‘And it is?’
‘Whoever finds the King’s oil, this fabled oil of St Thomas, will have the King’s regard for ever.’
‘Oh?’
‘And you seek it.’
‘How do you … what makes you think that?’
‘Master Ayrminne, a dying man just told me so. I doubt very much that a dying man would do so without good reason, don’t you?’
‘Who was this?’ Ayrminne said with a frown.
‘Your friend Jack, the man-at-arms to the Bishop of Orange.’
‘Dear God!’ Ayrminne said, and blanched. He took a deep breath. ‘Are you sure of this? I mean-’
‘We all three saw him fall, and caught his murderers. I am sure you know of them — they, too, were with the Bishop’s entourage.’
‘The two who had run?’
‘The same, yes. Now, I don’t know what you planned with Jack.’ Baldwin paused, hoping for the canon’s elucidation, but he said nothing. ‘Whatever it was, the two have not got the oil.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘I have gone through all their belongings. Not the clothes which they wear now, however,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘but I doubt that would help. If they had the oil, they wouldn’t risk dropping it or losing it. No. I don’t think that they have it about their persons. Which means they don’t have it at all, unless they’ve cleverly concealed it somewhere else.’
‘Which means?’
‘That most likely, in my view, they have already disposed of it. And you know how they are likely to have done so, don’t you?’
‘They will have given it to the Bishop, I expect. They are his men, after all.’
‘Yes. So if you are keen to retrieve it, we shall have to try to recover it from him. And that will not be easy.’
‘No,’ Ayrminne said shortly.
‘There is one thing, though,’ Baldwin said, smiling. ‘I have to ask you, to whom were you intending to give it, once you had retrieved it?’
‘The King, obviously. Whom else would a man give it to?’
Baldwin was watching him closely, and saw the tell-tale twitch in his cheek. He immediately knew that Ayrminne was lying. It wasn’t the mark of a coward; rather, it was the proof of a man who was a reluctant liar.
‘I see, Master. If you ask me that, though, there are many answers. It is probable, I think, that the man who has the oil now is the Bishop of Orange, and I believe he intends to pass it on to the Pope. That to me seems most likely. Then again, there are others, no doubt, who would seek to have the oil to give to Sir Roger Mortimer. He would be grateful, would he not?’
‘Yes, yes, very interesting, no doubt-’
‘While others might wish to help their own patron. Some would probably give the oil to, say, the Queen.’
And there it was again, as the canon opened his mouth to deny that he would ever have any interest in such an action, the little tic went off by his right eye.
‘Your patron is the Queen, isn’t she, Master?’ Baldwin asked firmly.
Ayrminne looked at him intently for several seconds. Baldwin knew better than to make any further comment. This was one of those moments when a man could break a witness into honesty, or, by speaking, could lose the witness for ever.
‘Yes. Yes, she is,’ Ayrminne said at last.
‘You were meaning to take it to her, then?’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes. That man Jack came to me with a cock-and-bull story about it, but it was clear he was convinced he knew exactly where it was, and he told me how much he wanted. I agreed the price, and he was going to bring it to me.’
They stood huddled together near the tavern at the palace gate: Simon, Baldwin, Ayrminne and Thomas. There were no benches or stools here, but no one to overhear their conversations, either.
‘You knew Jack,’ Baldwin said, turning to Thomas. ‘He couldn’t have already got the oil, could he? Ah, but then what would have been the point of his going to the two in this place. No, he must have thought that they still had it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been in here at all.’
‘I don’t think he had it,’ Thomas agreed. ‘It’s not in his bags, either. You saw that.’
‘Yes, we all saw his pack,’ Baldwin agreed pensively.
‘So where can it be?’ Ayrminne said plaintively. ‘So much harm done for this blasted oil — and no one thought it worth a second look a little while ago.’
Simon nodded, but he was keeping his own counsel. It was a trait Baldwin had seen and appreciated before in his friend. He didn’t press Simon now, but instead looked at Ayrminne. ‘What do you think we should do, then?’
‘You ask me?’ Ayrminne said with a grin. ‘Since you already know that if I find it, I’ll take it to the Queen, why ask me that?’
‘Oh, I am sure that you are an honest man, canon. And if you take it when I have discovered where it is, I will do nothing whatever about it.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing. Bar telling Sir Hugh le Despenser what became of it. You see, that is my deal with Sir Hugh. He will stop persecuting me and my friend here, in return for which I will find this oil for him. It is not a pleasant task, but one I swore to try to achieve.’
‘If you tell him-’ Ayrminne began.
‘He will do all in his power to find it,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘Yes. And that is why I would greatly prefer to find it myself and bring this whole matter to an end.’
‘Well, I cannot help you. Both from lack of personal knowledge, and also from inclination. It is my strong belief that the oil should be saved and protected. To throw it away on our king would be … he is already anointed. More oil on him would serve no purpose.’
‘Then who can use it, if not the King?’
Baldwin stopped. Suddenly his eyes widened, and his mouth fell gaping. Recovering swiftly, he nodded curtly, and then made his apologies and walked out with Simon.
‘What on earth is the matter with them?’ Ayrminne wondered aloud.
‘They are a strange couple, Master,’ Thomas offered.
‘Come, Baldwin, what were you thinking in there?’ Simon demanded as soon as he felt out of earshot of any spies.
‘What occurred to me was that there was one other fellow who would perhaps be keen to acquire the oil,’ Baldwin said. ‘The Earl of Chester.’
‘That is what I thought too,’ Simon said. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t know if I was being stupid or not.’
‘Why stupid?’
‘Well, the idea that the Earl would steal from his own father, and take that which he was going to have anyway when he became King in his turn seemed a little far-fetched.’
‘The more I think of that family, the more I appreciate being a rural knight,’ Baldwin answered. ‘The parents hate each other. Both were much in love, or at least trying to give that impression, when the boy was born twelve or thirteen years ago, but now there is no affection whatever between them. And look at their son! All he can do is try to walk a tightrope between them, balancing precariously, trying to satisfy both, trying always to keep his relationships balanced with them both, not showing too much love to either in case he is used later as barter in their little power-games. What sort of a life can the lad have?’
‘A miserable one,’ Simon offered. ‘With only riches, security, diversions of all kinds, and the promise of a throne as soon as he comes of age and his father dies.’
Baldwin looked at him. ‘Security, you say? In this country? We have ever more barons determined to take any semblance of security from the King and his family. He will be rich, yes, but he will be seated on his throne, with another man like Despenser at his side, no doubt. No man he speaks with can he ever trust, because he knows all men will flatter and fawn before him, hoping to be granted some of his wealth, and when they are, they will flatter and fawn again, hoping against hope that he will honour them with more. It starts with a small purse of money, Simon, and then a post, and then the holding of a royal castle, or the privileges to a city, and before long the man is one of the privileged number who owns nothing but what he has been given.’