The Prophecy of Death

Chapter Thirty-Five

‘There is still Master Ayrminne to speak to,’ Baldwin said. ‘He was mentioned by Jack as he died. Do you think we should go straight to him?’

‘I would go anywhere rather than back into the King’s hall,’ Simon said, with a glance over his shoulder at all the men filtering back towards the chamber where the discussions were to continue.

As he spoke, Ayrminne appeared through the little gate in the Old Palace Yard wall from the Abbey grounds. ‘There he is, let us speak with him now,’ Baldwin said.

Ayrminne was less than delighted to see them approach him. ‘What is it, Sir Baldwin? I am to attend to the King’s debate.’

‘Yes, of course. And so are we, so perhaps we could walk there together?’

‘Why?’ Ayrminne said as they set off together.

There was a thick crush of men entering the doors, and Baldwin waited a moment, studying the canon as he considered the best means of getting the responses he needed.

Ayrminne was a political man from his boots to his shirt-collar. He had achieved a great deal in his life, rising to canon. He could hope to win a bishopric, if he won the right patron. It wouldn’t require much. ‘Master, you are a bright man, and I could try to deceive you with flattery or simple lies, but there is little point, I think. You know what the game is here as well as I do.’

‘And it is?’

‘Whoever finds the King’s oil, this fabled oil of St Thomas, will have the King’s regard for ever.’

‘Oh?’

‘And you seek it.’

‘How do you … what makes you think that?’

‘Master Ayrminne, a dying man just told me so. I doubt very much that a dying man would do so without good reason, don’t you?’

‘Who was this?’ Ayrminne said with a frown.

‘Your friend Jack, the man-at-arms to the Bishop of Orange.’

‘Dear God!’ Ayrminne said, and blanched. He took a deep breath. ‘Are you sure of this? I mean-’

‘We all three saw him fall, and caught his murderers. I am sure you know of them — they, too, were with the Bishop’s entourage.’

‘The two who had run?’

‘The same, yes. Now, I don’t know what you planned with Jack.’ Baldwin paused, hoping for the canon’s elucidation, but he said nothing. ‘Whatever it was, the two have not got the oil.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘I have gone through all their belongings. Not the clothes which they wear now, however,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘but I doubt that would help. If they had the oil, they wouldn’t risk dropping it or losing it. No. I don’t think that they have it about their persons. Which means they don’t have it at all, unless they’ve cleverly concealed it somewhere else.’

‘Which means?’

‘That most likely, in my view, they have already disposed of it. And you know how they are likely to have done so, don’t you?’

‘They will have given it to the Bishop, I expect. They are his men, after all.’

‘Yes. So if you are keen to retrieve it, we shall have to try to recover it from him. And that will not be easy.’

‘No,’ Ayrminne said shortly.

‘There is one thing, though,’ Baldwin said, smiling. ‘I have to ask you, to whom were you intending to give it, once you had retrieved it?’

‘The King, obviously. Whom else would a man give it to?’

Baldwin was watching him closely, and saw the tell-tale twitch in his cheek. He immediately knew that Ayrminne was lying. It wasn’t the mark of a coward; rather, it was the proof of a man who was a reluctant liar.

‘I see, Master. If you ask me that, though, there are many answers. It is probable, I think, that the man who has the oil now is the Bishop of Orange, and I believe he intends to pass it on to the Pope. That to me seems most likely. Then again, there are others, no doubt, who would seek to have the oil to give to Sir Roger Mortimer. He would be grateful, would he not?’

‘Yes, yes, very interesting, no doubt-’

‘While others might wish to help their own patron. Some would probably give the oil to, say, the Queen.’

And there it was again, as the canon opened his mouth to deny that he would ever have any interest in such an action, the little tic went off by his right eye.

‘Your patron is the Queen, isn’t she, Master?’ Baldwin asked firmly.

Ayrminne looked at him intently for several seconds. Baldwin knew better than to make any further comment. This was one of those moments when a man could break a witness into honesty, or, by speaking, could lose the witness for ever.

‘Yes. Yes, she is,’ Ayrminne said at last.

‘You were meaning to take it to her, then?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes. That man Jack came to me with a cock-and-bull story about it, but it was clear he was convinced he knew exactly where it was, and he told me how much he wanted. I agreed the price, and he was going to bring it to me.’

They stood huddled together near the tavern at the palace gate: Simon, Baldwin, Ayrminne and Thomas. There were no benches or stools here, but no one to overhear their conversations, either.

‘You knew Jack,’ Baldwin said, turning to Thomas. ‘He couldn’t have already got the oil, could he? Ah, but then what would have been the point of his going to the two in this place. No, he must have thought that they still had it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been in here at all.’

‘I don’t think he had it,’ Thomas agreed. ‘It’s not in his bags, either. You saw that.’

