The Prophecy of Death

Chapter Thirty

They were able to speak with many of the King’s messengers as the day passed, but when they saw that it was almost midday, they called a halt and made their way to the New Palace Yard, and the stalls selling everything from pies to honeyed larks. With their bellies filled, they felt prepared to return to their questioning, and they set at it until the middle of the afternoon, but by then both were growing despondent.

There had been five or six heralds and messengers passing by that roadway in the days between Richard de Yatton’s disappearance and his body’s discovery. Of them, some could be discounted, because they had remained in the company of others at all times, but there were some who didn’t have witnesses to their actions, and these were the ones in whom Baldwin was most interested.

‘So, there is this fellow Philip, one of the cursores,’ Simon said. ‘I didn’t like his look.’

‘He was the one with the slight squint?’ Baldwin said with a grin. Simon was often suspicious of those who had any kind of mark which made them stand out or look different. Baldwin had often tried to explain to him that he shouldn’t judge people on the basis of physical differences, but Simon was still of a mind to doubt the word of those who looked more villainous.

Baldwin continued, ‘I felt his word sounded good enough. To be fair, he was with other people for almost all the time, except for a two-day period, and he said a man was with him in Maidstone. If we can confirm that, he must be innocent. He’d never make the journey to the woods in the time available.’

‘What of the man called Thomas?’

‘He was interesting. There was something about him that struck me as curious. Did you notice that?’

‘Yes. He was oddly reluctant to speak about himself, wasn’t he? There was something strange about him.’

‘But if he was telling the truth, there was no need for him to be nervous. He said he was in the party with Ayrminne and the others, all the way homewards from the Queen to Beaulieu. Did you see him in France?’

Simon paused and considered. ‘Not that I remember, no. But you know what it was like over there. We spent all our spare moments just talking to each other about how much we wanted to get home again, didn’t we?’

‘Let’s go and ask Ayrminne about him.’

William Ayrminne was staying in rooms in the grounds of the abbey, and he received the two with a smile and motioned them to a bench seat.

‘Sir Baldwin and Bailiff Puttock, it is very good to see you both again. And so soon, too.’

‘We have been asking people about some of the messengers who could have been responsible for the death of this man de Yatton on the road,’ Baldwin said. You had a man with you on your travels back from France, a fellow called Thomas, I think you told me. Thomas of Bakewell? What did you think of him?’

‘You asked me before whether he had disappeared from my group, I think?’

Ayrminne was no fool, and he looked from one to the other shrewdly. This was an embarrassment, potentially, and he had no desire to be thrust into a difficult position because of these two and their investigation.

Until January, Ayrminne had been the Keeper of the Privy Seal and a canon of St Paul’s Cathedral. He had lost those positions when he was elected to the see of Carlisle, but then he lost that when his election was quashed. It was a sore trial, seeing such a magnificent post go, but that was a part of life. Now, with the Queen’s backing, he had hopes of the next senior position to come available. There were stories of John Salmon, Bishop of Norwich, being in an increasingly frail state, which made Ayrminne hopeful. But he would do or say nothing that could hurt the Queen.

‘I would be most grateful for anything you can tell me,’ Baldwin said firmly.

‘Then first, you must know this: I am a very enthusiastic supporter of our Lady Queen Isabella. I make no bones about my affection for her. You understand? Good. Then I can tell you some things: first, the man Thomas was the brother of the poor fellow who was killed in the abbey church on the day of the King’s crowning. Remember that?’

Baldwin tipped his head back as realisation hit. ‘Sir John de Bakewell! Of course. I knew that the name of the town was familiar for some reason.’

‘He died when the wall behind him collapsed. Poor old Westminster. It’s not that long ago that the fire took much of the outbuildings, and then there was the jewels robbery in the early years of this century, which was a great embarrassment, and finally this fresh disaster. Just as they hoped to leave so much shame behind them and have a great coronation ceremony, the damned wall fell over and flattened poor John.’

‘It was not an auspicious beginning to the King’s reign,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Hardly. And that man was Thomas’s brother. I understand he was found at his brother’s side by the Queen. And it was she who went to Thomas and helped him up. She was only a little older than he at the time, I suppose, but she had Thomas taken into her household and gradually she elevated him until he became one of her most trusted messengers. Now, of course, he is back here with the King’s men, since the Queen has seen her household taken from her.’

‘So he would be entirely loyal to the Queen, then,’ Simon noted.

‘Yes. As are so many. Many of us have much to thank her for,’ Ayrminne said coolly.

Baldwin and Simon walked hurriedly away from the canon’s lodgings, up past the great Belfry, and back into the New Palace Yard.

There was a small chamber near to the main room where they found the messenger called Thomas sitting with the other, Jack, the guard from the Bishop of Orange’s party.

‘Masters! You want to speak with my friend here?’ Jack said.

‘This is Thomas? Brother of Sir John de Bakewell?’

‘That I am.’

Baldwin stood leaning nearby. ‘We have heard that you were the loyal servant of the Queen until only a short while ago.’

