Read Online The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Jecks
Ads: Link
himself nervously, and when he spoke his voice was lower and quieter. ‘Prior, the
bones
are all there. I counted them. But the oil from the crypt is gone.
The oil of St Thomas is stolen!
’
Friday following Easter
9
Beaulieu Abbey
The sound could be heard all along the passageways – a roar of anger that made monks blench. But none would dare to remonstrate.
It was eight days now since the King and his entourage had arrived, and the whole place had been turned upside down in that
time. The sedate life of the abbey had degenerated into an unholy mess, with the King’s servants rushing hither and thither,
knights swaggering, flustered clerks hurrying from oneroom to another, and over all, rendering any excitement to naught, there was the malevolent spirit who controlled everything.
It was he who was bellowing with anger now.
‘You mean to tell me that the mother-swyving son of a churl won’t even return all my lands to me? He means to keep the Agenais
until his own judges pronounce on it? And I suppose that won’t mean that they’ll try to please their own master, does it?
It is not as though a French judge wouldn’t know which decision would best satisfy their liege lord, is it? And you thought
that was a “good” deal, did you? Tell me,
what would a bad deal look like
?’
‘Your royal highness, this is hardly the—’
‘This is exactly the right time, my Lord Bishop! That bastard is stealing my inheritance from me, from the Crown! Christ’s
Pain, would you have me give him the whole of my realm? He is stealing the revenues from Guyenne, from Ponthieu and Montreuil
while you “negotiate” with him, and for what result? The result I can see here, is that you have successfully given away the
Agenais for ever, while giving up a year’s revenue from all our other possessions over there – and you call this a “good”
deal for me? You must think me a
fool
!’
John Stratford, the Bishop of Winchester, bowed his head a moment and waited again until the blast of raw fury was spent.
He had grown accustomed to this over the last months. He knew, dear God, he knew all too well, that he was one of the few
men whom the King would trust to negotiate on his behalf, but that did not make the King’s moods any easier to bear. Every
time he returned to the King, he was struck with the feeling that he was about to be penalised yet again. The cost of buying
back his lands and stock before had beenruinous, and he could ill afford to do so again. All because the King had promised the bishopric to another. It was hardly
Stratford’s fault if he had been able to subtly persuade the Pope that he was the more deserving man. However, the suggestion
that he was oblivious to the possibility that he might be given the see was enough to give the King the vapours. Not without
reason. Stratford was already known to be a master tactician in the use of words and arguments, after all. Anyone, even a
purblind fool, must see that he’d so contrived matters to give himself the best opportunity to take the post himself. And
although there were many words which could be used to describe the King, ‘fool’ was not one of them.
But these tantrums of his were growing more and more petulant. It was alarming for a man like the Bishop, for he knew perfectly
well how even some of the most powerful men in the land had been executed in recent years. Dear God, the King had even seen
his own cousin, the Earl of Lancaster, most shamefully executed. That was a very new departure for an English King. But it
was only the beginning of this king’s irrationality. Since the French confiscation of Guyenne, his temper had grown ever more
irascible.
‘I was persuaded to allow my
dear
wife to go to King Charles and negotiate with him because her persuasion, together with your skills, my Lord Bishop, were
supposed to be infallible, and what have you both managed so far? You’ve passed over half my
bones
are all there. I counted them. But the oil from the crypt is gone.
The oil of St Thomas is stolen!
’
Friday following Easter
9
Beaulieu Abbey
The sound could be heard all along the passageways – a roar of anger that made monks blench. But none would dare to remonstrate.
It was eight days now since the King and his entourage had arrived, and the whole place had been turned upside down in that
time. The sedate life of the abbey had degenerated into an unholy mess, with the King’s servants rushing hither and thither,
knights swaggering, flustered clerks hurrying from oneroom to another, and over all, rendering any excitement to naught, there was the malevolent spirit who controlled everything.
It was he who was bellowing with anger now.
‘You mean to tell me that the mother-swyving son of a churl won’t even return all my lands to me? He means to keep the Agenais
until his own judges pronounce on it? And I suppose that won’t mean that they’ll try to please their own master, does it?
It is not as though a French judge wouldn’t know which decision would best satisfy their liege lord, is it? And you thought
that was a “good” deal, did you? Tell me,
what would a bad deal look like
?’
‘Your royal highness, this is hardly the—’
‘This is exactly the right time, my Lord Bishop! That bastard is stealing my inheritance from me, from the Crown! Christ’s
Pain, would you have me give him the whole of my realm? He is stealing the revenues from Guyenne, from Ponthieu and Montreuil
while you “negotiate” with him, and for what result? The result I can see here, is that you have successfully given away the
Agenais for ever, while giving up a year’s revenue from all our other possessions over there – and you call this a “good”
deal for me? You must think me a
fool
!’
John Stratford, the Bishop of Winchester, bowed his head a moment and waited again until the blast of raw fury was spent.
He had grown accustomed to this over the last months. He knew, dear God, he knew all too well, that he was one of the few
men whom the King would trust to negotiate on his behalf, but that did not make the King’s moods any easier to bear. Every
time he returned to the King, he was struck with the feeling that he was about to be penalised yet again. The cost of buying
back his lands and stock before had beenruinous, and he could ill afford to do so again. All because the King had promised the bishopric to another. It was hardly
Stratford’s fault if he had been able to subtly persuade the Pope that he was the more deserving man. However, the suggestion
that he was oblivious to the possibility that he might be given the see was enough to give the King the vapours. Not without
reason. Stratford was already known to be a master tactician in the use of words and arguments, after all. Anyone, even a
purblind fool, must see that he’d so contrived matters to give himself the best opportunity to take the post himself. And
although there were many words which could be used to describe the King, ‘fool’ was not one of them.
But these tantrums of his were growing more and more petulant. It was alarming for a man like the Bishop, for he knew perfectly
well how even some of the most powerful men in the land had been executed in recent years. Dear God, the King had even seen
his own cousin, the Earl of Lancaster, most shamefully executed. That was a very new departure for an English King. But it
was only the beginning of this king’s irrationality. Since the French confiscation of Guyenne, his temper had grown ever more
irascible.
‘I was persuaded to allow my
dear
wife to go to King Charles and negotiate with him because her persuasion, together with your skills, my Lord Bishop, were
supposed to be infallible, and what have you both managed so far? You’ve passed over half my
Similar Books
