Spy in Chancery

alliance with France and Norway and compound this alliance by his own marriage with Jeanne de Valois, Philip IV's cousin. At first the barons and bishops had been horrified, then delighted to see their king for the first time in his reign act like one. There had been discussions for hours on the best method of achieving this and Balliol smugly watched them all, revelling for the first time in a true notion of kingship and power. Nevertheless, his terror of Edward still held him fast. He looked down at the bishops and barons, so eager to advise and counsel him. Wolves, he thought, savage men, who, if he failed this time, would assuredly tear him to pieces.
    At last, tired of the confusion and chaos in the hall, Balliol raised his wine cup and slammed it down on the table. He banged it harder when, with annoyance, he realised that everyone ignored him, and shouted shrilly for silence and order. Slowly, his counsellors stopped their individual discussions and looked towards him.
    'My Lords,' Balliol said, realising how he was almost imitating Edward's voice and manner, 'My Lords, we have decisions to make. We know that Edward is weakened by this traitor on his council and now faces formidable alliances led by our friend, Philip of France. It is our intention to renounce homage to Edward and seek an alliance with the French. Is this your wish?'
    A loud chorus of 'Ayes' and roars of approval greeted his words and Balliol smiled, nodded and slouched wearily back in his chair, oblivious to the conversations which broke out further down the table. Neither he nor his counsellors noticed the young squire who slipped from the hall, made his way down to the castle yard through the great cavernous gateway and into the town.
    Robert Ogilvie, squire to the Scottish court, was in fact a traitor. He had heard news and information which he knew the English emissary in Stirling would pay gold for, the identity of the traitor on Edward of England's council. That ninny of a king, Balliol, had virtually announced who it was but the rest of the council had been either too inebriated or insensitive to grasp it. Except Ogilvie, who had dreams of wealth and power, and the secret he carried would make them real.
    Ogilvie made his way down the narrow, dung-strewn street which stank like a midden in the summer heat. He saw a ragged, one-armed beggar man drive off some yapping mongrel and the sight of another man's wretchedness made him hug himself with pleasure. He was young, he was able and soon he would be rich. He hurried on through the market place, ignoring the cries of the hawkers and the pedlars with their tawdry geegaws and the trash they usually sold, and entered the cool darkness of the tavern lit only by the sunlight which poured through two rough-hewn windows. In the far corner of the room his English counterpart was waiting for him.
    'Well,' the Scottish clerk thought, 'not really English, more Welsh.' He had come here ostensibly on business connected with Edward of England and stayed hoping to garner whatever information he could. Ogilvie smiled as he crossed the room, he had news which would set this arrogant Welsh clerk by his ears.
    Goronody Ap Rees was pleased to see Ogilvie. He had been sent by Edward of England to spy and this young cockerel of a Scot would make it worthwhile. He ordered the best wine and, after the slattern had served them, generously poured cupfuls for the Scotsman to gulp whilst only sipping his own. He listened carefully to the Scotsman's chatter, sifting the wheat from the chaff, the gossip from the truth, the facts from the scurrilous items Ogilvie seemed eager to press upon him. He sensed the squire had something important to say and realised that, given enough time and enough wine, he would. Eventually Ogilvie, flushed with wine, paused, took a deep draught from the cup and slammed it down on the table.
    'I have,' he announced loudly, 'some special news, but it will cost you.' Ap Rees nodded, expecting this, and the Scotsman launched into his startling revelations. Ap Rees listened, concealing his own excitement and once Ogilvie had finished, pulled a clinking, leather purse from his pouch and threw it across the table.
    'You have earned this, Scotsman!' he said, 'You have earned it well' and, without further fuss, rose and quietly swept out of the tavern. Ogilvie, much the worse for wine, stared down at the purse, carefully picked it up, hid it under his robe, gulped the remains of the wine and rose