‘That is right. I am still her man,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t change allegiance just because others seek to forget their own.’

Jack put a hand out to him as though to calm him, but Thomas looked at him in some surprise, as though he was only stating simple facts and not the clearest treason.

‘You were with the Queen in France, but returned with William Ayrminne?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Why do you think, man?’ Simon burst out. ‘We’re seeking the murderer of the man who was slain while in the King’s service, and the oil which has been stolen from the King, and you were returning from that place just at the right time.’

‘Me? You think I was responsible for that man’s death? Are you mad?’

‘I shall reserve my judgement on that,’ Baldwin said.

‘I returned with William Ayrminne and the others. All the way to Beaulieu. How could I have left them and hurried to Canterbury? It must have been someone else.’

‘Somebody managed it,’ Simon grated.

‘Perhaps they did. Not I, though.’

Baldwin peered at him closely, but although he and Simon asked more questions with the hope of dislodging the man, there was nothing they could do to shake his apparent conviction of innocence.

Thomas was disturbed by the line that the questioning had taken.

‘You shouldn’t concern yourself. They ask the same questions of all of us,’ Jack said soothingly.

‘I know that!’ All the heralds and messengers were being questioned, of course, but he was alarmed by the way that Sir Baldwin had asked about his own journeys in the weeks before Richard de Yatton’s death. He had been in France, he told them. And yes, he’d come back with the entourage of the Bishop of Winchester.

‘You weren’t the only man coming back in the Bishop’s party,’ Jack said, as though he could read Thomas’s mind. ‘They know that well enough. They can’t state that you left to return to Canterbury. It could have been anyone.’

‘It was a very large party,’ Thomas said uncertainly.

‘So they cannot say it was definitely you, any more than they can say it was someone else.’

‘You mean a man might have been able to leave it without being noticed? Not for long, though. An afternoon and early evening? Perhaps.’

Yes, Jack thought. And then, while riding back through the forest, perhaps a man would have been able to slip away for a moment or two — long enough to defecate, certainly — without causing comment. He had been with large parties like that one. And that same man might have been able to shove a herald’s tabard over a corpse, say.

It was clear that Thomas did not like it. He felt that this questioning was beginning to point in a very unpleasant manner towards himself.

Jack was less sure. He reckoned that it was giving him a clue about others. About a conspiracy. He had heard enough. Someone had waited until Ayrminne’s men had gone from Canterbury, and then wandered in and stolen the oil. It was easy. Then he had lain low in the city until the Bishop of Orange’s men arrived, and perhaps passed the oil on to one of them. Pons and André ran off with the oil, and brought it with them to the Bishop again in Beaulieu. The matter of the herald murdered in the woods was a different affair entirely. Sad, but it had nothing to do with the main issue: the oil. Yes. He felt he had the strings of the story in his hand now, and he was tying them together neatly.

And information about something like this could be valuable.

‘That was a waste of time,’ Simon said as they left the chamber. ‘I need answers, but we’re getting nowhere!’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘And I begin to see that we have a problem — if we consider men like Joseph or Thomas, they can declare that they are innocent, perfectly happy in the certainty that we will never be able to prove them liars.’

‘What does that mean?’ Simon demanded. ‘All we need do is learn that one man or another was missing, and we have our killer.’

‘And how do we prove a man wasn’t there in the party from one day to the next? It is easy to prove a man was a part of a travelling group, but how do you prove he wasn’t? If that fellow Thomas was with Ayrminne, and Ayrminne tells us he was with him almost all the way, we have a certainty. If he says he was there, but Ayrminne tells us Thomas was nowhere near him, does that mean he wasn’t with Ayrminne’s men, or simply that Ayrminne didn’t notice him? There is no certainty, Simon. None. How can we make cob without straw or mud?’

‘Well, we have to look for some rock on which to base our conclusions,’ Simon said.

‘How far do we dig for it?’ Baldwin demanded sarcastically.

Simon looked at him coolly. ‘I do not care how far I have to dig! I want Despenser satisfied so that I can know some peace in my home again.’

Jack was thoughtful after the questioning by Baldwin and Simon. Thomas was in no mind to discuss what he had said, but instead sat scowling at a far wall and made a bitter comment or two about the quality of modern knights. It was enough to make Jack think that he either knew, or had guessed, who was guilty of the killing.

This was the sort of affair which could easily lead to a man losing his head, Jack thought to himself, but he had no desire to do so. Still, there were problems for a man who wished for a quiet life. Sometimes he must risk a little in order to get it.

He was unpleasantly certain that he had not cut a dashing figure in the eyes of the knight and his friend the bailiff, but that was little concern to him. There were many others who regarded him in a more respectful light.

‘You all right, Thomas?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I just wish I knew why so many people believe I have something that can help with this. I don’t know anything!’

‘Despenser hasn’t tried to finger all your things again, has he?’

‘No. Nothing’s been touched so far as I can see. There’s no need to, anyway! I don’t have anything. I don’t know anything! All I did was ride back from France with William Ayrminne. What is so wrong with that?’