‘Yes, we all saw his pack,’ Baldwin agreed pensively.

‘So where can it be?’ Ayrminne said plaintively. ‘So much harm done for this blasted oil — and no one thought it worth a second look a little while ago.’

Simon nodded, but he was keeping his own counsel. It was a trait Baldwin had seen and appreciated before in his friend. He didn’t press Simon now, but instead looked at Ayrminne. ‘What do you think we should do, then?’

‘You ask me?’ Ayrminne said with a grin. ‘Since you already know that if I find it, I’ll take it to the Queen, why ask me that?’

‘Oh, I am sure that you are an honest man, canon. And if you take it when I have discovered where it is, I will do nothing whatever about it.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing. Bar telling Sir Hugh le Despenser what became of it. You see, that is my deal with Sir Hugh. He will stop persecuting me and my friend here, in return for which I will find this oil for him. It is not a pleasant task, but one I swore to try to achieve.’

‘If you tell him-’ Ayrminne began.

‘He will do all in his power to find it,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘Yes. And that is why I would greatly prefer to find it myself and bring this whole matter to an end.’

‘Well, I cannot help you. Both from lack of personal knowledge, and also from inclination. It is my strong belief that the oil should be saved and protected. To throw it away on our king would be … he is already anointed. More oil on him would serve no purpose.’

‘Then who can use it, if not the King?’

Baldwin stopped. Suddenly his eyes widened, and his mouth fell gaping. Recovering swiftly, he nodded curtly, and then made his apologies and walked out with Simon.

‘What on earth is the matter with them?’ Ayrminne wondered aloud.

‘They are a strange couple, Master,’ Thomas offered.

‘Come, Baldwin, what were you thinking in there?’ Simon demanded as soon as he felt out of earshot of any spies.

‘What occurred to me was that there was one other fellow who would perhaps be keen to acquire the oil,’ Baldwin said. ‘The Earl of Chester.’

‘That is what I thought too,’ Simon said. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t know if I was being stupid or not.’

‘Why stupid?’

‘Well, the idea that the Earl would steal from his own father, and take that which he was going to have anyway when he became King in his turn seemed a little far-fetched.’

‘The more I think of that family, the more I appreciate being a rural knight,’ Baldwin answered. ‘The parents hate each other. Both were much in love, or at least trying to give that impression, when the boy was born twelve or thirteen years ago, but now there is no affection whatever between them. And look at their son! All he can do is try to walk a tightrope between them, balancing precariously, trying to satisfy both, trying always to keep his relationships balanced with them both, not showing too much love to either in case he is used later as barter in their little power-games. What sort of a life can the lad have?’

‘A miserable one,’ Simon offered. ‘With only riches, security, diversions of all kinds, and the promise of a throne as soon as he comes of age and his father dies.’

Baldwin looked at him. ‘Security, you say? In this country? We have ever more barons determined to take any semblance of security from the King and his family. He will be rich, yes, but he will be seated on his throne, with another man like Despenser at his side, no doubt. No man he speaks with can he ever trust, because he knows all men will flatter and fawn before him, hoping to be granted some of his wealth, and when they are, they will flatter and fawn again, hoping against hope that he will honour them with more. It starts with a small purse of money, Simon, and then a post, and then the holding of a royal castle, or the privileges to a city, and before long the man is one of the privileged number who owns nothing but what he has been given.’

‘It must be a miserable existence,’ Simon said with a dry smile.

‘Yes. It is. And the only escape is by death. There is no other way out for a king. This lad, the Earl of Chester, is embarked upon a journey in which there is nothing he can do but bend to the will of others.’

‘Who rules the country, then?’ Simon said, his smile broadening.

‘Do you think the King does now?’ Baldwin said sharply.

No, Simon didn’t. Nobody who had spent any time at Westminster could think that. The man who held all the strings, and pulled them to his own tune, was Despenser. That was where the real power rested.

‘So what do you want to do?’ Simon said, serious again.

‘There is only one thing we can do. Build our case and see where it takes us,’ Baldwin said. ‘And the first thing we must do now, is speak to the two men who replaced Pons and André and learn why they were there. There is more, much more to all this than I comprehend.’

They found the two in a lodging-house not too far from the palace, along the King’s Street towards the Bishop of Exeter’s house.

It was a good little place, run by a man called Jacob le Brewer, who stood only five feet at most, but whose girth spoke of his love for his produce. He was able to point out the two men whom Simon and Baldwin wished to see. The smiling Peter and another who might have been his son, John.

Simon was immediately struck with a sense of the power of the two men. There was something about the smiling face of Peter that set a warning bell tolling loudly in his head. If he were to enter into a battle with Despenser, this was the sort of man he would like on his side, but not on Despenser’s. There was a controlled energy about him that was unsettling.

