It was quite impressive, really, he thought. Now – the next problem was what to do with the information.
But there was no struggle there. He knew what to do. His years as an outlaw had made him keen on the acquisition of treasure, and this information should be worth a few pennies. The question that exercised him was, who he should sell it to?
He knew already.
The Bishop of Orange looked up when the tentative knock came on his door. ‘Yes?’
Nicholas walked in with that reticence so typical of a friar who was unsure of his welcome, and less certain of his own position generally.
Since giving Despenser all he had wanted, Nicholas had been ignored by the magnate. Perhaps that was no bad thing. His throat was still bruised where Despenser had grabbed him. The man had the sensitivity of an ox. And it was Nicholas who’d pointed out the potential resolution to Despenser’s problems. The man should have been grateful, curse his name.
At least the Bishop had given him some security, which was a huge relief.
‘What do you want, friar?’
Nicholas smiled anxiously. ‘I wanted to know when we were likely to return to France, my Lord?’
‘I imagine that our business will be completed here within the week. I most certainly hope so. I am supposed to be going straight to the Pope, as you know.’
‘I am most grateful, my Lord Bishop.’
‘I do not imagine that you will be enormously popular with His Holiness, any more than you are here in England, though.’
‘You are quite possibly correct there, my Lord. But I have to consider that my life will be safer in France with the Pope than here with the English King. He is so entirely devoted to his adviser that any man who seeks to help him but who is forced to speak the truth about the Despenser is inevitably harmed.’
‘And you want to tell the Pontiff about this oil again?’
‘When I brought news of it to him originally, I was hoping for his aid to validate the rumours about the oil, but no longer. Now I am convinced of it. And it is more important than I had realised. You see, it has been stolen and could fall into the wrong hands.’
‘And whose hands would be so wrong?’
‘I am coming to the conclusion,’ Nicholas said, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, ‘that the worst possible hands would be the King’s. King Edward, were he to win the oil of St Thomas, could become successful. But look at him, my Lord! Were he to have the oil used on him, he could become invincible!’
‘You think that the oil could have such a supernatural effect?’ the Bishop asked. There was no sarcasm in his voice, he was genuinely seeking Nicholas’s opinion.
‘If St Thomas was right, and this was given to him by the Blessed Virgin Mary, then I think so, yes. The man who possesses this oil must be entirely safe from any enemy, surely.’
‘Then to whom should the oil be given, if not to the King?’
‘To his son. From all I have heard, Earl Edward is a bright, intelligent young man. And he is not prey to the same – um – unfortunate urges.’
‘Interesting. So you think that we should seek out the oil and give it to the boy?’
Nicholas stared at him very straightly. ‘I think we should do all in our power to prevent either the King or his adviser Despenser acquiring it. That is the most important thing.’
The Bishop leaned back and eyed him coldly. ‘That is interesting.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Earl Edward grunted to himself with relief as he sprawled on his bed, a large mazer of wine in his hand. When the knock came at his door, he winced and shouted, ‘If that is you, Richard, I am going to sleep. I suggest you do the same!’
‘Ah, my Lord, I would be so grateful for the opportunity, were I able to take it. Alas, I have to see to my young master’s comforts before I can think of my own.’
‘Yours is a terrible life, old friend,’ the Earl said ironically.
‘Aye, I think truly I suffer more than many would guess,’ Richard said. ‘And now, has my pupil managed to study the works I have submitted to him?’
‘You seriously believe that I have had a spare moment to look at the books you sent me?’
‘Master, I fear you have so little time to investigate the wisdom of the ancients, you should take advantage of each and every opportunity.’
‘Perhaps you do at that, Richard. And what if I disagree?’
‘Then you have every right to do so. And I will be forced to accept your word. However, that would mean that I would be unable to finish my work with you, so I would be forced to resign my post at your side, which is something I would deeply regret, but it would be absolutely necessary.’
‘Oh, really,’ the Earl replied without any conviction whatever.
‘Yes. Truly.’
‘What is it you want me to learn about today, then?’
‘I had wondered about the story of Solomon, when he was anointed by Zadok the priest.’
‘Why?’
‘It seemed a suitable reference for you, my Lord.’
‘You realise, do you, that my father’s oil of St Thomas has been stolen?’
‘Yes. I had heard. That was why I thought it might be a good time to consider the importance of anointing.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ the Earl demanded, rolling over on his bed until his feet were on the floor, and then lifting himself up to stand.
‘It is nothing to upset you, my Lord. I was wondering whether you were aware of the different attitudes to anointing, that is all. And whether you realised that the anointing has little importance from the perspective of the oil itself.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It is very simple. The oil is a carrier. It brings the blessing of God upon you when the priest makes the mark of God upon you, but the oil itself is nothing important. It is a means by which God’s blessing arrives.’
‘Are you trying to say that St Thomas’s oil is worthless?’
‘Hardly that, my Lord. No, but it is not of great value, either. The oil is less important than the standing of the priest. Now King Solomon had Zadok, but were you unworthy, the finest oil and the most revered priest would not avail you. If you went to your coronation with a light, uncaring heart, no matter what the ceremony, you would not win the support of God or Christ.’
