The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) (10 page)

‘If someone had not taken it.’ Baldwin nodded.

‘Quite so. And then killed our poor monk, too.’

‘This Gilbert – he was trying to guard it, you think?’

‘Of course.’

Baldwin could not help but notice the quick glance from the coroner. He wondered about that for a moment, but he continued
without mentioning it. To him it looked as though the coroner was somewhat less convinced of Gilbert’s innocence than the
Prior.

He cleared his throat. ‘Prior, how well did you know this Gilbert?’

The Prior had been studying the floor as he considered the matter yet again, but now he looked up sharply. ‘If you are going
to cast any malicious rumours against this poor, dead fellow, I will be—’

‘Prior, the lad was up and about at a time when he should have been asleep, just like all his brother monks, from what you
tell us. He alone rose in the middle watches, while all his brethren lay sleeping. Was he a uniquely light sleeper?’

‘Well, not—’

‘So we can exclude the idea that he alone of all the brothers might have heard something, then. Which leads us to the next
question: what would have made him wake? Perhaps it was a call of nature. He needed the reredorter. Where is it?’

The prior wordlessly pointed.

‘Fine. So, if he had sought that relief, he would have walked even further from the scene of the theft, and further from the
barn where he was to meet his death. It is inconceivable that he might have seen something from the reredorter, so that is
easy to dismiss. If not a call of nature, perhaps there was something he realised he had omitted to do the night before. Was
there any such omission on his part?’

‘No.’

‘So that too, we can exclude. And we are left with any number of other possibilities: that he had a nightmare and woke – but
commonly a dream so painful as to force a man to wake will also cause others to be disturbed. None other woke? No. Perhaps
he was tormented with a pain – a tooth that ached, a twisted ankle, a blocked ear … did he make any mention of such an
affliction?’

The Prior shook his head.

‘So we come again back to the most obvious possibility – no more than that, it is just a possibility – that he may himself
have been involved in the theft.’

Prior Henry shook his head, unconvinced and unconvincing. He wanted to respond waspishly to this accusation, but the conviction
in Baldwin’s voice kept returning to him. ‘You are very certain of your reasoning, sir.’

‘Pray, do not be offended. I seek the truth. It is all any man can do. I never seek to judge a man unless I am sure. I would
prefer to allow ten guilty men to go free than convict even one innocent who was undeserving. I do not wish to malign
Brother Gilbert post-mortem, Prior. All I seek is the truth, so that we can attempt to recover your treasure.’

‘He was an easy fellow to like,’ Prior Henry said. Now that the barrier had weakened, his determination to protect the boy’s
memory was undermined. ‘We bring many boys here from about the diocese, for without their education here at the priory, many
of them, boys with good brains and hearts, would otherwise be lost to the Church. It is one thing for the world to lose another
merchant, butcher or baker, but another thing for the world to lose a man capable of inspiring love for the Word of God. Gilbert
was one of those.

‘I think he had been a novice for only a matter of weeks, when I saw his potential. He had a purity of thought, and an astonishing
facility with a brush or reed. His depictions of scenes from the Gospels were marvels of the art, truly astonishing from a
lad of such tender years. And yet there was always something at the edge of his work, a certain humour on occasions, and when
the subject deserved it, a bleakness to show that some men could be truly evil.’

‘How long was he here as a monk?’

‘Only a matter of some seven months. Before that he was still a novice. I called him into the chapter when I thought he was
ready. The brothers all agreed with my judgement.’

He was sounding quite defensive, Baldwin thought, and he could see that Simon felt it too. It surprised him. ‘It is not your
fault if a brother decides to steal from the priory. You should not blame yourself, Prior.’

Now the prior and the coroner exchanged a look, and Baldwin understood that there was another point at issue. What it might
be, though, he had no idea. ‘Prior?’

‘I think you should tell him,’ Coroner Robert said.