Not as unsettling, however, as the sense of uncontrolled, raw power he got from the other man at his side. Where Peter smiled at the world with eyes that were like flints, John glared balefully, without humour.

Baldwin had a single thought about him. He thought the man was just like one of the torturers of the Templars in those terrible, far off days when they had been arrested and incarcerated in their own castles. It set him on edge before he began to speak.

‘Sir Baldwin. We haven’t seen you since your departure for your home county,’ Peter said. His mouth smiled easily, but Baldwin could see little actual pleasure in his eyes.

‘I have been asked to learn what I can of the theft of the oil from Canterbury.’

‘That is interesting. Who are you speaking with?’

‘Just now, with you.’

‘Us?’ Peter said, and glanced at his companion. ‘Hear that, John? He wants to learn about the oil, but he’s come to us. Now why would he do that, do you reckon?’

‘Maybe he’s got lost?’ the younger man said, scowling unblinkingly at Baldwin.

‘You were added to the Bishop of Orange’s party in Canterbury. I think it is because you had the oil with you. The other two were removed because you two needed to get to Beaulieu. I think you were taking the oil with you.’

‘Now why would you think that, Sir Baldwin?’ Peter said.

‘At first I wondered what could have happened to the oil. It might have been taken away from the city that same night, of course,’ Baldwin reasoned, ‘but the fact that the coroner and your castellan went to so much trouble to have you inserted into the Bishop’s party seemed to argue against that. There was a reason for Pons and André being taken out of the Bishop’s group. I think it was simply that you two had to join him. Why?’

‘They thought we would make better guards than those two, I suppose,’ Peter said mildly. ‘We are very good, you know.’

‘I am sure you are. But in the meantime, let’s just continue. So, if it wasn’t to make up numbers, since it was the coroner’s fault that the numbers dropped in the first place, there was another reason. I think you were taking the oil to your master and protecting it en route.’

‘Who is our master, then?’

‘I would think that is obvious.’

Peter smiled more broadly. ‘So what now?’

‘Is it safe?’

‘That depends on what you mean by safe.’

‘In God’s name, man, just answer a question without prevarication!’

‘Yes. It is safe, sir. Safe enough.’

Simon was scowling. ‘Safe how, exactly? It would be safe if it was back in the hands of the King, or the Prior of Christ Church, rather than dumped by you somewhere.’

Peter looked at him, and for the first time his smile faded. In its place a pitying look came over his face. ‘You don’t understand, master, do you? It’ll be very safe where it is.’

Baldwin was nodding. ‘Whose castle is Canterbury?’

‘It is the King’s own, Sir Baldwin. Definitely the King’s.’

‘And yet-’ Baldwin stopped suddenly. His eyes narrowed. ‘Simon, Despenser told us where Yatton was riding when he was killed. Do you remember where he said?’

‘Leeds Castle, wasn’t it?’

‘Leeds, yes. The castle of Badlesmere, until he lost favour with the King. You remember that, Simon? He was one of King Edward’s most respected men, but he grew despairing about Despenser’s influence, so he threw in his lot with Earl Thomas of Lancaster, just before the Lords Marcher rose in rebellion. At about that time, the Queen was passing by on her way to Canterbury, and asked for lodging for a night. Since Badlesmere was away, his wife rightly refused entry, saying that she could not allow anyone inside without her lord’s permission. When the Queen tried to force her way inside, Lady Badlesmere had her garrison open fire, and six or seven of the Queen’s men were slain. The castle was taken, and the King exacted a vicious price for their rebellion.’

Peter was still smiling. ‘He had Badlesmere’s wife and children taken to the Tower. First women ever to be held there.’

‘And gave the castle itself to his consort,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘The Queen held it since then, and only gave it up recently.’

‘It’s wrong to take away all her possessions for something her brother did,’ John said.

Simon glanced at him. ‘Oh, he can speak?’

‘Hush, Simon.’ Baldwin was watching Peter closely. ‘You were in the castle for the Queen?’

‘Aye. And then I went to Canterbury. No point staying in a castle when your patron’s gone, eh?’

‘Now I understand,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘De Yatton was on his way back when he was killed. He had gone to Leeds — did he go on to Canterbury?’

‘I think so. I think he was there.’

‘And someone stole the oil there. Presumably, someone who also wanted to take it somewhere safe. For example to the Queen herself?’

‘Yatton didn’t want to kill that monk, you know,’ Peter said. ‘He really didn’t. He was a gentle soul. But when he was there, the monk told him that he was going to tell Despenser unless he was paid. No one knew it before, but that bastard Brother Gilbert was the son of one of Despenser’s closest friends. A small country, this!’

‘Despenser has allies all over it,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘So he took the oil, and brought it to you two?’

‘What’re you suggesting, knight?’ John demanded.

Peter looked at John, ‘There’s no need for that, John. We’re safe enough now. Yes, sir. That’s right. And we took responsibility for it, taking it with us to Beaulieu.’

