The Prophecy of Death

Chapter Thirty-Six

The King walked through the assembled nobles and took his seat on his throne once more, letting his gaze range coldly over the men before him.

Once again, Despenser stood and read from a scroll, calling on all present to speak without fear or favour, his tone that of a steward in court, confident, strong, full of authority.

I wish I could speak with such a voice, the King thought. But he couldn’t. His authority was eroded by the wars with the Scottish, the losses in France, and the rumours which persisted — that he was a supposititious king, a peasant’s child inserted into the cot in order to weaken the Crown. He was nothing in the eyes of so many. His barons despised him: he could see it now in their eyes. The Church abhorred him for his frivolity, as they put it. Singing, dancing, swimming, all were frowned upon. His brother-in-law in France detested him for his friendship with Sir Hugh.

If there had been a little more respect for him, perhaps he would have enjoyed more success as a king. As it was, there was nothing he could do now. It felt as though his reign was set on a road that would end ultimately in shamefulness. Appalling to think that he could be responsible for the loss of so many territories. First he had the trouble with the Scottish, and now with his lands in France. There was no let up. Enemies were on all sides.

Men spoke. Their voices washed all around him, and there was no conclusion. He should go to France; he should remain in England. And all the while at the back of his mind was the proposal that his son should go in his place. Would that help him? How could he tell? All he did know was that his closest and best friend, Despenser, feared for his life were he, the King, to go.

The pressure was intolerable. He wished only to do what was best, but the competing demands were so insufferable that he hardly knew where to turn. If he could, he would throw it all up. There was no one in the land who could comprehend the immensity of the stress that a man must endure in his position. It was not something that he could give up, though. He was in a position granted to him by God. Not some secular body: God. What God had given, no man could take away.

Not that there weren’t plenty of men there in that room who’d have been only too happy to take it away from him, he thought, looking about him at them all.

His gaze landed upon his son, the Earl of Chester. Twelve years old … or was he thirteen now? It was so hard to keep track. How could he send the boy over to France on his own? It would be madness. Apart from anything else, he didn’t want to see his boy over there while Isabella was still there. She had to come back first. That was certain.

Baldwin found Richard of Bury clutching at his sleeve as he and Simon left the great hall. ‘Yes?’

‘My Lord. The Earl of Chester would appreciate a few moments of your time, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Would he? Very well. Take us to him,’ Baldwin said. However, he rested his hand on his belt like a man ready to draw steel in his own defence.

Bury took them along a long corridor, up to a second level, and thence to a chamber that lay near the Queen’s cloister. Here they found themselves entering a pleasantly lit and warmed room that was filled with hallings of rich colours. There were hunting scenes on the wall near the door, but it was noticeable that the tapestries on the other three walls all contained scenes from the Gospels.

There was a roaring fire in the hearth, and the Earl stood before it, with his back to the flames.

‘Today has been the wettest this year,’ he grumbled. ‘Miserable weather. I got drenched on the way to the audience first thing, and I’m still not dry.’

‘Your Highness,’ Baldwin said, bowing, Simon copying him at his side.

‘You know all, I believe.’

‘We have spoken with your men, your Highness.’

‘You think there is more to learn, then?’ Earl Edward said testily.

‘No, no, my Lord. I am sure that your men will have been entirely honest with me,’ Baldwin said.

The young Earl suddenly giggled, and for the first time Baldwin appreciated just how young he was.

‘Well, if Peter was, it’ll be the first time in his life.’

‘That was rather the impression I formed as well.’

‘But you do know much. I would ask that you don’t share what you know with my Lord Despenser, nor with the King. It is a matter for me, not for him.’

‘It is the King’s oil, your Highness,’ Baldwin pointed out.

‘Actually, no, it’s not. I believe the prophecy spoke of the King after him rather than he himself. In any case, he had it for his coronation and chose not to use it. Now it is up to me to be able to use it for my own coronation, I think.’

‘What if the King learns of it? He is most angry already, is he not?’

‘I think I can satisfy him on that,’ the Earl said.

