‘Well, we have to look for some rock on which to base our conclusions,’ Simon said.
‘How far do we dig for it?’ Baldwin demanded sarcastically.
Simon looked at him coolly. ‘I do not care how far I have to dig! I want Despenser satisfied so that I can know some peace in my home again.’
Jack was thoughtful after the questioning by Baldwin and Simon. Thomas was in no mind to discuss what he had said, but instead sat scowling at a far wall and made a bitter comment or two about the quality of modern knights. It was enough to make Jack think that he either knew, or had guessed, who was guilty of the killing.
This was the sort of affair which could easily lead to a man losing his head, Jack thought to himself, but he had no desire to do so. Still, there were problems for a man who wished for a quiet life. Sometimes he must risk a little in order to get it.
He was unpleasantly certain that he had not cut a dashing figure in the eyes of the knight and his friend the bailiff, but that was little concern to him. There were many others who regarded him in a more respectful light.
‘You all right, Thomas?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I just wish I knew why so many people believe I have something that can help with this. I don’t know anything!’
‘Despenser hasn’t tried to finger all your things again, has he?’
‘No. Nothing’s been touched so far as I can see. There’s no need to, anyway! I don’t have anything. I don’t know anything! All I did was ride back from France with William Ayrminne. What is so wrong with that?’
‘They obviously think you left Ayrminne’s men to go off and rob the priory,’ Jack said.
‘It’s ridiculous, though! How could I have had the chance?’
‘True enough,’ Jack said. ‘Tell me, how was Ayrminne to travel with?’
‘He was a good companion. He talked all the while to all of us, he was very friendly and cheerful. You’d never have guessed at his importance. He could talk to any man on his own level. Or woman. Even the highest.’
‘You mean the Queen?’
‘Oh, yes. He visited her a few times when I was there with her. She had many messages for me to bring for her — some for the King, others for Prior Eastry, making sure he was looking after her pack of hounds. There were loads of them.’
‘And he was correctly deferential, then, even though he treated you and the others well?’
‘Hah! Oh, yes. He was quite subservient to her and to the Bishop, too. But when he left the room, and the two behind, he was his usual self again. Much easier.’
Jack nodded, grinning. He’d known others who were like that. They tended to be the easiest for a man to deal with.
And then he almost gasped. Ayrminne had been with the Queen — and so had the Bishop. Then Ayrminne came to England and was at Canterbury, and the monk had died, the oil stolen that same night.
The Queen was estranged from her husband. Everyone knew that they got on as well as a fox and a chicken. Something she’d be keen on having would be some sort of lever over her husband, and to be able to take his oil, and threaten him that he’d never see it again — that could be a mighty threat.
This was a guess, but he reckoned he was in possession of important information, and it was a case of how best he could use it. The oil had been stolen, and he didn’t know who’d done that, nor what they’d done with it. But the Queen was in contact with people in Canterbury, and Thomas had delivered her messages for her. So Ayrminne could easily have plotted with her to have it stolen for them.
Someone had killed the monk, taken the oil, and then passed it on to the Bishop of Orange’s men when they arrived. André and Pons had disappeared in a hurry. They had returned to the Bishop’s party when it was safe, when he was at Beaulieu, and there, no doubt, they gave him the oil so he could take it back to the Queen. There was no risk he’d be searched for it at Canterbury because the two already had taken it. And he could transport it all the way back to the Queen in France. That way, the French bint would have a lever against her husband.
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.’