‘Outlaws can be astonishingly dim, Baldwin. I have seen it on the moors.’
‘Perhaps, but concealment would surely be more likely. And especially given the rank of the dead man. Murder of a herald is not common, and more to the point, it is astonishing that such a thing might happen to the very man who had just stolen a phial of inconceivably valuable oil. What is the likelihood that the thief, clad in a King’s tabard, would then come across a felon set on murder?’
‘So what do you think happened?’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps the man was already dead, and when the man with the tabard happened along with the stolen oil, he saw the corpse, and chose to conceal his own identity by shoving the corpse’s head through his tabard. That is possible … also possible is that the killer of Gilbert came by the same route — there are only a few through those woods and that one may have been commonly used by messengers, for example — and killed the first man he encountered, throwing his tabard over the dead body to conceal his own identity.’
Simon considered. ‘That would involve a lot of boldness on the part of the killer.’
‘Yes.’
‘It would also surely imply a purpose. The King would not steal the oil — it was his own, stored where he had ordered it — so it was someone else, if you are right.’
‘Yes. Someone who had something to gain by removing the oil. Either that was someone who wanted the oil for his own purposes, or it was someone who sought to ransom it to the King.’
‘And your guess would be?’
‘What would the King do to someone who thought he could ransom the King’s own property back to him? He would have the fellow in his gaol in no time. A blink of an eye. No, this was no simple theft for swift gain. This was a carefully plotted theft with a longer-term benefit in mind.’
‘Who could think in those terms?’ Simon asked. And then he thought a moment, and added, ‘Oh.’
Baldwin nodded. They had both had enough experience of Sir Hugh le Despenser to know what he was capable of. ‘Yes.’
Simon’s face hardened. ‘Well, in that case, the best thing we can do is leave well alone and return home as soon as possible.’
‘Simon, he could well have been responsible for the murder of that monk — and the man in the woods.’
‘Yes, Baldwin. And I don’t want him responsible for our murders. Baldwin, if he were guilty, what could we do about it? Accuse him in front of the King? The man who is his best friend? You think we’d achieve anything by doing that? Who are you trying to fool, Baldwin? There is no possibility of our getting anywhere. Me? I’m for leaving him alone. He’s the most powerful baron in the country after the King himself. If you accuse him or irritate him, you will be signing your own death warrant. Do you want that?’
‘I am a keeper of the King’s Peace. I have a duty to justice.’
‘No, Baldwin,’ Simon said, and this time his voice was more gentle. He stepped forward and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘You have an honourable duty to finding the truth in your own lands, back in Devon, and you have a duty to protect and serve your wife. You and I have to look to our families, Baldwin. If you go chasing Despenser, you will die. You know that. And when you die, he will not stop from persecuting Jeanne and your children. You know Despenser. He is relentless and ruthless. He will destroy you, then your family, and he will steal your lands and property to leave your widow utterly penniless. You will have nothing at all to leave to Jeanne and your children. Think of them, Baldwin.’
‘But if he was guilty of that murder …’
‘He is guilty of other killings, Baldwin. We both know that. We’ve seen the results of his jealousy at Iddesleigh and at Westminster. Remember that innkeeper? What would it serve justice for us to die too?’
‘You won’t help me, then?’
‘Yes, I will. I’ll help you all the way home, Baldwin. But I won’t help you to see yourself destroyed. That will serve no useful purpose.’
Baldwin had been looking at the ground. Now he looked up, and Simon was relieved to see that the veil of grim determination which had harshened his features was now gone. In its place a shamefaced smile appeared. ‘Yes. You’re right. It’s time to give up any ideas I may have had of a great destiny, and to return to my quiet life in Devon. I was forced into the limelight by Stapledon, and we have done our part by escorting the Queen to France. Surely that is enough. We’ll go home.’
‘Good,’ Simon said with a grin. And then he slapped Baldwin on the back and laughed aloud. ‘I cannot wait to see my wife’s face when I appear!’
‘Nor I mine,’ Baldwin said. And as he spoke, his eyes took on a faraway look. The Bishop’s dog lay asleep a few yards away. ‘But before I go, there is one purchase I should like to make.’
Third Thursday After Easter17
The summons came a little after his midday meal. Sir Hugh le Despenser had elected for a quiet lunch with his steward and two clerks to discuss the income of his Welsh estates, and the messenger received a cold stare when he demanded Despenser join the King.
Matters of state came before his own estates, though. At least it was nothing more that the slimy turd Furnshill had slipped into conversation. He had been glad to see that prickle riding off a couple of days ago with his friend the bailiff. At least they were two problems fewer for him to deal with here in Beaulieu.
‘If His Highness desires it,’ he said, rising.
The King was in an even more explosive frame of mind than usual. ‘Did you know? Did you?’
‘Know what, my Liege?’ Despenser responded mildly. He observed the King’s mannerisms with interest. The man appeared to be losing control of his mind.
‘Look! This messenger has just brought news from Prior Eastry. You remember him? The wretch who was so persuasive on behalf of my wife, and insisted that she should have large funds to draw on while she was over there in France. Him! You remember? I told you that one of his brothers had died, didn’t I? That young fool Gilbert.’
‘Yes. What has happened now? Sir Baldwin told me most of this.’
‘Did he also mention that my coronation oil has been stolen!’
‘Your … what?’
‘St Thomas’s oil is gone!’ the King snapped. In an instant his face had blackened with anger. ‘How would someone dare try such a thing?’ His fist slammed down on the table, making the jug and goblets jump. ‘My oil! Taken! I want you to instigate a full inquiry into how this was done, Sir Hugh. Seek for it, and find it, and when you do, I want the men responsible to be punished for this. Punished so that no one will even think of stealing such a thing again!’
‘My Liege, surely-’
‘Find it, find the oil, and find me the man who took it, Sir Hugh! The last man who stole from my father was skinned, and his pelt still adorns the door to the crypt at Westminster Abbey as a sign to all the monks never to try their King’s patience again. Well, someone has dared to try my patience, and I want his skin for it!’
Chapter Seventeen
‘The oil is gone,’ Despenser repeated quietly to himself.
It was a bad piece of news, certainly, although not a catastrophe — yet — and he would have to ensure that it never grew to be one. True, the King should not have been told so quickly; Despenser should have been told first, so he himself could have told him, but Despenser could rectify that. It was better to seek the oil and find it first. And hang the man who stole it, by the cods from the highest beam in the ceiling at Westminster Palace! Any man who dared to steal from the King was dangerous, but someone who was bold enough to take something that was useless to any but the King, he was a dangerous opponent. Or mad. Either way, he was a threat to Despenser. And Sir Hugh did not like to leave threats go unheeded.
The King shouldn’t have been told yet. There was no need for him to know. He had that damned knight from Furnshill to blame for this.