The Death of a King
Page 16
“Your son’s!” I exclaimed.
Hugolino knelt down on the ground and wiped the soil from his hands.
“No, Edmund, I said they were from the king of England, and not from my son.”
I told him that this was not the time to draw distinctions between begetting and disinheritance. He grimaced and asked me to sit alongside him.
“Why, Edmund,” he queried, “did the king appoint you to your task? To find me? For what purpose? The people believe that I am dead and, even if I could declare who I am, what difference would it make? The people deposed me and crowned another.”
“The French could use you,” I interrupted, “as a figurehead against the king.”
Hugolino dismissed this with a perfunctory wave of his hand.
“Edmund, Edmund,” he asked, “who would believe them? No, I shall tell you why the king has sent you and others to find me. Because, Edmund, he has less claim to govern England than I. Why? Because he is not my son, but the bastard offspring of Isabella and Roger Mortimer.”
Hugolino stopped my rush of questions with a gesture before continuing.
“I was never sure of the relationship between Isabella and Mortimer until she joined him in France. I began to make inquiries, yes, I even used torture to get to the truth. By questioning members of her household, I found out that Isabella’s relationship with Mortimer dated back years and began during the summer of 1311, while I was in the north. When I learnt of her pregnancy, I was surprised, but the thought of adultery never entered my mind. We’d had intercourse on a few occasions and so conception of a child was not impossible. Only in 1326, when Isabella was abroad, did I find out the truth and I was too proud to proclaim myself a cuckold for the amusement of the rest of Europe.
“How did the present king get to know?” I asked.
Hugolino smiled mirthlessly.
“Just before he went to join his mother in France, I told him. I screamed his bastardy at him and told him to go. I believe Mortimer knew and taunted him with the fact. That’s the real reason behind the coup which overthrew Mortimer and sent him gagged to his death. Now, Edmund, can’t you understand why the king wants me? He believed me dead, whatever the circumstances. When he heard from Fieschi that I was still alive, then he had to track me down. Can’t you see, Edmund, the king has plunged all of Europe into war for the crown of France, yet he hasn’t even a claim to the one he wears. No bastard issue can ever inherit the English throne. He is frightened that I shall open my mouth and disown him before all Europe. Even if I was dismissed as an idiot, the rumour I would start could do him more damage than any threat the King of France could ever pose. It is that information which Dunheved took to Rome, which he later passed on to Crespin. Once the French court learnt about it, then it was only a matter of time before they, too, started their hunt.”
Hugolino stopped and looked at me.
“Master Clerk, the king may not be my son, but he is Isabella’s, and possesses her ruthlessness. My friend, whether you like it or not, we are both dead men.”
He rose, touched me lightly on the shoulder and walked back to his cell.
I shall not tell you how the rest of that day passed. But I did decide that I could not sit and wait to be slaughtered like some dumb ox. The next morning I armed myself and set out to explore every nook and cranny of the entire valley. Five days I searched. I found nothing, although I suspected that I was being followed and watched at every step I took. Eventually, I turned my tired nag back to St Albert’s. I was aware of its great bell tolling slowly, long before it dawned on me what it could mean. I kicked the donkey into a furious gallop and thundered into the monastery forecourt. The prior was waiting and I knew from his face that it was too late. Three hours earlier, Hugolino had been found lying in his garden with a dagger driven firmly between his shoulder-blades, whilst his murderer had vanished as quietly as he had come. Because of the intense heat, the good brothers had already dressed the body for burial and it lay in a wooden coffin before the altar of the monastery chapel. The prior wanted to know if I knew why Hugolino had been murdered, but I said nothing. I merely went and knelt beside the coffin and prayed for the king I had come to love and respect.
The next morning, he was buried beneath the chapel floor. The prior simply ordered the name “Hugolino” to be scratched on the flagstone and, although he looked very confused, he did not interfere when I added the word “Rex.”
