The Prophecy of Death

Chapter Nine

Second Tuesday following Easter¹¹

Christ Church Priory

Baldwin and Simon were up early the next morning and, with relief, witnessed Cook bringing the jury to order before the coroner. The bodies were viewed, stripped naked before the jury, and then rolled over and over to show all the injuries sustained.

Witnesses were called to describe the events of the previous day, first Cook, then other guards from the gate, then the two bishop’s men who had struck the three down, and lastly others who had seen the blows. There was little real evidence of intentional murder, Baldwin felt, once the fact of men hurling ordure at the two was noted. It was plain enough that the three had been angry to see foreigners ignoring the queue at the gate and showed their displeasure by flinging muck. The jury accepted that the men had felt threatened, and in justice to them, it was agreed that their swords had been bloodied because they had feared that they might be in danger of their lives.

Simon was not watching the matter as closely as Baldwin. Simon’s attention was fixed on the coroner himself. The coroner was observing the two accused keenly, Simon noticed, and he was surprised enough to nudge Baldwin and point. Baldwin nodded, but then shrugged. He appeared to be saying it was nothing to do with him what the coroner thought of them.

At last the coroner summed up the evidence as his clerk recorded the facts, and he declared that the three had been killed by a chance medley. It was better than a decision that there had been murder done, a deliberate and premeditated slaughter, for that would have meant an argument about whether the men would be allowed to continue on their journey with the Bishop, but, with the official recording of the verdict, both of the men were relieved. A killing ‘par chaude melle’, or in hot blood, with the implication of deliberation, would have prevented the two from accompanying the Bishop.

‘A good result for the Bishop,’ Baldwin commented as the jury began to disperse.

‘Where are you going?’ Simon asked.

‘I want a word with that gatekeeper,’ Baldwin said over his shoulder as he hurried after Cook.

‘You got the decision you wanted, then,’ Cook said as Baldwin approached.

‘I think it was just. But close. I don’t know those two men, but I can easily believe that they acted from fear, not maliciousness.’

‘Can you really?’ the gatekeeper said. He turned his back and would have walked away, but Baldwin asked him to halt for a moment. ‘Why?’

‘This monk killed in the priory barn. Do you know anything about it?’

‘Only what you say, that he was slain in a barn and left there.’

‘Hmm.’

‘That tone carries a great deal of meaning, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I was reflecting that the priory has solid gates, my friend. Do you suppose another monk, or perhaps a lay brother, killed the lad?’

To his surprise, the gatekeeper grinned. ‘Do you? No. I think almost anyone would have learned where the weaknesses in the priory wall lay. There are plenty of men in the city who have seen brothers in the town after curfew. Any convent with intelligent young men will occasionally learn that young men are young men, and where there are a few lodged together, some will find the means to escape and find a tavern which will sell them wine or ale. I would bet I could find a way in within an hour, if I wished to.’

‘So the priory is not so secure as your gate, then?’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘Which means that the killer was already in the city — unless you think he bribed a gatekeeper to open a postern and let him in.’

‘No. None of the keepers would do a thing like that,’ Cook said with certainty.

‘I accuse no one. But if you were me, would there be any gate you would look to first, thinking a man might get through?’

‘There are none,’ Cook said, and he looked like a man who was now in a hurry. ‘I must be off.’

‘I thank you for your aid, friend Cook,’ Baldwin said.

Cook looked at him, then over to the prior and a number of brothers who ambled along the way. ‘There is one thing,’ he said suddenly, lowering his voice and not meeting Baldwin’s eye. He ducked his head to pick up his pack and swiftly spoke in an undertone. ‘Look at the castle. There is a small postern near the castle wall. If I had to bet on a corrupt man …’

After the inquest and his talk with Cook, Baldwin and Simon went to break their fast with biscuits and cold meats and cool ale from the priory’s stocks.

‘Well?’ Simon asked when he had eaten his fill.

‘What?’

‘The gatekeeper. What will you do now?’

‘I seriously do not think that there is anything I can do to help the prior. I have a realistic explanation of how the man got into the priory. He had a corrupt monk, I think, who was prepared to sell the priory’s valuables for money. The monk was killed, and his murderer made his escape over a section of easily scaleable wall, before making his way to a postern in the city wall, from where he escaped. There is no mystery. Which means that the prior and coroner are correct in their assumptions. There is nothing for me to do or say.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Tell the prior. There’s nothing for me here. It’s for the coroner and local officers to seek out the man.’

