The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) (11 page)

‘So, hypothetically, it is possible that the man was indeed a king’s herald. And the King himself commands the heralds of
his household.’

‘So you think the King ordered a man to come here, and to murder a monk in the priory where St Thomas was killed by King Henry
II?’

‘The King has a friend who is capable of ordering a herald to do his bidding,’ Baldwin said dangerously. Before the coroner
could comment, he continued, ‘Another thing, though, why should a young monk steal the key and take the oil to this herald?’

‘Money? Some other reward?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘More likely that, than the King or the King’s friend ordering the robbery of his own property,’ the coroner stated flatly.

‘Yes. Perhaps so,’ Baldwin said, but Simon could tell that his mind was running along a different lane just now. He was looking
about him in that distracted manner which Simon knew so well.

The coroner gave them a Godspeed, and stalked across the court.

Baldwin sighed. ‘Simon, I think that man is destined for high office – or an early grave.’

Beaulieu Abbey

The messengers were always with the King. Many of them had worn their uniforms with the parti-coloured blue patterns with
stripes for more years than the King had been on the throne. Some had been used so widely that their shoes had been replaced
more times than they could remember. Those who set off on foot would cover the same distance as those who went on horseback,
for a man was more resilient than a horse, when all was said and done, but such cursores were still rather beneath a man like
Joseph of Faversham.

Pulling his coat about him again, he felt his shoulders fill the tunic. It was a magnificent uniform, if he said so himself.
Buttons drew the cloth tight over his breast all the way to this
throat, while more ran from the wrist to the elbow of his sleeves. It was as blue as all the other messengers’ tunics, but
his was newer than any of theirs, and much smarter. He knew that because he’d deliberately bribed the man who had supplied
it, paying over the odds to have the best.

There were good reasons for it, too. A man needed to stand out when he was one of a large company. And a king’s
nuncius
should look good. It was all a part of his duty to the King. And since he had been honoured when the King sent him to the
Pope earlier this year, there were good reasons for him to look as good as he felt.

Not that he’d been feeling exactly perfect when he first got back. It had been a very long journey, and one fraught with dangers
along the way. It was fortunate that the route was fairly well-defined, and other
nuncii
had told him the best places to rest and those which he should avoid. With good fortune, and a certain amount of his own
natural cunning and skill, of course, he had made the journey in only a little over the time it would have taken a man vastly
more experienced.

But that was the advantage of being so much younger than the others. Most of them were close to being retired.

‘Faversham, where are you?’

‘Here, my Lord,’ he responded, hurriedly climbing to his feet. The man calling was known to him, of course. He was the King’s
own bottler.

The bottler stood in the doorway now, a serious expression on his face as he studied Joseph for a moment with pursed lips.
Then he gave a brief shake of his head as though in disgust, and jerked his head towards the abbot’s hall, where the King
was presently installed. ‘The King wants you. Personal message.’

Joseph did not hesitate. A messenger was always ready to
be called on at a moment’s notice. He had his little purse with the King’s insignia embossed on it hanging from his belt,
and now he pushed past the bottler, full of fire and excitement to be off again.

He only hoped it wasn’t to be another foreign trip. The food played havoc with his belly.

Second Tuesday following Easter
¹¹

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.