So, Richard, Edward the King is dead, and his bastard successor can live in peace. But can you, Richard? Why did you betray me? Only you, my friend, could have told the king where I was and what I had found. When did you betray me, Richard? From the beginning, and for what? What were your thirty pieces of silver? An abbey? A bishopric? May God forgive you, Richard, because I cannot. Nor will the king. I know I could be writing to a dead man. Perhaps he will intercept this letter. I hope so. Like any good clerk, I have made a copy of every letter I have sent you. I was always, if anything, an efficient, capable Chancery clerk. I will entrust these copies to capable hands. So the truth about our bastard king will never die.
This evening, my dear Judas, I am going to ride out of St Albert’s and I know that I might never finish that journey. Like Hugolino, I too, must disappear. I am not afraid to die. I have lost all, and there is nothing left to live for. But before I finish, let me remind you, Richard, that you, not Guerney, nor Maltravers, nor Ockle, killed a king. Written at Butrio, 15 February, 1347.
Epilogue
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen. I, Giuseppe, Abbot of the Monastery of St Albert at Butrio, have read all the above letters written by one Edmund Beche, English clerk, to Richard Bliton, Prior of the Abbey of Croyland. I cannot swear to the veracity of all they contain but only to the incidents which occurred at our monastery in the winter of 1347. I find it hard to accept that Hugolino, a common gardener, was the deposed Edward II of England. However, in a world where the King of Kings was a Jewish carpenter, anything can be true.
Master Edmund stayed a month at our monastery after his friend’s murder. He merely tended the garden as Hugolino did and then one evening slipped quietly out of the monastery. I do not think that he resigned himself to death. That same evening, our brothers heard the sound of fighting far up the valley slope. The next morning a fair-haired Inglese, bleeding his life out, was found outside the great gate. Brother Giacommo, our infirmarian, did what he could but the unfortunate man died within the day. We searched his belongings for a name and found him to be Sir John Chandos, knight, baronet and a member of the household of Edward of England. In view of what Beche had written concerning this man, I decided to have him buried in unconsecrated ground, and the whole community has sworn an oath of secrecy never to reveal any information about his death. Since Beche’s disappearance, English “envoys” on their way to Rome, or the court of the Two Sicilies, have frequently visited our monastery “on pilgrimage” or “to rest.” I know their true intentions do not correspond to their open declarations, but none of them have left any the wiser for their visit.
The news I receive from our English brethren tells me that Queen Isabella still lives whilst her son wages terrible war in France. Prior Richard Bliton, however, has not been so fortunate, for he died from a strange sickness on his way to Rome. As for Beche himself, nothing has been heard. He may have escaped, for we scoured the hillsides and found no trace of him. Wherever he may be, I wish him peace, for he was a good, conscientious clerk who fought a good fight and finished the task assigned to him. His letters will be left for posterity.
Historical Note
History is full of strange mysteries and the death of Edward II must be reckoned one of the strangest. Many of the incidents described in the Butrio Manuscript are correct. Mortimer and Isabella were lovers. According to the French chronicler, Froissart, the queen was pregnant by Mortimer when the latter fell from power in 1330. Edward II was imprisoned at Berkeley Castle and Dunheved did go to Rome to seek a di
vorce and did launch a surprise attack on the castle to free his imprisoned master. History says he failed, but the Fieschi letter still exists to suggest the opposite. The fate of Edward II’s purported murderers is obscure: Guerney was apprehended in Italy but died on his way back to England. Ockle disappeared for ever, but John Maltravers was given a pardon and served as Edward III’s emissary in Flanders. Other items of information can also be verified: Isabella did have her “husband’s” heart sent to her; she did hire an old woman to dress the corpse; Bishop Orleton was accused of sending that message to Edward II’s gaol-ers; Mortimer did refuse to let the body be buried at Westminster and he did trick Edmund, Earl of Kent, into treason and summary execution.
Queen Isabella died in 1358, but Beche’s curse on Edward III and his descendants did prove to be correct. The king’s war with France finally turned into disaster. Edward III slipped into dotage, totally dependent on an unscrupulous mistress, Alice Per-rers, who stayed beside his deserted deathbed only long enough to strip his corpse. Edward III’s eldest son, the Black Prince, died of a terrible wasting sickness. His grandson, Richard II, was deposed and murdered in 1399. The crown of England passed into other hands.