Once he had spoken to the prior, telling him what he had told Simon, Baldwin rejoined Simon near the stables. The friends stood watching while their mounts were prepared by the prior’s stablemen.

‘Did you learn anything to advantage last night?’ the Bishop asked, although not with any real apparent interest.

‘The prior has his own concerns,’ Baldwin said evasively. He did not wish to blurt out his conclusions of the previous evening. A man of authority like this bishop was not to be trusted as a confidant.

‘The good prior is a very harassed man,’ the Bishop said, cocking his head as the Queen’s hounds began to bay.

It was a sound which disconcerted his own, and apart from the calm dog which Baldwin coveted, his animals began to bark, one pair even beginning to fight. As Baldwin watched, the dog seemed to hunch his shoulders and try to walk from the fighting pair.

‘Bishop, that beast of yours over there. He is a wonderfully handsome fellow. Where did you find him?’

For the first time Baldwin saw the Bishop animated. He curled his lips with disdain. ‘That thing? It is useless. A man from the wild mountains gave him to me. I think he was just glad to be rid of a useless mouth, for the animal is singularly pointless. It barks when anyone walks nearby, but it won’t fight, it won’t fetch, it won’t do anything. It just meanders along behind a man. And then it will come so near as to stub his nose on your foot as you walk. Useless.’

‘But very handsome.’

‘He has looks, I grant you, but there is no point to him. As I say, will he hunt? No. Will he chase? No. All he does is eat and drink my food. Look at him — he avoids a fight. He has no soul, no pride.’

Baldwin was about to respond when there was a slight commotion from the gates, and when he looked across, he saw a tall man in uniform marching towards him.

The fellow had the look of a man-at-arms. His hair was cut short, in a military fashion that left a cap of hair that sat over his ears and passed high over the nape of his neck, as though a large cup had been placed over his skull, and all hair below it had been removed. He was tall, with the bearing of a warrior, but with laughing blue eyes and smiling mouth. ‘Sir Baldwin? I have heard of you from my friend, Coroner Robert.’

‘Good day,’ Baldwin said, unsure of the man and his effusive manner.

‘I am here to help you, Sir Baldwin. You have need of haste to travel to the King? Well, it is not an arduous journey, but it is still more than twenty leagues, I believe, to Beaulieu. You will want men who are quick.’

‘I thank you, of course,’ Baldwin said, ‘but we already have enough men, I think. With five men-at-arms, myself and my companion here, we shall be fine.’

‘With five, I am sure you will,’ the man said emphatically. ‘That is why I am to boost your guard to five once more. I have some younger men in the castle who will be keen to go with you, but I-’

‘But why? What do you mean by “boost my guard”? We have the men already.’

‘Didn’t you know, Sir Baldwin? The two who were accused of attacking and killing those peasants yesterday have fled.’

‘What?’

Too late, Baldwin looked all about him in the court. He had spent too much time looking at the great dog, and not enough concentrating on the men about him. Now he saw that the castellan was telling the truth. His entourage was reduced. A flare of suspicion kindled in his breast. ‘How did you know that they were missing? They were at the inquest, and all seemed well.’

‘Oh, the coroner spoke to them afterwards about some details, and the two of them ran.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said. His eyes were ranging over the people milling in the court, seeking out the coroner.

‘But I have two men who’ll be ideal for you, I’m sure.’

Baldwin eyed him ungraciously, then gestured towards the Bishop. ‘It is up to the Bishop, my friend. I have no authority here. I am a mere guard myself.’

The Bishop heard his words, but they were nothing to him. He had more important business to consider: the message he had for the King, how he should phrase it, and how he must respond to the King’s reaction.

While the message itself was simple and direct, the underlying message was not. Trying to make sure that the King understood it would be a problem. And if the King understood, perhaps there would be more aid for him, although it was not so desirable. The Pope and the Bishop both desired the end of this King’s reign. He was that dreadful.