‘They obviously think you left Ayrminne’s men to go off and rob the priory,’ Jack said.

‘It’s ridiculous, though! How could I have had the chance?’

‘True enough,’ Jack said. ‘Tell me, how was Ayrminne to travel with?’

‘He was a good companion. He talked all the while to all of us, he was very friendly and cheerful. You’d never have guessed at his importance. He could talk to any man on his own level. Or woman. Even the highest.’

‘You mean the Queen?’

‘Oh, yes. He visited her a few times when I was there with her. She had many messages for me to bring for her — some for the King, others for Prior Eastry, making sure he was looking after her pack of hounds. There were loads of them.’

‘And he was correctly deferential, then, even though he treated you and the others well?’

‘Hah! Oh, yes. He was quite subservient to her and to the Bishop, too. But when he left the room, and the two behind, he was his usual self again. Much easier.’

Jack nodded, grinning. He’d known others who were like that. They tended to be the easiest for a man to deal with.

And then he almost gasped. Ayrminne had been with the Queen — and so had the Bishop. Then Ayrminne came to England and was at Canterbury, and the monk had died, the oil stolen that same night.

The Queen was estranged from her husband. Everyone knew that they got on as well as a fox and a chicken. Something she’d be keen on having would be some sort of lever over her husband, and to be able to take his oil, and threaten him that he’d never see it again — that could be a mighty threat.

This was a guess, but he reckoned he was in possession of important information, and it was a case of how best he could use it. The oil had been stolen, and he didn’t know who’d done that, nor what they’d done with it. But the Queen was in contact with people in Canterbury, and Thomas had delivered her messages for her. So Ayrminne could easily have plotted with her to have it stolen for them.

Someone had killed the monk, taken the oil, and then passed it on to the Bishop of Orange’s men when they arrived. André and Pons had disappeared in a hurry. They had returned to the Bishop’s party when it was safe, when he was at Beaulieu, and there, no doubt, they gave him the oil so he could take it back to the Queen. There was no risk he’d be searched for it at Canterbury because the two already had taken it. And he could transport it all the way back to the Queen in France. That way, the French bint would have a lever against her husband.

It was quite impressive, really, he thought. Now — the next problem was what to do with the information.

But there was no struggle there. He knew what to do. His years as an outlaw had made him keen on the acquisition of treasure, and this information should be worth a few pennies. The question that exercised him was, who he should sell it to?

He knew already.

The Bishop of Orange looked up when the tentative knock came on his door. ‘Yes?’

Nicholas walked in with that reticence so typical of a friar who was unsure of his welcome, and less certain of his own position generally.

Since giving Despenser all he had wanted, Nicholas had been ignored by the magnate. Perhaps that was no bad thing. His throat was still bruised where Despenser had grabbed him. The man had the sensitivity of an ox. And it was Nicholas who’d pointed out the potential resolution to Despenser’s problems. The man should have been grateful, curse his name.

At least the Bishop had given him some security, which was a huge relief.

‘What do you want, friar?’

Nicholas smiled anxiously. ‘I wanted to know when we were likely to return to France, my Lord?’

‘I imagine that our business will be completed here within the week. I most certainly hope so. I am supposed to be going straight to the Pope, as you know.’

‘I am most grateful, my Lord Bishop.’

‘I do not imagine that you will be enormously popular with His Holiness, any more than you are here in England, though.’

‘You are quite possibly correct there, my Lord. But I have to consider that my life will be safer in France with the Pope than here with the English King. He is so entirely devoted to his adviser that any man who seeks to help him but who is forced to speak the truth about the Despenser is inevitably harmed.’

‘And you want to tell the Pontiff about this oil again?’

‘When I brought news of it to him originally, I was hoping for his aid to validate the rumours about the oil, but no longer. Now I am convinced of it. And it is more important than I had realised. You see, it has been stolen and could fall into the wrong hands.’

‘And whose hands would be so wrong?’

‘I am coming to the conclusion,’ Nicholas said, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, ‘that the worst possible hands would be the King’s. King Edward, were he to win the oil of St Thomas, could become successful. But look at him, my Lord! Were he to have the oil used on him, he could become invincible!’

‘You think that the oil could have such a supernatural effect?’ the Bishop asked. There was no sarcasm in his voice, he was genuinely seeking Nicholas’s opinion.

‘If St Thomas was right, and this was given to him by the Blessed Virgin Mary, then I think so, yes. The man who possesses this oil must be entirely safe from any enemy, surely.’

‘Then to whom should the oil be given, if not to the King?’

‘To his son. From all I have heard, Earl Edward is a bright, intelligent young man. And he is not prey to the same — um — unfortunate urges.’

‘Interesting. So you think that we should seek out the oil and give it to the boy?’

Nicholas stared at him very straightly. ‘I think we should do all in our power to prevent either the King or his adviser Despenser acquiring it. That is the most important thing.’

The Bishop leaned back and eyed him coldly. ‘That is interesting.’