‘I was reflecting, Master Bury, that all the leaders you have shown me have all been both devout and literate.’
‘That is exactly the case I was going to make to you, my Lord! Hah! It is difficult to teach you some things! You pick them up naturally!’
Richard’s fulsome praise would once have rankled, so similar was it to the subservience of other members of the court. If there was one fault which annoyed the Earl more than any other, it was fawning insincerity. But with Richard, it was not obsequiousness — it was a reflection of his immense excitement and exuberance. He fairly bounced about the room when the Earl showed comprehension of a difficult concept. In the last nine months or so since Bury had arrived here as his tutor, the Earl had quickly realised that whatever else Bury might be, he was no slave.
Now Bury was flicking through the pages of another great book until, reaching the passage he sought, he turned it triumphantly to the Earl. ‘See? Read this.’
As the Earl of Chester began to read, slowly, his finger tracing the lines of the words, Bury continued seriously.
‘You see, no great ruler can achieve anything without learning. And the greatest proofs of learning are an appreciation of the importance of the written word, first and foremost. Because whether you or I know anything at all is unimportant, so long as we have the sense to own the books which already preserve that which we need to know. So long as we have our books, we have all knowledge at our fingertips.
‘That passage says that the Greeks had no ruler of stature who was not literate. I would extend that to include all the great Romans. All were intelligent men who appreciated the written word and the arts. And, more than that, all were entirely convinced of the help of God. True, the Greeks and Romans did not understand about God for they lived in heathen times before the birth of Christ, but can you doubt that a man of the strength of purpose of Alexander, would not have offered thanks and praise to Our Lord for his achievements, had he but known of our God? Of course he would. And Our Lord must also have felt that he had a purpose in elevating Alexander over all others in the world.’
‘A heathen?’ asked Earl Edward.
‘A great man, though! Look at him! A man who could do so much, and then, as they say, who could weep, seeing that there were no more great lands for him to conquer. He died young, and yet he achieved so much more than any other man before or since.’
‘No man can emulate him,’ Earl Edward said with some sadness.
‘You think so? You want to give up your crown now, my Lord? You want to surrender your future? Then do not say such a thing!’ Bury said with asperity. ‘In the Lord’s name, I declare, I believe you shall be a king to rival Alexander or Caesar! I swear that your name shall ring down the ages and lead Englishmen to sing your praise with admiration for as long as England survives!’
Earl Edward looked up at him. ‘Bury, keep a firm grip on yourself. You are growing overly choleric.’
‘How can a mere clerk not be passionate when he has such a great duty, so enormous a charge as I?’
Christ Church Priory, Canterbury
He was exhausted as he clattered under the city’s gate, but Joseph felt only gratitude and relief for the safety that the city walls promised. He saw the man at the gates, and nodded, but hurried on his way as soon as possible towards the priory, determined to reach it before the final bell and the closing of the gates.
It was little time before he was led upstairs to the prior’s chamber.
‘My lord Prior. Messages from the King.’
‘And what are these?’
He opened his little wallet and removed the tiny scrolls, passing them to the Prior, then he stood back, waiting.
‘He wants the oil?’ the Prior muttered. ‘This is wonderful! Just what I need now!’ To the messenger, he cast a sombre look. ‘Anything else?’
‘Only a short message from Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Prior. He told me to say, that “The thief and murderer may be dead.”’
‘Why? What has he found?’
Joseph told of the discovery of the herald’s body, and the prior listened carefully, but then frowned hopefully. ‘And the oil? Was there any sign of the oil he stole from me?’
‘I know nothing about that, my Lord, but I do not think that there was anything on the body. Perhaps it was something in a saddle-bag? The man did not have it about his person, so far as I saw.’
‘And he was definitely dead?’
‘Oh, he had been dead for some days,’ Joseph confirmed. He swallowed uncomfortably at the memory. Poor fellow. It was one of those nightmares which he suffered from occasionally. The idea of being stabbed and left for dead in the middle of nowhere, perhaps never being discovered.
‘That is good. Good. But the loss of the oil makes my task difficult.’
Joseph knew when he should keep silent. While the prior stood and walked about his chamber, glancing every so often at the papers in his hand, Joseph held his tongue, waiting to hear what he might have to say.
‘Very well,’ the Prior said at last with a sigh. He looked at the note for a last time, and then admitted defeat. ‘Um. I have a note for you to take back with you.’
How to explain to this prickly monarch that the one salvation which he had counted upon had, in fact, already been stolen.
Third Tuesday after Easter16
Beaulieu
Baldwin felt only a lightening of his spirits as he rode into the grounds of the great abbey at Beaulieu. This, hopefully, was to be the end of his journeying in the King’s service. From here he and Simon could throw down their commitments to the King and return homewards to Devon, where Jeanne was waiting for him, as well as his little Richalda and baby Baldwin, his first-born son.
It had been too long since he had seen them. He was longing to hold his children, but still more keen to grasp his wife. The last time he had been apart from her, he had been sorely tested. Shipwrecked, lost, thinking himself the prisoner of pirates, he had taken the comfort and compassion of an island woman, and his treachery to his own wife, the betrayal of her trust, had marred their relationship for some time thereafter. It had taken a little while for them to recover that delicate balance which marks a successful and generally happy marriage, but at last they had achieved it, and now here he was, still a hundred miles away. He wanted to be with her again, lying with her in their great bed in his manor.
And soon, soon he would be!
The great estate of Beaulieu was entirely enclosed. Some five and fifty acres or more, Baldwin guessed as he entered through the huge gatehouse. From here, he could see the church clearly, a magnificent construction, all built of a plain white, clean-looking stone. The other buildings were set about to the south of the abbey church, as was normal for a Cistercian monastery. From the road leading up to the abbey, Baldwin could see the frater in the south wall, the lay-brothers’ living quarters to the west of it. The abbot’s house lay east, of course, but today the little gardens beyond, which would usually be so neatly set out, were a mess of tents and wagons.
‘The King is still here, then,’ Simon breathed, looking at the flags hanging limp at the poles.
‘Yes. He hasn’t denuded the area of food yet,’ Baldwin said, but not sadly. He couldn’t be unhappy today. Perhaps later this afternoon he would be able to leave Beaulieu and make his way homewards. He set to calculating. It must be some thirty leagues to Devon and his home, so at ten leagues a day, roughly thirty miles, he must ride for about three and a bit days to get home. Well, it wasn’t as fast as he would have liked, but it was a great deal better than riding back from Scotland. And since much of the land hereabouts, from memory, was quite good riding land, he might make better time, so long as he didn’t wear out his rounsey.