‘Protect it well, then, old friend,’ Baldwin chuckled. ‘In God’s name, don’t flash it around here too much.’ Looking up, he saw Pons and André. ‘Yes, keep it hidden. That much money would tempt many men to knock you on the head — even me!’
Chapter Sixteen
The Bishop of Orange was content now to see how the King would react. There was plenty for the man to consider, it was fair to say. He had sown the seeds of the ideas, hopefully. Now to see how King Edward turned.
It had been deeply interesting how the knight and his friend had not mentioned the stolen oil. He would have to consider that. When Sir Baldwin arrived, he assumed the fellow would tell all about it immediately. Perhaps he would prefer not to bear bad tidings. A messenger was often victim to his master’s rage.
For the same reason he was keen to make no mention of it himself. It would be too easy to offend. Better by far to deny knowledge. In any case, it would be easier with the arrangement with the Queen to keep as far from discussion of that cursed liquor as possible.
In the meantime, it was interesting that Despenser had said little before him. The fool was perhaps beginning to realise the limitations of his abilities — and of his power. Either that or he had been instructed to hold his tongue while in the presence of the Bishop. Interesting, either way. Could it mean that the King didn’t trust him so much any more?
He was walking across the court while silently considering the effects of his embassy here, and now the Bishop looked up to see Peter, the older guard from Canterbury. The man nodded briefly, and then the Bishop saw him give a little smile. It was enough to make a frown pass over his features.
The fool shouldn’t make any signs that they knew each other. It was too dangerous, especially here, in the King’s stronghold. Secrecy was all.
Baldwin was almost at the door of the little house where he and Simon were supposed to be lodged when he saw the figure of Ayrminne leaving the small church.
‘I think that is William Ayrminne,’ he said quietly to Simon, and then called to him. Soon he and Simon were at the side of the canon.
‘I think we met earlier this year when I was in London with my Lord Stapledon of Exeter?’ said Baldwin by way of introduction.
‘Yes? Ah, yes, I think we did,’ Ayrminne said. He nodded towards Simon affably enough when Baldwin gave his name. ‘Do you wish for something?’
‘It is possibly nothing,’ Baldwin said, ‘but on our way here, we passed by a body in the woods near Crowborough.’
‘How sad.’
‘Yes. And I was wondering whether you lost anyone from your party on the way here?’
‘Why? What on earth would make you think this fellow could have come from our group?’
Baldwin considered for a beat, and then nodded. ‘The man was dressed as a King’s herald. I was wondering whether one of your heralds left your party?’
‘It is true that we did have a herald with us, but he is still here. His name is Thomas, Thomas of Bakewell. A most reliable man, too. And perfectly alive, I assure you.’
‘I am very grateful. You have put my mind at rest.’
‘But there is something else? You didn’t ask me just because a man was killed, did you?’
Baldwin smiled and shook his head. ‘No. There was something which might have been stolen from Canterbury, from Christ Church itself, and some say that this man may have been the thief.’
‘Truly? In God’s name, what was stolen?’
‘A valuable treasure of the King’s,’ Baldwin said evasively. ‘It appears to have been mislaid.’
Ayrminne gave a low whistle. ‘Really? But surely a herald wouldn’t steal something from his master?’
‘We do not know. All we can do is seek the truth,’ Baldwin said.
‘Then good hunting, Sir Baldwin.’
‘Except we’re not, are we?’ Simon said pointedly as they walked away from Ayrminne.
‘Hmm?’
Sir Hugh le Despenser acknowledged the demand for his presence with a curt nod, and as the messenger from the King turned to walk out, Sir Hugh was already following.
‘Sir Hugh, come in. So, Sir Baldwin has already seen you about this dead herald?’
Despenser smiled without humour. ‘Yes indeed.’
‘And have you managed to discover anything about him? Sir Baldwin mentioned a necklace of pilgrim badges. Is that right?’
‘Quite right. He was a well-travelled man. That should make it easier to find out who he was.’
‘Good. Sir Hugh, do you know of a Brother Gilbert who was living in the Canterbury priory?’
‘Yes, he’s the son of my old friend Sir Berengar. Why?’
‘Didn’t you know? He has apparently been killed. In Christ Church Priory. Sir Baldwin told me just now.’
‘Sir Baldwin did? How good of him.’ Despenser nodded to himself. His face displayed none of his internal turmoil at this sudden revelation.
The King turned his back and was discussing some matter of his purchase of new horses from Spain, but Sir Hugh could barely concentrate.
That knight from Furnshill had known of the murder all the while he was in his room.
And forebore to mention it.
‘I was thinking,’ Baldwin said quietly, as he walked to their room with Simon, ‘that the man killed in the roadway in those woods was probably the King’s herald, and after stealing the oil and murdering Gilbert, he perhaps rushed on to bring the oil to the King, and was waylaid and killed. By sheer misfortune, he happened upon felons who slaughtered him, and he was left there.’
‘You didn’t mention the theft of the oil in front of the King!’ Simon protested.
‘No. A degree of caution struck me while I was speaking to him — it was Despenser’s attitude. It was teasing at my mind. But so was the matter about the tabard. What if the man was, for example, involved in the theft of the oil? It seems a little remarkable as a coincidence that the King’s herald was killed at about the same time as the theft. Could that mean that the thief passed along that same road?’
‘That would be possible, except …’
‘Yes?’
‘It is a little unlikely, isn’t it? The chances of a man coming along that road by chance? How many roads are there from Canterbury? What on earth would be the reason for a man coming along exactly that route?’
‘I think it is not so unlikely. King’s messengers and heralds will know the same paths, and they always tend to use these ones. One messenger will pass on his knowledge to the next to take his path, and thereby the roads used tend to be the same. The interesting possibility of this, though, is that the herald stole the oil and then was robbed of it in this area. Could that mean that the theft of the oil came to be more common knowledge, or that the herald had an accomplice who killed him to steal the oil?’
‘That is hardly likely. That presupposes two killings by accomplices. One, the monk, I could believe; two, I cannot. An escalation of violence isn’t credible. Not to me, at any rate.’
‘An excellent point, Simon. And another is the fact that we are told that the dead man was not from the good William Ayrminne’s party. You remember, the coroner told us that he thought that a herald had been seen on the night of Gilbert’s death. He appeared to assume that this herald was from the men with Ayrminne. But not so, according to Ayrminne himself. So this thief was not one of the men who came back from France with the ambassadors.’
‘No.’
‘So let us consider it from another angle. A thief took the oil. Perhaps he rode to the woods, and was there waylaid by felons, then; felons who live in the wood. They killed this false herald, and stole the oil. Yet why would they take the oil? I cannot believe that. I doubt they needed oil for their meal that night! And I doubt whether ordinary outlaws would have killed a churl and thrown his body aside like that. It was merely left by the side of the roadway. Surely an outlaw would have hidden the body a little so that the murder would not be brought to his door?’