‘Have you seen his expression?’ Baldwin grunted. ‘Either he is sorely tormented with constipation, or he has something to fear.’
His voice was not quiet enough. A man behind them overheard his words. ‘Sir Knight, you are quite right. Have you not heard about the attack on him last night? As he was leaving the Green Yard, an assassin tried to shoot him with a bolt. The assault failed — just. It was a close thing, though.’
‘Ah. And who was the assassin?’
‘No one recognised him. He wore no arms.’
‘Has he said …’
‘He was struck dumb by three or four arrows. They had to shoot him to keep him from harming others,’ the man shrugged.
Baldwin nodded. No one would be very likely to live after being hit by three clothyard arrows.
‘So that would explain his temper today,’ Simon whispered.
‘Yes. And whoever had the guards silence his attacker ensured that the fellow would never speak about who had hired him to try to kill Despenser,’ Baldwin noted.
There was an excited chattering from the door, and then the room was hushed. A herald entered, slammed his staff on the floor three times and bellowed, ‘My Lords, the King!’
Chapter Thirty
Baldwin nudged Simon as he bowed low, going down on his knee. Simon was unused to court etiquette, and the last thing Baldwin wanted was for his friend to be arrested for a failure of simple manners before the King.
It was many years since Baldwin himself had needed to worry about such things. The last time he had seen the King had been in that small chamber with only a few men about. This was different. A failure of protocol here could result in a painful chastisement, and Baldwin had no desire either to suffer that nor to see Simon do so. He had to remind himself, though, of the rules of such encounters: never look the King in the eye, keep the head bent, always face him: even when leaving the King a man should walk backwards, head bowed, until out of The Presence.
He should have warned Simon, he reflected with irritation.
The King was walking at a stately pace along the hall. He nodded occasionally to those whom he wished to acknowledge: his brothers, a Bishop here or there, and the Despenser.
Sir Hugh was the only man who bowed but did not kneel, Baldwin saw. For some reason that struck him as the most appallingly conceited action of the man. Sir Hugh was clearly so settled in his power that even in public he felt no need to show his respect to the King or the Crown. Instead he walked over to the King and led him to the throne.
There was a ripple that passed through the crowd as the King took his seat, resting his hands on the throne’s arms. At last he lifted a hand, palm uppermost. The men in the hall stood straight once more, and the council was begun.
‘My Lords.’
Baldwin was slightly shocked, for it was not King Edward who was talking, but Despenser, standing beside the throne and reading the King’s words from a parchment.
‘There are matters pertaining to the Crown and the security of the realm which require that you advise me. I am your leader, and have supreme responsibility for the protection of our realm and Crown, doing all necessary to save them with your help, advice and guidance and all your strength. I have never acted without your counsel, and think that I have shown that I have always listened to your advice. I have asked you all here today to discuss matters affecting the realm, and I ask that you all individually speak at your peril to let me know your minds.’
Baldwin felt his own mind wandering. There was a great deal more in a similar vein, telling the assembled men that King Edward wanted their views, point by point, both from the laity and the clergy, and that they should be put in writing too, so that no man could deny his advice later. There would be no covering-up or evasions.
‘My Lords, the King of France has demanded that I go to him to swear allegiance for the provinces which I hold in France as Duke. I wish to hear your thoughts and deliberations.’
One after another, different Lords spoke, and all was quite civil until at last a man near Baldwin cleared his throat and cast a look on all sides.
‘My Lord King, my Lords — we are in this position because the French King illegally and unreasonably began to undermine our King. We all know what’s been going on. Any petitioner who comes to listen to our King’s justice and doesn’t like it can then go to the French King to demand his aid — and King Charles always sides with them against our own courts. And he used that as a pretext to make demands of us. He took our lands by devious and unreasonable means, my Lords, and he will take more. He will take over all our King’s possessions if he can, and none of us will be able to keep our lands. Make no mistake, that is what he intends, my Lords: to remove all our estates, and then, perhaps, to expand over here and take our country as well. At present our King is expected to go to France every few years to swear allegiance to their King for the lands he holds in fief. But if we leave him an opportunity, if he has an excuse, he will eventually be here, sitting there in that throne, demanding allegiance for all our lands.’
At this a Bishop began to shake his head emphatically. ‘That is nonsense, and my Lord of Norfolk knows it! The French King has justified claims upon those who attacked and murdered his officials. He has every right to ask that our King should go to France to give homage. He has done so to other members of the French Royal Family in recent years. Why should this one be any different?’
Bishop Stapledon had joined Baldwin and Simon, and now he whispered softly, ‘That is Bishop Orleton. He is most unhappy about the recent disputes and wishes for peace.’
‘What of that man?’ Simon asked, nodding towards the first to have spoken.
‘He is the King’s brother, Earl Thomas of Norfolk. He is distressed to think of the damage being done to our lands in France, for if the King should die, they would come to him,’ the Bishop said drily.
Another man had started to speak, and as he subsided, so another took over, and thus the debate rolled about the Great Hall, while the sun moved slowly across the sky and the shadows from the great windows roved across the faces of those present.
The Bishop who had spoken already, Orleton, spoke again, scowling about the room. ‘My Lords, the King has already given homage to this King’s brothers, and to his father. What is so different now? If our King were to go to France, surely Charles of Valois could at last see how he means the French Crown no ill-will, and their friendship could swiftly be renewed.’
Earl Thomas lifted his eyes to the heavens. ‘You mean that, my Lord Bishop? You think that this French King would be satisfied with our Liege’s apology and humble homage? He has Aquitaine already. We have lost Normandy, we have had Guyenne overrun — all on a pretext that will not hold water — while he gives sanctuary and friendship to our most hated enemy, Lord Mortimer. You really think it makes sense for our King to go there under those circumstances?’
‘I think it would be better for our King to be proved honourable!’
‘Honourable!’ the Earl sneered. ‘I suppose you would think any defeat for our King, for our Crown, for our honour, to be preferable to fighting for them.’
‘I would see blood preserved and not shed needlessly,’ Orleton said, his own voice rising.
‘And I say, a pox on that!’ This was Earl Edmund. He had been standing at the side of the chamber out of Baldwin’s view, but now he crossed the hall to stand before the King. ‘The French have invaded our lands and say that they are forfeit because our King has not paid homage. Charles laid siege to Saint Sardos and then to Montpezat, because he said there was no one in Guyenne for him to treat with. He is false, I say, and we should not allow our King to be sent into a land where he may be in danger.’