‘What are you inferring, Sir Robert?’ Prior Henry challenged testily. He was growing uneasy at the coroner’s apparent grimness.
‘Did Gilbert have a dispute with any of the men from the party?’
‘No, he did not. Coroner, I do not like your tone.’
‘And I don’t like what I’ve been hearing. The man who saw the fellow running from here said that he was running away from the priory and heading westwards.’
‘After them? But that is ridiculous! You’re telling me that the men in the embassy could have stolen the oil? That is impossible. They were all gone the afternoon before the theft.’
‘How many King’s heralds were there in the party?’
‘With the two bishops? I don’t know … there was that chubby one, and the shorter, stocky fellow. What of it?’
‘I’ve asked about. Apparently the party rode on to an inn at Ashford. There was only one herald with the party there.’
‘I am sure there were two.’
‘I am sure you are right. One stayed behind and killed your Gilbert.’
‘What possible reason could there be for him to do that?’
‘I do not know.’
‘I think you must be mistaken, Coroner. The party riding on would have noticed if they had lost a man.’
‘In a group of how many? Fifty? A hundred? They would all believe that the man was in another part of the cavalcade. But there is another thing: the man said that the fellow’s tunic was all wet. He also said that it almost obscured the fellow’s tabard. It was the tabard of a royal herald.’
Baldwin was glad when they saw the first lights in the distance and could smell the faint tang of woodsmoke on the air.
There were few signs of civilisation so welcome to a traveller as these. The first thing he always sought out was a gibbet when abroad, because at least in a land such as Galicia or Navarre, when a man found a proof of punishment, there was also proof of law, and law enforcement. Terrifying to him was a land in which there was no respect for laws. That was dangerous indeed.
Here, though, they were approaching the city of Canterbury, and Baldwin was hopeful that they might soon be at the priory, where they might beg a room for the night before it grew dark. He was unwilling to stay in the open out here. There had been too much devastation during the terrible famine years. He had heard rumours of cannibalism here in Kent, and doubted that matters were any safer yet away from the cities.
There was little conversation with other members of their party. Their companions were a mixed group. The Bishop of Orange clearly thought himself too superior to Simon to speak with him, although he did condescend to talk to Baldwin on occasion. For the most part of their hurried journey he had maintained a stiff haughtiness, patronising the guards when he spoke to them, and irritating all who travelled with him.
The men-at-arms ranged from one scruffy churl, Pons, whom Baldwin would happily have seen fall from the ship just to see him washed, he was so foul, to one fellow who looked as though he might have been the son of an earl, because he was always immaculately dressed. This man, Jack, took one look at Baldwin early on in their travels, and appeared to wince at the sight of his old threadbare red tunic and torn linen shirt. He almost made Baldwin defensive about his style of dress. This one appeared to view the world with an eye that could discern a joke in any situation. Yet he reminded Baldwin of others, especially those who had lost their livelihoods and were forced to hire themselves out to whoever seemed to be the best new master. There were many of them since the famine of ten years ago.
Of the others he formed little opinion. There were two Flemings and a Frenchman, but they tended to keep to themselves and messed together. They were not rude to Baldwin and Simon, but Baldwin gained the impression that they were used to their master and tended to heed his moods. When he was quiet, so were they. Still, Baldwin noticed that the Frenchman in particular appeared to possess an ill humour. André appeared to lose his temper swiftly when he felt himself thwarted. Baldwin saw this when they stopped at one inn and the man-at-arms felt that his horse was not attended to speedily enough. André almost set hand to sword until a companion, the foul little one, calmed him.
Still, he had not felt as though he was in danger from any of them during their fast ride from Paris. They had not been forced to gallop, but the lightness of their loads had meant that they had been able to go at almost the speed of a King’s Messenger, some thirty to forty miles each day, depending upon the land and roads. However, although messengers were entitled to take their ease on the Sunday, the Bishop had not suggested that. After Mass, he insisted they should continue. His view was that ‘Travelling itself is not a sinful occupation on a Sunday. I look upon it as a necessary duty; the more so since we have a need to hurry in order to try to prevent another war breaking out between the English and the French.’
Baldwin was happy with this attitude. There were all too many men who’d delight in a day’s rest when they had duties to perform. He was content that while the Bishop might well be a hard man to like, an arrogant, pig-headed, stalwart noble who looked down on any man who was not worth at least two hundred pounds a year, he was also dedicated. And no Christian could ask for more than that.
They were clattering along the road into Canterbury as the light began to fade, and Simon and Baldwin, who were riding in the vanguard, could hear the sound of bells tolling.
‘My Lord Bishop, they are ringing the bells,’ Baldwin called back urgently. ‘With your permission, we shall ride on.’
‘I will send my own men. You may remain,’ came the firm response.
Baldwin took a deep breath, but decided to make no objection as two of the guards were sent on. It was the two Frenchmen: André and the scruffy little fellow, Pons.
It was a decision which he would later rue.
Beaulieu
The King motioned sulkily as he completed his meal, and his servants hurried to do his bidding.
His men swiftly finished their food and bowed their way from his presence, each carefully walking backwards so as never to show him the insult of turning their backs upon him, and while one group of young servants set about removing all the mess bowls and clutter from the tables, another set to removing and folding all the table linen. As soon as that was put away, the table tops were taken from the trestles, and all cleared away, leaving a broad, empty space in front of him.
‘It is always thus, Hugh. Always. In every detail of my life, I have been thwarted. At first it was my father, refusing to understand the depth of my love for poor Piers; then the earls took his place after his death and refused to countenance my friendship with him, even going so far as to murder him. Murder him! My poor Piers. All I have ever wanted was to be a good king, but I am prevented at every turn by fools and malcontents. Not satisfied with ruining my happiness by murdering poor Piers, they tried to make me cast you aside too.’
Despenser nodded with a serious expression on his face. Piers Gaveston was a man who had been universally detested throughout the country. Greedy, vain, ambitious and arrogant, he had finally been captured by barons and murdered, to the King’s horror. ‘They didn’t succeed, my Lord, did they?’
‘But they shouldn’t have tried! I am their King, in God’s name. I am the man anointed by God, chosen by Him to be their ruler on earth. Do they dare set their faces against Him through me? Are they that mad?’
‘Only a fool would attempt such a crime,’ Despenser said, clenching his jaw to stifle a yawn.
‘But they do. Then there is the felon Robert Bruce and his rebellion in Scotland, and the arch-traitor, Mortimer. How has my reign become so mired with treachery and distrust? I only ever wanted to be a good king.’
‘You are a good king. The actions of a few fools and criminals cannot alter that.’