And he could. His father was always gullible. He would soon be presented with a phial containing a little oil, its scent altered by the addition of a little oil of sandalwood and myrrh. He would be content with that. And meanwhile Earl Edward would keep the real oil in his own little phial, ready to be used on the day that he went to the abbey and knelt to be crowned in his place.

‘So what do we tell Despenser?’ Simon demanded as they walked from the Earl’s chamber.

Baldwin shook his head, desperate to think clearly. ‘What can we tell him? That the King’s son has it? That would be ludicrous. The Despenser would laugh at us, and then renew his assault on your house, Simon. We cannot do that.’

‘Maybe he won’t? He might bow to the fact that he was unable to do anything and subside quietly.’

‘Simon, he asked us to look into the matter. Have you not wondered why?’

‘No.’

‘I think it’s because he wants to have a little victory for the King. A small proof that he is still the King’s greatest ally and confidant. If we go to him and tell him that the victory has actually been stolen from him, and that the King’s son has the oil, I can envisage him considering even removing the son in order to get his own way.’

‘That is a large supposition.’

‘Yes. But he has an enormous awareness of his own self-value. Do not underestimate him as an enemy, Simon. He is very dangerous!’

‘I do understand. So what do you propose, Baldwin?’

‘First, I will tell him that we have investigated as far as we can. Second, that so far as we know, the herald who stole the oil is dead. Third, that he acted on behalf of another, but the oil was one of the items stolen from his body when he was killed. And fourth, that it was lost. Perhaps the outlaws had it, perhaps not. But either way, the man died and his secret died with him.’

‘You believe that?’

Baldwin looked at him, and then a little smile crossed his lips. ‘No.’

Vigil of St Boniface³⁴

Despenser was already looking up when Baldwin entered the room. ‘And?’

‘You wanted us to report.’

‘Yes. What has happened to the oil?’

Baldwin looked about him. There was a stool at the wall behind the door, so he took it and sat before Despenser. ‘You have lost it.’

‘I have lost it? And how did I manage that, precisely?’

‘It was stolen by the herald we found dead at the side of the road in the great forest, Sir Hugh. I have no idea what became of it then. Perhaps he sought to save it, and threw it from the outlaws? I have heard of other men who have done the same, throwing their money away to ensure that it never benefits those who sought to steal it. Perhaps he did that, and threw the oil deeper into the forest. With the undergrowth there, you could well seek it for years and never find it. I am sorry. I think you have lost it.’

‘The King has lost it, not I.’

‘Of course. If you do not find it, how can he?’

Despenser nodded slowly. ‘I do not think I like this conclusion, Sir Baldwin. I told you that I would leave your friend Puttock and you alone, if you helped me on this matter — and yet I get the feeling that you are not being entirely truthful. Why should that be?’

‘I am being as truthful as possible.’

‘I wonder. I shall be forced to cope with the King’s temper over the matter, but perhaps it is all for the best. The King would have liked to have had himself anointed again, but for him to do so would expose himself and the kingdom to risks he barely comprehends.

‘If he were to seek the oil and then have another ceremony, it could lead the ill-disposed to believe that he had no faith in his initial coronation. And that itself could prove to be a disaster for him. If others got the impression that he was less than confident of his original crowning, they might wonder whether he was in truth anointed by God. All sorts of treasonous and dangerous ideas might begin to circulate. We cannot allow that, Sir Baldwin. I will not allow it!’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I do not intend mentioning this matter to anybody whomsoever, Sir Hugh. It is closed, so far as I am concerned. I seek no more information about it.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Despenser said. The two said nothing more. There was no mutual trust, no companionship, no friendliness between them. And there never could be. One sought his own aggrandisement at the expense of any who stood in his path, while the other had witnessed and experienced the most appalling injustice. Baldwin had seen all his friends murdered to satisfy the greed of the French King. There was no point at which their minds and values could meet.

Baldwin rose and left Despenser there a few minutes later, aware of a great relief that he had at least averted one potential danger.