, they would assume the murderer was dead. They wouldn’t know who to seek.’

  Simon frowned. ‘But they would still search for the murderer of the herald.’

  ‘Perhaps so. But it would be some local man, not a fellow from the King’s household, wouldn’t it? So they would hardly realise who it was they questioned. And in fact, so long as the murdrum fine was paid, there would be little need for them to investigate further. The coroner and King would be content so long as the money was in the King’s coffers.’

  ‘So the herald killed a stranger, and then ran into the woods with his oil?’

  ‘It is one possibility. I say no more than that.’

  ‘Then we need to consider who had a desire for the oil.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘And we already considered that, didn’t we? We both felt it was likely that only one man would have dared such a bold theft.’

  ‘But why should Despenser want the oil?’ Simon said. ‘It makes no sense. He could not hope to be crowned, so the oil would have no benefit to him.’

  ‘The only advantage it might hold would lie in the properties of the oil itself. Perhaps he thought that such a blessed unguent might help him?’ Baldwin guessed. ‘Or the alternative would be that he sought to hold on to it until the King’s need became overwhelming, and then intended to blackmail the King.’

  ‘Would he dare?’

  ‘There is little Despenser would not dare, given his appalling arrogance and greed,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘But there is another possibility, of course. Perhaps he wanted it solely so that he could ask the King to have it used urgently now, to give him the sort of aid his reign requires.’

  ‘And to do so, he was prepared to see a monk murdered. Hardly the way to ingratiate the King with God,’ Simon said with contempt.

  ‘Despenser’s mi
nd works in very strange ways,’ Baldwin agreed.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  First Monday after Ascension Day31

  Thorney Island, Westminster

  William Wattere was not happy to be here in the Bishop’s entourage. He had not actually been bound during the journey, but at all times the Bishop had two powerful men at his side, and it was clear enough that a severe bump on the head was the minimum he could expect, were he to try to escape.

  The journey had been slow, too. That would not endear him to his master. Christ’s cods, the last thing he needed just now was to upset Despenser, when he had failed in his main task at the bastard bailiff’s house in Devon. Not much he could do about it, though. The bailiff had snatched him up with skill, and then having him confess while in front of the Bishop had been something he could almost admire, were it not for the fact that he could have happily cut out the bailiff’s liver and eaten it raw for making him seem a fool. He’d have that bastard. His arm still smarted badly from the cut the man had given him. It had been washed extensively by the Bishop’s men, but it still stung, and although it hadn’t gone sour and sweet-smelling, it was painful while riding. The skin seemed to have tightened, and gripping the reins made it stretch, which hurt like hell.

  The pain was not helped by the reflection that he was daily coming closer to his master, to whom he would have to explain his failure. Approaching Westminster made him feel deeply uncomfortable.

  At the entrance to the palace itself, he felt the weight of the gatehouse over his head like a threat, and just inside, when the Bishop ordered that he dismount, he was tempted to disobey and bolt for it, but he knew that it would not save him even if he tried it.

  No, he would have to accept what fate had in store.

  Simon and Baldwin had been here for over a day already. They had managed to make excellent time from Stockbridge, and were here in Westminster late on the Saturday. However, both were very tired, and now they sat outside the tavern by the gate, watching Wattere and the Bishop.

  ‘Come, Simon. Let us go and reintroduce ourselves to our friend,’ Baldwin said.

  Simon flexed the muscles of his hand, feeling the stinging where Wattere’s blade had cut into his palm. ‘I’d like to do that.’

  They stood and began to make their way over the great court, but before they could reach the Bishop’s party, another group arrived. A man rode out in front, a knight, from the look of him. Then came several others, all well-mounted on dexters, and a man on a palfrey who looked considerably less martial.

  As Baldwin and Simon stood back hurriedly, the party swept past them in a rush of dust and hot air. The horses puffed and blew, one neighing, while carts and a wagon clattered in through the gates, and it was only when all was still, the horses stamping, that Simon saw the flag.

  ‘The King’s son,’ he said.

  Richard of Bury eased himself from the saddle with some care, feeling the hideous soreness, and settled himself on the ground with that caution that only men who have experienced piles while needing to ride a horse could possibly understand.

  ‘Thanks to Christ!’ he murmured as he sighed with relief. The pain of that journey had been hideous, although, if he had to be honest, it could have been worse. Fortunately, his young charge was kind to him, and had not forced the pace at all. And there was plenty of time before they had to be here, so it wasn’t as though there was a need for urgency. No, but for all that, the saddle did mean that his backside felt as though someone had taken to rubbing sand and salt into his arse, and that was not a happy sensation.

  The Earl himself, of course, had the constitution of an ox, while his arse was as solid as a block of oak. As much sense in it as in most men’s heads, too, he added to himself bitterly. But there was no need to be foolish. He was just a young lad who was perfectly used to travel, and to riding his horses. He took the damn things out every day. At least he was comfortable just now. It would mean that Richard would have an easier evening. Which was good, because Bury intended an early night, involving something along the lines of three jugs of good wine …

  ‘Master?’

  ‘What? Who are you, and what do you want?’