Beaulieu

The King was growing irrational, Sir Hugh le Despenser said to himself. It was not the sort of comment he would dare to make
aloud, but when the man was raving about things like this, it was enough to make a man want to weep. There were the troubles
with the French, the ever-present risk of another incursion from the damned Scots, not to mention the rabble in the country
who seemed always to be seeking the next miracle and saviour.

First it had been the body of Thomas of Lancaster. Dear Christ! If there was ever a man who was more suited to the devil than
him, Sir Hugh had yet to meet him. Lancaster was a grasping, mean, cretin. Most nobles were happy enough to seek to improve
their lot, and there was nothing wrong with that. It was a natural inclination to win greater rewards, and sometimes a man
would stretch the law a little to do so. If a fellow had ballocks, he’d ignore the laws, like Sir Hugh, or preferably have
the King change them to suit him. But Lancaster was a fool to himself. He persuaded himself that he had a brain and could
win against Despenser and the King; he was wrong.

Still, after his death a cult built up around him. It was said that he had died a saint, and some men were prepared to countenance
his canonisation. Sweet Christ, they even started
visiting the little plaque which he had painted and hung on the wall in St Paul’s, celebrating the ordinances which had been
forced upon the King. It had grown to such a nuisance that the King himself had ordered the damn plaque to be removed.

Intolerable! The man was a fool and a traitor.

Still, there was now the added problem that the King’s mind was turning to the matter of the oil of St Thomas. That was something
which could not be brought up again.

Originally, the oil had been hidden. Some said it had been given by St Thomas to a monk in a monastery in some Godforsaken
part of France, and buried securely with a gold plate that said what it was, and explained that it should be used to save
the King. The King anointed with this special oil would become a lion, raging against the heathens who had overrun the Holy
Land. Eventually, the King would reconquer Jerusalem. He would become the most praised King in Christendom.

But the oil had been the target of an attempted robbery, and the Duke of Brabant had instead taken it for protection. When
Edward was to be crowned, the Duke brought it with him, but for some reason it was not used. Instead, it was kept safe – originally
in the Tower, and more recently in Christ Church Priory, for that was where it belonged, so some thought, with St Thomas who
had first received this marvellous oil in a dream.

Why it hadn’t been used, Sir Hugh did not know. He wasn’t a close companion of the King in those days, he was merely one of
the knights in the household. However, he did know one thing, and that was that were the King to be known now to be so desperate
for any assistance that he was turning to an old tale like this, he could become a laughing stock – and it would not be long
before he was evicted from his throne.

And Sir Hugh could not allow that. His own future depended upon the King’s authority. Without King Edward II, Sir Hugh would
lose all – including his life.

He could not permit the King to acquire that oil again. Not unless he could ensure that the King’s reputation wouldn’t suffer.
There would have to be some means of guaranteeing that the King would remain secure even if he decided to use the oil, and
until Sir Hugh found such a means, he could not permit the oil to be found again.

The question was,
how
?

Christ Church Priory

Leaving the Bishop of Orange in the Prior’s chamber, Baldwin walked down into the crypt with the Prior and coroner, Simon
bringing up the rear.

‘And that is it, really.’

‘So the Queen deposited her hounds here because she knew you were supportive of her?’ Baldwin said.

‘Who could not be? I argued strongly that her embassy should be strengthened were she to be given some finances. How the King
could propose to send her off with nothing, I do not know.’

‘Which is very good, and redounds to your honour,’ Baldwin said. ‘But you feel that if the oil is not recovered, the King
will take it ill?’

‘He thinks I am disloyal because I was loyal to the Queen. We live in a strange land, Sir Baldwin, when a man can be thought
of as a traitor to his King, just because he is known to support the King’s wife.’

‘Yes. Although I do not know what I may do to help you in this.’

‘All I ask is that you look into the matter for me.’

‘I must leave tomorrow with the Bishop.’

‘Then please do what you can tonight to convince yourself that we have not omitted to seek the killer, so that if the King
asks you, you can tell him we have done our best.’

‘In one night? Do you know how long an inquest would usually take?’