About the Author
Paul C. Doherty was born in Middlesbrough. He studied History at Liverpool and Oxford Universities. Speculation on the fate of Edward II, subject of his Oxford doctoral thesis, nourished the plot of The Death of a King (1982). So well did Chancery Clerk Edmund Beche succeed that Doherty quickly created another such agent for Edward I in Hugh Corbett, a man who overturns sinister schemes across ten novels against a range of backdrops so evocative that readers shiver in the piercing cold of wintry St. Paul’s Cathedral (The Angel of Death) or flame at Oxford with the Templars’ fervor (Satan’s Fire).
So passionate an historian’s quest for imaginative solutions to puzzles of the past coupled with his zest for creating locked-room mysteries inevitably led him to break a single series confines. In single novels and under pseudonyms, most often eschewing romance for the stark realities of mean streets and manses, P.C. Doherty rifles epochs with robust wit to break open hidden secrets. In a series written as Paul Harding, a Falstaffian City of London Coroner teams with a Dominican from a poor South-wark Parish to contrast 14th Century power with poverty. Writing as Michael Clynes, Doherty romps at the court of Henry VIII with roguish Sir Roger Shallot. As C.L. Grace, he views 14th Century Canterbury and female apothecary Kathryn Swinbrooke. As Anne Dukthas, time travel with the immortal Nicholas Seguilla touches various European courts. More recently, Doherty follows a Chaucerian model by setting a series of murderous tales among pilgrims en route to Canterbury, and harks back to the Ancient Greeks as Anna Apostolou.
Himself a Catholic, Doherty has recently tapped into a mystical streak for several non-series novels. And incredibly, this prolific author is headmaster of a preparatory school in North-East London and with his American wife parents a large family near Epping Forest.
Author Bibliography
The Death of a King, 1982
The Prince Drakulya, 1986
The Lord Count Drakulya, 1986
The Hugh Corbett Mysteries:
Satan in St. Mary’s, 1986
Crown in Darkness, 1987
Spy in Chancery, 1988
The Angel of Death, 1990
The Prince of Darkness, 1992
Murder Wears a Cowl, 1992
The Assassin in the Greenwood, 1993
The Song of a Dark Angel, 1994
Satan’s Fire, 1995
The Devil’s Hunt, 1996
The Matthew Jankyn Mysteries:
The Whyte Hart, 1988
Serpent Among the Lilies, 1990
Stories Told on Pilgrimage from London to Canterbury:
An Ancient Evil, Being the Knight’s Tale, 1994
A Tapestry of Murders, Being the Man of Law’s Tale, 1994
A Tournament of Murders, Being the Franklin’s Tale, 1996
Ghostly Murders, Being the Priest’s Tale, 1997
Dove Among the Hawks, 1990
The Masked Man, 1991
The Haunting, 1997
The Rose Demon, 1997
The Soul Slayer, 1997
The Mask of Ra, 1998
Under the name of Paul Harding:
The Nightingale Gallery, 1991
The House of the Red Slayer, 1992
Murder Most Holy, 1992
The Anger of God, 1993
By Murder’s Bright Light, 1994
The House of Crows, 1995
The Assassin’s Riddle, 1996
The Devil’s Domain, 1998
Under the name of Michael Clynes:
The White Rose Murders, 1991
The Poisoned Chalice, 1992
The Grail Murders, 1993
A Brood of Vipers, 1994
The Gallows Murders, 1995
The Relic Murders, 1997
Under the name of C.L. Grace:
The Shrine of Murders, 1993
The Eye of God, 1994
The Merchant of Death, 1995
The Book of Shadows, 1996
Under the name of Ann Dukthas:
A Time for the Death of a King, 1994
The Prince Lost to Time, 1995
Time of Murder at Mayerling, 1996
In The Time of the Poisoned Queen, 1998
Under the name of Anna Apostolou:
Murder in Macedon, 1997
Murder at Thebes, 1998
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Foreword
Historical Personages
Letter One
Letter Two
Letter Three
Letter Four
Letter Five
Letter Six
Letter Seven
Letter Eight
Letter Nine
Letter Ten
Letter Eleven
Letter Twelve
Letter Thirteen
Epilogue
Historical Note
About the Author
Author Bibliography