  ‘I am called Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Master. And what are you called?’

  ‘Don’t be impertinent, Sir Knight. I am the tutor to the Earl of Chester, by the grace of God. I asked you what your business was?’

  ‘And I, in return, ask politely that you stop being such a rude person and instead treat your betters with the respect which they are due,’ Baldwin said, and his smile held that strange quality which Simon had seen before, of being a smile with the bottom teeth only. It reminded him of a story he had once heard of a beast abroad, a great reptile, with an enormous jaw studded with many teeth, and which appeared to smile all the time – until a man approached too close and realised his error.

  ‘Um, Baldwin, perhaps you should—’

  ‘I wish to pass on a message to the Earl of Chester,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘You can speak to me. You are Sir Baldwin, you say?’

  Simon felt his heart plummet. Behind him came the clear voice, as yet unbroken, of a boy of tender years. Boys of that age could be capricious, dangerous, and when as powerful as this Earl of Chester, the first in line to the throne, they were still more lethal. Simon glowered at his friend, but Baldwin appeared oblivious.

  ‘I am honoured to meet you, my Lord,’ he said, bowing low as he would to the King. ‘I have a message for you from Her Royal Highness, your mother.’

  ‘You have seen my mother?’ The Earl’s excitement was unfeigned and so eager was he, that Simon forgot his fear of upsetting the boy. He sounded so much like other lads he had heard in his home town when they had news of long-departed fathers.

  The Earl of Chester was an extraordinarily good-looking boy, he saw. Fair-haired, with his hair held long, much like his father, he had the ease in the saddle of a man who spent much of his time hunting. He was quite powerfully built, too, with the shoulders and neck of a lad much older. It must be due to all his practising with sword and lance, Simon told himself. It had paid off well. Already, although the lad was very young, Simon could see that he would be a dangerous opponent.

  Now, though, his blue eyes were fixed on Baldwin with a strange intensity. He was much like an older man in that, too. Simon would get to realise that this fellow would concentrate on a man like a philosopher on an abstruse concept, reading and rereading the person until he felt he understood him. Perhaps living in a household with two strong, powerful, but sadly out of love and opposed parents would do that to a boy. He would feel a great urge to understand people.

  ‘Speak, sir!’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘Your mother asked us to say that she hopes you are strong and healthy, that you remember your lessons, and that you pray for her with as much affection and love as she uses when praying for you. She said to say that she misses you sorely, and that she is desperate to see you again. She said to send you her love.’

  The Earl smiled and the tension seemed to leave him in an instant. ‘I knew that she would not have forgotten me. When you return to her, please tell her from me that—’

  ‘My Lord, I fear we are not returning to Paris,’ Baldwin said hurriedly. ‘We have spent too much time away from our lands already. We have wives, and cannot leave them any longer.’

  ‘Lands? Do you not have stewards? And wives? My retainers all have to leave them behind. It is a part of service. No, when you return to her, I shall have a message for you to take. For now, though, you may leave me.’

  And thus dismissed by the haughty Earl, Baldwin and Simon bowed and retreated before he could issue any more commands.

  ‘That was a happy experience,’ Simon said sarcastically.

  ‘Simon, what would you have had me do? Pretend that there was no message? What, then, when she returns and asks why he did not reply? We should have been in serious trouble, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘In God’s name, though … you
don’t think he will send us back, do you?’

  ‘There is every possibility of it, I fear.’

  ‘Dear God! How can we escape it?’

  Baldwin looked at him with slow deliberation as they paused at the door to the tavern at the gate once more. There was an enormity of shock in his eyes, like a man who bent to stroke a small lap-dog, only to be bitten by the mastiff behind. ‘All I did was pass on her message.’

  ‘You had best start thinking about how we can avoid this, Baldwin. We cannot run from our wives again,’ Simon said seriously, as he thought of the man released from the Bishop’s gaol. ‘Let’s have a quick drink to stiffen the sinews, and then find the Bishop and ask his advice.’

  ‘Advice?’ Baldwin said doubtfully.

  ‘He knows politics and he knows Despenser. Who else can we turn to?’

  Wattere had seen the two approaching, and had hurriedly slipped away, leaving the Bishop’s horse with a groom and moving swiftly along the courtyard to the gate which took him past the great hall, and down to the side door. Outside it, he found a guard who recognised him and was able to point him in the direction of the small chamber where Sir Hugh le Despenser was working.

  Despenser was standing at his table, barking questions at his clerks. He did not turn as Wattere opened the door, plainly assuming that whoever could have entered his chamber was little threat to him. However, one of the clerks did make a gesture towards him, and suddenly his master turned to face him. An eyebrow rose in sardonic amusement at the sight of him.

  ‘So you didn’t enjoy your stay at the Bishop’s pleasure?’

  ‘He kept me in his gaol! Like a common thief!’

  ‘When you are nothing of the sort, are you? There is little common about you, my friend. You are a very special form of thief.’

  Wattere said nothing, but watched Despenser coolly.

  ‘Did you manage to evict that bailiff? No. Did you upset the knight? No again. You do not strike me as a particularly successful functionary.’