The Death of a King

came across the following:
    In the year 1328, royal commissioners, Sir Robert Brabazoun and Sir John Eyatt came to the abbey bearing the commission of the Queen Isabella and Roger Mortimer, Earl of March. They did not reveal the reason for their visit, though we were given to understand that similar visits were made to other monasteries. They brought soldiers from the retinue of Lord Mortimer, who searched the monastery and all its outbuildings. A survey was also made of all in the abbey and then the commissioners left. They did, however, tell the Lord Abbot that official searchers would be appointed to watch the coast, and they would be based in the abbey. Then they left.

    I never found out the reason for their visit, and the searchers stayed in the abbey until Mortimer fell. I once met Sir Robert Brabazoun, it was after Isabella’s fall from power, and I asked him about his visit. He just smiled and said that he was no wiser. He, like the other commissioners, had been told by Mortimer that they would know what they were looking for when they found it.
    So elliptical! I hope this letter has been of use to you, Edmund. Remember my advice about the king and confide in me if you must, but do remember my position. God keep you. Written at Croyland—February, 1346.

Letter Five
    Edmund Beche to Richard Bliton, greetings. I am sending this letter in haste, so I apologize for the scrawled handwriting and the inferior parchment. I received your letter with some surprise, as I did not expect or ask for a reply. Of course, I will always remember your position, as if I would be allowed to forget it. Nevertheless, it was good of you to write and send the information you did. I do not know what to make of Spilsby’s last confession. Did the murderers of Edward II really expect that the people believed the old king had just died in prison? Spilsby’s confession tells me little new. Regarding the searches made at Croyland, I cannot comment though I understand such searches are quite common in times of crisis.
    What really concerns me is Spilsby’s implicit admission that his involvement in the affair at Berkeley led to his maiming. I can understand his fears. I, too, share them. What do you know of Sir John Chandos? The question is a rhetorical one. It is just that the man mystifies and, indeed, frightens me. Two days after the despatch of my last letter, I arrived back at my lodgings. A grandiose description for a room above a merchant’s warehouse. As I mounted the winding wooden stairs I noticed that the door of my small room was slightly ajar. At first, I thought it was the work of some of London’s riff-raff. Nothing is safe nowadays and burglary and housebreaking are almost as popular as drunkenness. I drew the small dagger I always carried and with forced bravado pushed open the door. Nothing was disturbed, no disarray except for Chandos, who was lying on my rough truckle bed staring at the ceiling, almost parodying the way I do. He never moved as I came in but kept staring upwards. I slumped on to the only stool in the room and waited, quite determined not to show my nervousness at what was an unwarrantable intrusion. At last he turned his head towards me.
    “Good-day, Master Clerk. You’ve kept me waiting.”
    I tried to hide my annoyance in the sarcastic rejoinder that I did not know that he was coming, and I could not remember inviting him. Chandos smiled and swung his legs off the bed to sit, head in hands, on the edge. He looked tired and travel-stained but his face still had that predatory cruel look.
    “How is your research?” he asked bluntly.
    I repeated verbatim the report that I had sent to the king. He seemed to listen for a while, but then interrupted me.
    “Don’t you find it strange to be involved in such a task?”
    “No,” I lied. “His Grace’s father died, was murdered in mysterious circumstances, and this mystery must be clarified.”
    “You find nothing strange?” The same question in a different way.
    “Well,” I said, “apart from the fact that the money supply to Berkeley ended two months before Edward II’s death.”
    Chandos shrugged. “There’s little mystery there,” he pointed out. “We understand that Guerney paid for food from his own purse, hoping to reclaim it later.”
    I knew this was a lie. I am a trained clerk and I had been through the necessary issues. There had been no such payments to Guerney. However, I nodded as if fully satisfied on that