‘Me?’ Simon said. He felt his face colouring as he spoke, and resisted an urge to babble. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, desperately thinking. ‘I believe your wife has your best interests at heart, my Lord. I’m sure that my friend Sir Baldwin speaks his mind, too — but I’m only a simple countryman. I don’t understand matters of this-’
‘Bailiff, you have met the French King, and you have judged his character. Do you think I could trust my son to his care?’
Simon considered carefully, and then said, ‘If he were my son, and I was asked to send him to the French king, I would fear my son’s exploitation, Your Highness. But if the French king was his uncle, I think my lad would be safe. The French King is a king. He is surely a man of honour.’
‘As are all kings, eh? My good bailiff, you have much to learn about kings and the quality of their ambitions!’ the King chuckled. Taking a small purse from his belt, he continued, ‘but you must have been fearful to come to me and say such things. The last thing in the world a bailiff from the wilds would expect would be to be asked to advise on affairs of national importance like this. So here — take a reward! And now,’ he said, having tossed the purse at Simon’s feet, ‘leave me to consider this matter in full. I must consult with Sir Hugh, I have need of his thoughts.’
Jack had finished with his horse when he saw them.
It was an ancient rule that a man who relied on his mount must see to it before attending to his own needs, but for Jack it was more than a principle of kindness to the beast — it was the careful assessment of a man who was accustomed to being chased, in the past, by those who wanted to try to kill him. There were too many who wanted to see him dead for him ever to leave his horse without checking him over, grooming him, and seeing that he was well-watered and comfortable.
He had stowed his brush away, and slapped the fellow’s rump in farewell for the day, when the men at the gates showed an unwarranted energy, and he peered in that direction with some interest. There stood Pons and André, glaring about them as they were questioned.
‘Where did you two run to?’ he asked, once he had persuaded the guards that these two were indeed with the Bishop of Orange’s party.
Pons ducked his head and gave one of his little smiles. It always made Jack think of a monkey he had once seen in Paris, the way that Pons drew his upper lip over his teeth. ‘It was that coroner, you see. He told us he would have us arrested for lying. Us! All the jury had already agreed that we were innocent, and said we should be permitted to go, but no! The grand coroner said we must remain and he would hold us there for so long as he wanted, stuck in the worst, nastiest gaol in the castle. He was a very nasty man, that coroner.’
‘Really? He gave us two more men to look after us for the journey, so he was not so very unkind to us,’ Jack said. ‘I think the Bishop preferred them to you two.’
‘Ah, you are joking, are you not? This is not kind.’
‘Where have you been? You could have joined up with us at any time.’
André answered in his supercilious manner. ‘You think so? Eh, we travelled urgently as soon as the coroner made those disagreeable suggestions, but we missed our road. Instead of turning, we managed to make our way south in our panic. Otherwise we would have been happy to come straight to the Bishop’s entourage, naturally.’
Oh, yes, naturally, Jack thought. Except that, from the smell of these two, they had managed to find their way to a tavern. They had probably been sitting there inside it for the last few days.
‘Where is the food? The buttery?’ Pons asked, looking about him with that eagerness that spoke of the true warrior, always ensuring his next meal before any other matter.
‘Follow me,’ Jack said. He was not particularly keen on their company, but he had to admit, they were more appealing than John and Peter, the two men supplied by the castellan at Canterbury. At least these two looked less dangerous.
Baldwin was about to move backwards from the King’s presence, when Simon nudged him sharply in the ribs. ‘The oil,’ he whispered.
‘What is that, Bailiff?’ the King demanded.
Simon was appalled to have been noticed, and flushed violently this time, incapable of speech.
It was left to Baldwin to explain about the oil’s theft, but that was not his duty. No. ‘The Prior asked me to tell you of this monk’s death, Your Highness. Brother Gilbert.’
‘Brother Gilbert?’ the King frowned. ‘The name is familiar.’
‘The second thing we discovered was, while travelling here, a body at the side of the road.’
‘What of it?’
‘We think that it was a man killed by outlaws.’
‘Outlaws lie everywhere,’ the King swore. ‘Keepers of my peace should be more assiduous in seeking the perpetrators of such vile crimes. Was it anyone of significance?’
‘I believe it may have been a man from your household, my Liege.’
‘What?’ The King gaped.
‘He wore a herald’s tabard, but there was nothing else upon him to show who he was. I think he had lain there for a week or more, and there was no distinguishing mark I could see on his body. Only some personal items.’
‘The coroner will hopefully be able to make some sense of it. If not, the locals will have a large fine to pay. Will he be able to find the body?’
‘I marked the position of the body most carefully. I would have posted a guard, were it not for the urgency of my own mission here, and the need to protect the Bishop through what were clearly dangerous woods. Others before we reached the woods told us of the dangers. There have been several killings there.’
‘Let us hope the coroner will find the body, then. You are fortunate that you were not harmed. I would have expected a man of your experience to avoid a wood when you had already been warned of the danger.’
‘The Bishop is a man of strong views, Your Highness.’
The King was not amused. ‘It hardly matters. I prefer live emissaries, not murdered ones. In future, you will act more cautiously. Was there anything else?’
‘There was one thing that may have some significance,’ Baldwin continued. ‘The dead herald wore a necklace of pilgrim badges about his neck. He must have been a most devout Christian.’
‘I will have my men ask whether such a man is missing. Can you tell me more about him?’
‘I would say he was about five feet and ten inches high, not running to fat, probably young, with brown hair, worn rather long for fashion. He had a strong, square jaw, and good teeth.’
‘Where is the necklace?’
‘It is deposited with Sir Hugh, Your Highness. He has it so he can learn who was the dead man. Do you know whether any of your heralds have disappeared?’
The King looked at him. ‘You expect me to monitor the movements of all of my household? Now, leave me to consider my Queen’s suggestions.’
Outside the hall, Baldwin sighed with some relief. There had been moments in that room when he had wondered how the King would react to his words, but, so far, the man had been entirely reasonable and sensible. It was fortunate, he felt, that he had avoided mention of the oil.
The Bishop of Orange was making his way across the court towards the rooms which had been allocated to him when Baldwin saw the dog again. The beast was sitting near a pillar, and as soon as he saw the Bishop approaching, the dog sprang to his feet, tail wagging. But the Bishop was uninterested, and instead of trying to stroke the head thrust towards him in a display of affection, he lifted a hand as though to strike it. Instantly the dog was cowed, and drew away, an expression of uncomprehending despair on his face.
Baldwin frowned. ‘That poor beast …’
‘Sweet Jesus, Baldwin, look at this!’
Simon had tentatively opened the purse so casually thrown to him by the King. Inside the velvet interior nestled a good handful of silver coins. ‘It’s a fortune! Ten pounds, I think!’