‘But if the oil was given to St Thomas by the Blessed Virgin herself?’
‘That may have some impact, in terms of bringing the ceremony to the attention of God, but I would still hold that it is the conviction of the King and what lay in his heart that would carry most importance and, secondly, the purity and belief of the priest. The oil is relatively unimportant in the scheme of things.’
‘Is this the teaching of Christ? Is it in the Bible?’
‘I have seen nothing that says my assertion is untrue.’
‘So it is not, then. Richard, what is your real aim here? You don’t believe that this oil is a nonsense any more than I do.’
‘If men are killing over it, their actions are perverting the oil itself. If this was given to St Thomas by the Blessed Virgin, do you think she would want to have men squabbling over it? Would she want to see blood spilled over it? Of course not. The men who commit such crimes deserve every punishment for their foul deeds.’
The Earl pulled a grimace. ‘You try to scare me? Should I reject such an oil if it comes to me?’
‘I do not mean to do that, my Lord. No, I only seek to show that if it is never found again, it will matter little to you.’
‘And the prophecy?’
‘If you want my honest opinion, my Lord, it matters not a whit.’
‘What!’
‘If the prophecy is valid, my Lord, it matters not at all what men attempt. If you are to be the “Boar from Windsor”, then the presence of the oil will make little difference.’
‘But the prophecy said that I must be anointed by the oil.’
‘And if the oil is necessary, the Holy Mother Mary will b
ring it to you. Do you honestly think that any man could prevent her from ensuring you have it if it is her firm conviction that you should have it? Do you think Despenser could stand between her and you if she wished you to have it? Of course not! To think that would be blasphemy! If she intends you to have it, she will ensure that you do.’
Aye. Aye, she will, the Earl told himself, and aloud, he said, ‘You are right, of course, old friend.’
Inside, he reminded himself that helping the Virgin to achieve her goals was not against her wishes. He would do all he could to ensure that her wishes were carried out.
Simon and Baldwin had been invited to stay with the Bishop of Exeter again in his house, and they made their way to his great hall on the banks of the Thames with a sense that they had achieved little.
‘If only I had seen a man look nervous in front of me, I’d be happier,’ Simon said. ‘But of all the men we saw today, not a one looked as though he was anxious about our questioning. It leaves me wondering whether we have missed the correct man entirely.’
‘That is always possible.’ Baldwin wore a frown. ‘Yet that would mean that the actual murderer is someone entirely divorced from the King’s entourage, and surely the fact that someone knew where to find the herald means that the attacker must have had some information based upon time spent with the King’s household. I can only assume that we are correct and it was a herald or messenger who killed de Yatton.’
‘What if it was someone else, though? Is there someone else who’d have had the ability?’
‘I daresay some men in Despenser’s household would have had the ability; just as someone from the King’s own household would have had. Then again, there are the others.’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘Well, the Queen’s hounds were there and the body was found by her hounds – perhaps her master of hounds …’
‘Baldwin, that could be a touch of brilliance.’
‘Could it? I doubt it. What possible aim could she have had in taking it?’
‘The discomfiture of the King?’
Baldwin stopped in the street and stared at the cobbles all about. ‘But she is busy on her embassy. I never had the impression that she was capable of such dissembling. Did you?’
‘No, but …’ he was tempted to point out that she was both female and French, but Simon held his tongue. There was no need to cause an argument just now, he reasoned to himself. ‘Look, it is not only her, is it? Perhaps others seek to cause our King some difficulty. From Despenser’s attitude, it seems plain to me that the King is unhappy about losing his oil, so perhaps we should look for someone who sought to achieve that.’
‘It would have to be someone with great knowledge of the King. Either that, or someone was merely fortunate in causing this effect.’
‘If it was intended,’ Simon agreed.
Baldwin shook his head. ‘No. By that reasoning I merely return to Sir Roger Mortimer. He is surely the man with the most to repay. His debts to the King and Despenser are very deep. He has lost everything, even his wife and children.’
‘So he would be delighted to irritate the King, then,’ Simon pointed out.
They had reached the Bishop’s house, and knocked upon the gate. The aged porter took one look at them and grunted before opening the door, and they crossed the main yard to the hall.
Simon shook his head. ‘It’s a shame we’re sure that Yatton is dead. If he were alive, it would make the situation easier.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, it would be an elegant solution, wouldn’t it, if Yatton had been the killer. He waited until a man appeared who was about his size, killed him, set his own clothing on him, and then ran away. Perhaps to a widow in the area. But how would a messenger get to know a woman in the vicinity, let alone …’
Baldwin shook his head slowly. ‘It would be easy to see how a man might get to know a woman in the area – if he was travelling up and down the road regularly, he might well meet one. And then he was often late, Joseph said, because he had a religious attitude, so was often delayed. The delays may have been because of his assignations with the woman, rather than visits to a chapel.’
‘But what of the oil?’