‘On behalf of the Bishop of Orange so he could take it with him to France,’ Baldwin finished with a sneering tone.

Peter blinked. ‘What?’

‘Isn’t that what you intended?’

‘Christ’s beard, no!’ Peter burst out, and then laughed quietly. ‘Dear God, our master wouldn’t be happy after going to all that trouble, if we were merely to pass it on to someone else!’

‘But it was the Queen who-’ Baldwin stopped and closed his eyes. ‘The Earl,’ he said.

‘Aye.’

‘I should have realised,’ Baldwin breathed. ‘So you intended bringing it here all along?’

‘Not exactly, no. We thought he would be meeting us at Beaulieu. And then things in France grew worse, and the King decided to hold this set of meetings up here at Westminster. That made us change our plans.’

‘So instead you brought it here? Where is it?’

‘Delivered.’

‘The Earl has it already, then?’

Peter smiled again. ‘If you wish to think so, I am sure that is fine. So long as you keep it to yourself. The Earl wouldn’t want it discussed too widely. A man who spoke to others about whether or not he had the oil would soon learn whether or not the young Earl has the spirit of his grandfather.’

Baldwin ignored the threat. ‘What of Yatton? Was it him who was at Canterbury?’

‘He was there, he collected the oil for us, and then he left.’

‘Why him, though? Why use him to fetch it for you? Surely there were others who would have been less conspicuous?’

Peter shrugged and threw a look at John.

It was John who replied after a moment’s silence. ‘He wasn’t selected at random. Richard de Yatton was keen to help the Earl. We all were.’

‘What could he have had against the King? Why would he want to steal the King’s oil?’

‘Richard de Yatton was named for his birthplace, Sir Baldwin,’ Peter said.

‘Where is Yatton?’

‘Just down the road from Wigmore. Where Mortimer comes from,’ John told him with a curl of his lip.

‘You mean to tell me that the Earl was happy to make use of a man loyal to his father’s worst enemy?’ Baldwin said, torn between being aghast that his son could treat the King in such a manner, and doubt that John was speaking the truth.

‘Not entirely, no,’ Peter said, glancing at his companion with an expression that bordered on frustration, Baldwin thought. He continued, ‘The Earl didn’t know Yatton was one of Mortimer’s men, but that doesn’t matter. Men change their allegiance all the time. Especially knights in the King’s household, eh?’

‘Some men change their allegiance, yes. Not all,’ Baldwin said pointedly. ‘So the Earl wasn’t aware of Yatton’s background?’

‘Master Yatton made his oath to the Earl,’ Peter said. He toyed with a splinter of wood on the table in front of him. ‘Yatton wasn’t exactly happy when Mortimer stood against the King. What else would a man do, when something of that nature happens? Once Mortimer was arrested, he immediately had to seek a new patron. And he thought it would be best for him to serve the Earl.’

‘Why not the King?’ Simon asked. ‘Or was he too religious to want to serve such a man?’

‘What would religion have to do with it?’ John snapped. ‘You mean because the King is more interested in men than women?’

‘I meant because he has deserted his wife,’ Simon said coldly.

‘His religion would hardly get in his way anyhow,’ Peter said. ‘I never saw him as a greatly religious man.’

‘But,’ Baldwin frowned, ‘he had the necklace full of pilgrim badges. I saw it.’

‘Oh, I know he had that, yes. He collected the badges quite seriously, but I don’t think that had any bearing on his religion. Like any man, he would go to church on a Sunday, but he wasn’t one of those who wrapped themselves up in Christianity every day of the week like a warm robe. He could happily sit in a church, but when I saw him, it was often because he wanted a doze, nothing more.’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘Everyone else has said how religious he was.’

‘They didn’t know him, then. He was no more deeply committed than I.’

Simon looked at Baldwin. ‘Then why did he take so long on his journeys?’

Peter shrugged. ‘It’s not my concern. All I know is that my earl wants the matter forgotten.’

‘And that’s why you’ve just told us all?’ Baldwin said directly.

‘No. I’ve told you this to stop you asking about the oil,’ Peter said. ‘I had a choice of telling you the truth and hoping to silence you, or removing you. The Earl seemed to feel it were better to feed your inquisitiveness, rather than kill you. He told us to tell you all, and ask you to hold this secret.’

‘We should tell the King,’ Baldwin said.

‘It’s up to you. The Earl asks that you don’t. The matter is soon to be irrelevant, anyway. Why stir up such nonsense again?’

‘Because the King wants to have it returned.’

‘He’s already anointed. He had his chance to use it before,’ Peter said. The bells were tolling for the next session with the King, and all four stood. ‘He didn’t believe in it and so he didn’t make use of it. The Earl, however, is determined that his own coronation will be more auspicious. He will make a good king.’