‘All I ask is that you satisfy yourself I have not been remiss,’ the prior pleaded. ‘Please.’

The crypt was a large space, filled with boxes and barrels, and strongboxes made of thick oak with steel bands, and Baldwin
stood in the middle gazing about him, while Simon leaned against a wall near the doorway, watching him.

‘This is where the oil was kept?’ Baldwin said.

‘It seemed safe enough down here,’ the Prior said mournfully.

He was staring down into a heavy, iron-bound chest. One enormous key inserted into the middle of the lid unlocked the bolts
on each face of the chest, and then the chest could be opened. The Prior opened it and showed them the inside. It was part-filled
with documents and leather wallets containing scrolls.

‘You’re sure it’s gone?’ was Baldwin’s first question.

‘We have emptied it three times to make quite sure.’

‘Would this monk normally have had the key?’ Simon asked.

‘No. There was no reason for Gilbert to have it,’ the prior admitted. ‘But sometimes a man may acquire such things. He had
a close companion in the monastery, a man called James, who was responsible for the relics. James remembers having the key
the day before. I suppose …’

‘Gilbert must have taken it from him at some point,’ the coroner said.

‘I still find it incomprehensible that a king’s man could have
come and taken it from us,’ Prior Henry said. He gazed down at the open chest with near despair. ‘Why would the King order
that?’

‘There is nothing to suggest that the King knew anything about it,’ Baldwin said hurriedly. ‘It is perfectly likely that the
man who saw this supposedly blood-sodden herald was simply mistaken. He saw a tabard and assumed it must be royalty. It was
dark, you say, and you think he had been drinking?’

‘Quite so,’ the coroner said.

‘There, then. It was as likely a merchant wearing a shield on his breast as a genuine herald.’

‘Yes. I see,’ Prior Henry said, uncertainly.

‘The other thing to bear in mind is that the King could have no need to steal what is rightfully his. I understand the Duke
of Brabant gave it to him?’

‘That is what I understand,’ the Prior said.

‘Well, then. Clearly, it is nothing to do with the King.’

‘Then who?’ the coroner asked.

Baldwin looked at him, considering. ‘The interesting feature in all this is Gilbert’s own part. Why was he there helping in
the theft?’

‘People will assist thieves for many reasons. Perhaps he was simply evil? I suppose we could have been misled,’ the Prior
attempted.

Baldwin smiled ironically. ‘A monk? Surely not. No, there must have been a reason.’ It was good to see the Prior’s relief
at his words. And yet, why not, he thought. Maybe there was another man? Perhaps Gilbert was more innocent than he gave the
dead man credit for. Was it possible that another monk had gone to take the oil to this ‘herald’ and Gilbert saw him, and
so was killed? Possible, certainly. But not likely. ‘Still, it is an interesting problem.’

The Prior looked at him sideways. ‘Does it pique your interest?’

‘Well, naturally. It is a fascinating little conundrum.’

‘Then you will look into it for me?’

Baldwin smiled. So that was why the prior was telling him this tale. ‘I wish I could, but as you know, I have to be on my
way in the morning with the Bishop of Orange. We go to the King.’

‘Yes. And I must inform the King of the theft,’ Prior Henry said.

He looked at Baldwin. Baldwin looked back. Then Baldwin glanced at the coroner, and a slight frown passed over his features.
‘Oh! Oh, no. No, I don’t think that this is a matter for me to—’

‘All I ask is that you inform him of the loss of the oil,’ Prior Henry said. ‘I shall write a note for you to take to him.
What, would you ask that a special messenger be asked to do it when you are to be going to him anyway?’

Baldwin glared at the Prior, then peered down at the chest. ‘No. You may well find the oil over the next few days. Telling
the King would be a bad error, I think.’

‘But we do not know how to seek it! You, you are the expert, won’t you—’

‘Oh, show us where his body was found. Perhaps I can help there, if only a little.’

