| |
Day Three
Simon
––––––––
Simon had been in the king’s pavilion when Catrin had found him, the king having taken a break from the performances in order to work on a few matters of state. When Simon reentered the pavilion, Edward was in close conversation with his chancellor, Robert Burnell.
“The first French armies have advanced into Roussillon,” Robert was saying. “The pope has declared the Aragon war a crusade.”
“I have dreamt of another crusade,” the king said, “but this is not the crusade I would have chosen.”
“No, my lord. Sicily isn’t Jerusalem and Pope Martin is a puppet of the House of Anjou.” Robert was similar in age to Edward and they had been friends since before Edward had become king. It had been Robert who’d stayed behind in London during the last crusade to secure Edward’s interests, and it had also been Robert who’d acted as regent until Edward could return after his father’s death.
Robert was so trusted that the chancery was now seated permanently in London, with Robert given the authority to sort the petitions that came and show only the most important to the king. When he’d heard how the people of Vale Royal Abbey had brought their petition straight to the king instead of going through proper channels, he’d been quite put out.
Given that Robert and his clerks were allowed to profit from the fees charged for sealing patents, charters, and writs, there might also have been a bit of self-service in his outrage.
“You will get no argument from me,” King Edward said, “but it is still a crusade, and France is embroiled in it. It may be that we will be pulled in too.”
“I will put all my efforts towards avoiding it, my king.” Robert looked up as he finished speaking to see Simon standing a respectful distance away. They did not know each other well, since Robert had not been on crusade with the king, and Simon had mostly served in Prince Edmund’s household. So far, they’d had no difficulties either.
King Edward eyed him. “You have more bad news; I can tell.”
“Yes, my lord. I have just received word of another murder. This time it is Hugh, Owen de la Pole’s steward. He was stabbed and left for dead.”
Robert looked askance. “Isn’t he in charge of the whole festival?”
“Yes, my lord, he is.”
Trust Robert to get to the heart of the matter, if that matter was keeping to the king’s agenda. “If you in any way need the assistance of me or my people, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“Of course, my lord.” Simon bent his head. It was also just like Robert to assume he would be capable of contributing to, or even taking charge of, something he knew nothing about. He was an excellent organizer, there was no question, but he didn’t know the Welsh, didn’t know music, and would undoubtedly rub everyone he worked with the wrong way. “So we go on?”
“We do. Keep me apprised.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As Simon strode away from the king’s pavilion, he found himself both suspicious of every face he encountered, and at the same time crossing suspects off his list, dozens at a time, simply by the fact that they could not have walked to the barn, murdered Hugh, and returned to their respective locations without anyone noticing. And the vast majority of those here would certainly not have left a purseful of coins behind.
Once at the barn, he pulled open the door a little too roughly and practically ripped it off its hinges. It sagged as it swung back behind him, and Simon cooled his temper by carefully adjusting the door so it settled into an open position.
Rhys had watched the display without comment, crouched as he was over Hugh’s body. He was accompanied by a young man, the very Stephen FitzJohn about whom Simon’s niece had just been lamenting.
Simon could have been furious again. He might have had an impulse to stride up to Stephen and backhand him across the face. The young man’s foolishness could have ruined Emma.
But instead, all of a sudden, Simon found himself quite cheerful.
Not about the body, because certainly another dead man at the festival, and one of such standing, was not good news. But because the young man was here. He had come to the barn, as he’d promised Emma, and that meant there might be hope for his niece and this Stephen after all.