‘Yes. It founders on the oil, as you say. The oil. What would be the point? What would he have done with the oil? There was no need to take it.’
Simon shrugged. ‘Mind you, if he were still alive, perhaps he would only have been an agent for another. He could have … what’s the point? We know he’s dead.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘He’s dead. And yet that doesn’t invalidate the inquiry. What could have happened was, he stole the oil himself, and was then killed in his place.’
‘The likelihood of the murderer killing and then being killed in his place?’ Simon said scoffingly. ‘I thought we had discounted that theory.’
‘There were ancient kings who would bury treasure and then kill all those who had worked there to keep the secret,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Men like Despenser would like that concept – maintaining rigid security.’
‘Yes,’ Simon said. Despenser was a threat he could not forget. The man was always in his mind now.
Bishop of Exeter’s House, Straunde
‘Simon, Baldwin! Come in and sit with me.’
The Bishop appeared to be in a thoroughly good temper, and he insisted that they sit beside him, one on each side, while he had his servants bring in bowls for them to wash in, then strong wine for them to drink, and finally a good mess of thick soup with hunks of bread to dip in it. ‘Fill your bellies.’
Baldwin sipped at his, while Simon dived in, his spoon working hard as he plied it from bowl to mouth.
‘Tell me, Sir Baldwin, have you encountered any obstacles in your searches today?’ the Bishop asked him.
Baldwin considered. ‘No. No obstacles erected by those who sought to obstruct, in any case.’
‘But there were others?’
‘We are confused by the lack of witnesses and lack of genuine information. There is a story there, but I have not yet heard it.’
‘I see. Well, perhaps there is nothing to learn, then. Maybe the monk was killed by another monk, there was no herald, and the man left at the roadside was killed in a chance encounter with felons.’
‘But the oil is gone. That is what I keep returning to. The oil.’
‘Well, perhaps the dead herald did have it, but it was taken by the felon who killed him. Stranger things have happened. Perhaps it was in a pretty bottle and he sought to have it.’
‘No. I cannot believe that. An outlaw would look at it, sniff the contents, and discard it. How many beggars of your acquaintance would keep something like that? You distribute alms often enough – would they be glad of a little bottle with oil in it instead of money or food?’
‘True!’ the Bishop said. ‘But where else could it lie?’
‘I do not know,’ Baldwin said. ‘Despenser said he had searched the man Thomas’s belongings, but perhaps …’
He wondered now, remembering the crypt. All those boxes and chests, so many places to conceal a small phial of oil. It would have been easy for a man to hide it. But then, why would the monk Gilbert have gone to the barn to meet with the thief? No, he must have provided the oil to the felon, his accomplice. Perhaps for no other reason than simple money. So often motive came down to the most basic of human urges. And then the felon took the oil and fled the city.
‘Canterbury is a city!’ he muttered.
‘What of it?’ the Bishop asked, startled.
‘Walls. Walls and gates.’
‘You are rambling, Sir Baldwin.’
‘Does it seem so? No, I was reflecting on the fact that the city has walls, and the gates are locked each night. The man killed the monk, and then escaped, so we are led to believe. But it was night time, and that tells me much.’
‘It does?’ Bishop Walter asked bemusedly. ‘What?’
‘I need to speak to two guards of the Bishop of Orange tomor
row,’ Baldwin said with conviction.
First Wednesday after Ascension Day33
Ayrminne walked back to his chamber after Mass with his head bowed as he considered the day ahead. It was to be a long day, from the sound of all the business the King wished to conduct.
‘Master Canon?’
He turned to see the scruffy fellow from the Bishop of Orange’s entourage a matter of yards from him. ‘Yes?’
‘I was hoping you might help me, Canon.’
‘In what way?’ Ayrminne asked bemusedly.
‘The King’s oil.’
‘The oil of St Thomas? What do you know of it?’
‘I think I know where it is, Master.’
Ayrminne felt his belly lurch within his body. ‘You do?’
‘Don’t you, too?’
The anger on Ayrminne’s face was unfeigned. ‘You dare to suggest I would keep back such knowledge from His Majesty, churl? I would rather have my hand cut from my arm than allow any treason! Damn your cods, if I knew anything about it, I’d have told the King immediately.’
‘A man who could tell the King where it was might well be rewarded,’ Jack said more quietly.
‘What of it? If you know where it is, you should tell the authorities now, or suffer the consequences.’
Jack shook his head with a faint smile on his face. ‘I think it’d be safer all around were I to buy it back. The man who provided the money to get it would be well rewarded by the King, and the finder could also benefit, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean this: I think I know where it may be, and I’m prepared to put my life to the hazard of recovering the stuff. But I’ll need a lot of money, in case I need to bribe someone.’
‘How much?’
‘At least a pound. More, if it can be found.’
Ayrminne heard a bell tolling. ‘There is no time now. That is the bell to call everyone to the King’s audience. Come to my chamber – it’s that one up there – when the audience is finished. If you need money, I can provide it, but I’ll need to know exactly what you think has happened.’
The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) Page 30