Simon and Baldwin spent the next couple of hours studying the barn where Gilbert’s body had lain, but there was nothing there
which seemed to help with an inquiry. Too many boots had already gone over this ground for there to be any hope that they
might discover something new.

‘I didn’t expect you to be able to help,’ the coroner admitted
as they walked back towards the prior’s chambers over the grass.

‘What do you believe happened?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Same as you. This Gilbert entered into some sort of agreement with another man, someone probably wearing a tabard similar
to that of a king’s herald, and then when he passed over the oil, he was slain to silence him.’

‘Like a king’s herald, as you say,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘And yet, what purpose could a man like that have for stealing what was
already the King’s?’

‘You tell me.’

Baldwin eyed him. The coroner was one of those who kept his own judgement, a man who was silent much of the time, watching
and assessing rather than opening his mouth. He reminded Baldwin of a Devon farmer. They were often happier to keep their
peace, judging quietly rather than speaking. One had said to him once that: ‘’Tiz better to keep gurt zilence an’ be thought
a fule, raither’n open yure mouth and prove ’un.’

The coroner was a man in a similar mould. He would observe, note, and measure. And the reason was not hard to appreciate:
all too many coroners had been shown to be corrupt, but so had keepers like Baldwin. He could understand the reluctance of
a king’s coroner to speak in front of a keeper when the matter under consideration related to a king’s herald potentially
being shown to be a murderer.

‘Coroner, a quiet word?’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘We are both on the side of justice, friend. Let me hypothesise for a moment. Let us suppose that your peasant was no fool
and knew the King’s badge when he saw it. That could mean that a king’s herald was here, and perhaps slew Brother
Gilbert. That would mean that we would have to wonder what that herald was doing. He must have had a reason to want the oil,
after all.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, either he committed this act on the King’s orders or he acted for himself, or another. It is unlikely that he would do
this on the King’s behalf. Do you agree?’

‘Yes, on the basis of why would the King steal his own oil from the priory.’

‘Precisely. All he would need to do would be to speak to the prior and ask for it to be sent to him. There would be no need
for a clandestine theft. So unless new evidence comes to light, that possibility can be set to one side. Which leaves either
a herald acting on his own behalf or on the commands of another, or a man clad in herald’s tabard coming here and taking the
oil.’

The coroner peered at him narrowly. They had no torches, and there was no light here in the court, other than the thin light
from the stars overhead. ‘Well?’

‘We have little more to say, I think. Why should a herald wish to steal the oil? What possible use could he put it to? To
have himself anointed with it and set himself up as King? Some fools could think that, once they were anointed with such a
marvellous fluid, they automatically became God’s chosen, I suppose, but not many living in the King’s household would consider
it likely.’

‘So someone else put him up to it?’

‘That is more likely.’

Simon was frowning. ‘Who would have a motive to do that?’

‘It is the King’s oil. Someone who wanted to withhold it from the King, perhaps to ransom it to the King later? Or
someone who wished to withhold it from the King to cause him distress? I do not know.’

‘But you guess?’ the coroner asked shrewdly.

‘There are some who would not stop from any action. Those who are so proud and convinced of their own power that they would
dare anything. However, my friend, they are genuinely dangerous. Unless you have a firm resolution, I should not personally
seek to delve too deeply into this matter.’

‘I thank you for your warning,’ the coroner said, but there was a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

Baldwin shrugged. ‘You will act as you see fit, of course. But one thing: did anyone note the names of the King’s heralds
who were here with the party before our own?’

‘There were two, I think, but I don’t know their names. You see a man like that, in uniform, and they are little more than
the furniture in a room. Like a servant.’

‘True enough. Someone must, though. Could you enquire for me? The other thing is, in which direction did the man say this
herald was riding?’

‘Away south and west. On the main Ashford road, so he could have been heading almost anywhere.’

‘But that would be the road that we would take, I think?’ Baldwin said. ‘It is the road that heads towards the King at Beaulieu?’

‘I haven’t been there, but yes, I think so. It’s the road the rest of his party took.’