‘Not exactly, no. We thought he would be meeting us at Beaulieu. And then things in France grew worse, and the King decided to hold this set of meetings up here at Westminster. That made us change our plans.’
‘So instead you brought it here? Where is it?’
‘Delivered.’
‘The Earl has it already, then?’
Peter smiled again. ‘If you wish to think so, I am sure that is fine. So long as you keep it to yourself. The Earl wouldn’t want it discussed too widely. A man who spoke to others about whether or not he had the oil would soon learn whether or not the young Earl has the spirit of his grandfather.’
Baldwin ignored the threat. ‘What of Yatton? Was it him who was at Canterbury?’
‘He was there, he collected the oil for us, and then he left.’
‘Why him, though? Why use him to fetch it for you? Surely there were others who would have been less conspicuous?’
Peter shrugged and threw a look at John.
It was John who replied after a moment’s silence. ‘He wasn’t selected at random. Richard de Yatton was keen to help the Earl. We all were.’
‘What could he have had against the King? Why would he want to steal the King’s oil?’
‘Richard de Yatton was named for his birthplace, Sir Baldwin,’ Peter said.
‘Where is Yatton?’
‘Just down the road from Wigmore. Where Mortimer comes from,’ John told him with a curl of his lip.
‘You mean to tell me that the Earl was happy to make use of a man loyal to his father’s worst enemy?’ Baldwin said, torn between being aghast that his son could treat the King in such a manner, and doubt that John was speaking the truth.
‘Not entirely, no,’ Peter said, glancing at his companion with an expression that bordered on frustration, Baldwin thought. He continued, ‘The Earl didn’t know Yatton was one of Mortimer’s men, but that doesn’t matter. Men change their allegiance all the time. Especially knights in the King’s household, eh?’
‘Some men change their allegiance, yes. Not all,’ Baldwin said pointedly. ‘So the Earl wasn’t aware of Yatton’s background?’
‘Master Yatton made his oath to the Earl,’ Peter said. He toyed with a splinter of wood on the table in front of him. ‘Yatton wasn’t exactly happy when Mortimer stood against the King. What else would a man do, when something of that nature happens? Once Mortimer was arrested, he immediately had to seek a new patron. And he thought it would be best for him to serve the Earl.’
‘Why not the King?’ Simon asked. ‘Or was he too religious to want to serve such a man?’
‘What would religion have to do with it?’ John snapped. ‘You mean because the King is more interested in men than women?’
‘I meant because he has deserted his wife,’ Simon said coldly.
‘His religion would hardly get in his way anyhow,’ Peter said. ‘I never saw him as a greatly religious man.’
‘But,’ Baldwin frowned, ‘he had the necklace full of pilgrim badges. I saw it.’
‘Oh, I know he had that, yes. He collected the badges quite seriously, but I don’t think that had any bearing on his religion. Like any man, he would go to church on a Sunday, but he wasn’t one of those who wrapped themselves up in Christianity every day of the week like a warm robe. He could happily sit in a church, but when I saw him, it was often because he wanted a doze, nothing more.’
Baldwin shook his head. ‘Everyone else has said how religious he was.’
‘They didn’t know him, then. He was no more deeply committed than I.’
Simon looked at Baldwin. ‘Then why did he take so long on his journeys?’
Peter shrugged. ‘It’s not my concern. All I know is that my earl wants the matter forgotten.’
‘And that’s why you’ve just told us all?’ Baldwin said directly.
‘No. I’ve told you this to stop you asking about the oil,’ Peter said. ‘I had a choice of telling you the truth and hoping to silence you, or removing you. The Earl seemed to feel it were better to feed your inquisitiveness, rather than kill you. He told us to tell you all, and ask you to hold this secret.’
‘We should tell the King,’ Baldwin said.
‘It’s up to you. The Earl asks that you don’t. The matter is soon to be irrelevant, anyway. Why stir up such nonsense again?’
‘Because the King wants to have it returned.’
‘He’s already anointed. He had his chance to use it before,’ Peter said. The bells were tolling for the next session with the King, and all four stood. ‘He didn’t believe in it and so he didn’t make use of it. The Earl, however, is determined that his own coronation will be more auspicious. He will make a good king.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
The King walked through the assembled nobles and took his seat on his throne once more, letting his gaze range coldly over the men before him.
Once again, Despenser stood and read from a scroll, calling on all present to speak without fear or favour, his tone that of a steward in court, confident, strong, full of authority.
I wish I could speak with such a voice, the King thought. But he couldn’t. His authority was eroded by the wars with the Scottish, the losses in France, and the rumours which persisted — that he was a supposititious king, a peasant’s child inserted into the cot in order to weaken the Crown. He was nothing in the eyes of so many. His barons despised him: he could see it now in their eyes. The Church abhorred him for his frivolity, as they put it. Singing, dancing, swimming, all were frowned upon. His brother-in-law in France detested him for his friendship with Sir Hugh.
If there had been a little more respect for him, perhaps he would have enjoyed more success as a king. As it was, there was nothing he could do now. It felt as though his reign was set on a road that would end ultimately in shamefulness. Appalling to think that he could be responsible for the loss of so many territories. First he had the trouble with the Scottish, and now with his lands in France. There was no let up. Enemies were on all sides.
Men spoke. Their voices washed all around him, and there was no conclusion. He should go to France; he should remain in England. And all the while at the back of his mind was the proposal that his son should go in his place. Would that help him? How could he tell? All he did know was that his closest and best friend, Despenser, feared for his life were he, the King, to go.
The pressure was intolerable. He wished only to do what was best, but the competing demands were so insufferable that he hardly knew where to turn. If he could, he would throw it all up. There was no one in the land who could comprehend the immensity of the stress that a man must endure in his position. It was not something that he could give up, though. He was in a position granted to him by God. Not some secular body: God. What God had given, no man could take away.
Not that there weren’t plenty of men there in that room who’d have been only too happy to take it away from him, he thought, looking about him at them all.
His gaze landed upon his son, the Earl of Chester. Twelve years old … or was he thirteen now? It was so hard to keep track. How could he send the boy over to France on his own? It would be madness. Apart from anything else, he didn’t want to see his boy over there while Isabella was still there. She had to come back first. That was certain.
Baldwin found Richard of Bury clutching at his sleeve as he and Simon left the great hall. ‘Yes?’
‘My Lord. The Earl of Chester would appreciate a few moments of your time, Sir Baldwin.’
‘Would he? Very well. Take us to him,’ Baldwin said. However, he rested his hand on his belt like a man ready to draw steel in his own defence.
Bury took them along a long corridor, up to a second level, and thence to a chamber that lay near the Queen’s cloister. Here they found themselves entering a pleasantly lit and warmed room that was filled with hallings of rich colours. There were hunting scenes on the wall near the door, but it was noticeable that the tapestries on the other three walls all contained scenes from the Gospels.