There had been many kings over the centuries who had believed that they were more powerful than they really were. Some had died heretics, of course, while others fought to maintain the feeble fiction of their authority. It had taken one English King, the fool, to demonstrate once and for all the folly of that attitude. Henry II had poor St Thomas murdered here in Canterbury, and as a result the Pope had been able to impose a dreadful public penance on the King. It was a shameful period and, in reality, had little effect beyond showing that the Bishop could be as pious as any, and that the King must bend to the will of the Church. That, really, was the important factor.

Kings were responsible for the law of the secular folk on earth. The Church, though, had the duty of care to all souls, and in addition there was a duty to look after the King. The Church was there to help direct the whole of Christendom towards Heaven, after all. And she must make any arrangements necessary to help the world on that path. Thus bishops could and would guide kings. It was why the Church anointed kings — to demonstrate their authority.

It was why the Bishop must undertake this irritating journey, to go and see the King and try to help him see that he must do anything in his power to prevent an escalation of the disputes between England and France. It was the King’s duty to support the Pope’s fight to unite Christendom.

The King was expendable. Soon he might well disappear. His reign was collapsing about him, his treatment of his wife was an international scandal; rumours of his homosexuality and affair with Sir Hugh le Despenser were rife; his bellicose behaviour towards his brother-in-law, Charles IV of France was creating a rift between the two leading Christian states in Europe. It was unacceptable. Now was the time for him to finally do some good.

And if he wouldn’t, the Pope would make the remaining years of his reign still more difficult.

Jack of Oxford was interested to see how quickly the two had taken the hint from the coroner and fled the city.

He hadn’t realised what they were doing at first, of course. All he saw was the coroner leaving his inquest and speaking with them. As he turned to march away, the two stood a moment before exchanging a glance, then sidled away. A little while later, he saw them both near the stables, although at the time he didn’t make the connection. It was only when the others were told to fetch their mounts that he saw their two beasts were already gone. They had ridden off.

Well, they were hardly going to be missed. They were not the most reliable of servants to the Bishop, not in Jack’s opinion. Personally, Jack wouldn’t have trusted them as far as he could throw them. They were only heavies, brutes who’d attack anyone. He’d seen enough men like them to recognise their type. Even so, the Bishop had seemed to like them. He often gave them easier tasks, as though trying to reward them.

The Bishop would have need of protection in the dangerous roads between Canterbury and Beaulieu. Jack had some knowledge of the lands between, and they were invariably fraught with dangers of many types. There were forests, rivers, and the ever-present risk from outlaws.

No man could wander about the countryside with impunity in the King’s England. All who wished to could attack and steal what they wanted. The rule of law often broke down irretrievably only a few miles from a town. There were all too many knights and barons who deprecated the rights of others to use the King’s highways, and who would stop merchants and other travellers to demand payment of ‘tolls’. Others would simply knock a man on the head and take his purse.

The two men who were to join them in replacement of the two men-at-arms who had fled were interesting characters. Both were tallish for men of Kent, and they were quite fair-haired, too. There the similarities ended, though.

Peter, the first, was a rugged-faced man of some forty or more summers, with the lines and sunburn to show that he was used to living out in the open much of the year. His eyes were a surprisingly bright blue colour, which gleamed with intelligence as he took in the sights all around, but from the wrinkles at either side and the furrows in his brow, he was more used to peering at his surroundings from narrowed eyes. He had a square face with a strong jaw, and a nose that had been badly set some while ago. There was also a series of scars along his forearms, which were bared. He obviously reckoned that the weather would remain clement.

His companion was a younger man, with narrower features, but a heavier build. Where Peter was quite wiry, like a labourer, John had the appearance of a knight, in the padding of muscle at his shoulders and arms. His eyes were darker, a deep grey-blue, and there were fewer laughter lines at the corners. Instead of his friend’s alertness, this man’s eyes moved with a noticeable deliberation, and he appeared to concentrate on one object or person at a time with great intensity.

Jack watched him, the still, serious man, and then turned and eyed the older man with the smiling face. He had been a felon for too long. He knew how to recognise men, to see which would be most dangerous, which he could pick on easily.

He wouldn’t try anything with either of these, he decided — but of the two, he would leave the older, cheerful man well alone by choice. He looked much the more dangerous of the pair.