The Death of a King

My parents died working a small farm on the Pennines to send their only son to Oxford. Kate is gone and you, Richard, are locked away in your monastery. As I rode out of London, I felt that only the task I had now set myself was worth living for.
    The horse I had bought proved its worth and after four days’ steady riding, with only a few stops for food and rest, I arrived once again at The Sea Barque. Naturally, I was greeted with surprised joy by the fraternity which haunt that place and no small embarrassment by the landlord. He confessed that he had kept my saddle and bags but sold the sumpter-pony as he thought I had gone forever. I improved my standing by telling him to keep the price he had made as I had now found employment with a rich London merchant. I used this as my excuse for my swift departure from King’s Lynn the first time and explained that I was on my master’s business to Kingston-upon-Hull.
    The man laughed and shook his head in disbelief at my good fortune. “Thank God, Master Beche. We thought some evil had befallen you.”
    “How is that?” I said, although I suspected the answer even before I’d heard the landlord’s reply.
    “It was Michael the Scot, the old queen’s man. He came here a few days after you left and made inquiries about a clerk fitting your frame. We knew it was you, but we kept quiet, though we wondered how you had crossed swords with the lout.”
    I glibly explained that I had tried to seek employment with the old queen, but had been turned back by the Scot, whom I had roundly cursed. The landlord then told me to be wary and lie low. I grimly decided to follow his advice for I was determined to strike before my enemy knew I was back.
    A few discreet inquiries on my part revealed that Michael the Scot had one weakness. Now and again he came alone to King’s Lynn to visit a young widow called Mistress Launge, who lived alone outside the city walls. According to common report, Michael was hot for her as she was cold towards him. The ruffian’s fruitless suit was common knowledge and gleefully watched by all and sundry.
    I decided to call upon Mistress Launge and found her at home in her small, neat two-storeyed house which sits on the border of the royal forests which surrounded King’s Lynn. At first, she was reluctant even to let me in, but when I hastily exclaimed I knew of a way to rid her of Michael the Scot, the door was flung wide open in welcome. She was a small nut-brown girl with lustrous black hair, blue eyes and regular features. She looked as soft as a young spring doe, but I discovered she hated the Scot as much as I did. Sitting in her small kitchen, warmed by a sparkling fire and lit by the rays of a watery sun, she told me about herself and the Scot. How she had been married young to an elderly mercer, a kindly man, who only survived the marriage by six months. For a while, she lived the life of a respectable widow until the Scot had seen her at last year’s Michaelmas Fair. Since then, he had pursued and pestered her like some imp from hell, threatening and coaxing her to enter his bed. She had no relatives, no men folk to protect her, whilst he stood high in the old queen’s favour. So far she had resisted him, but she was becoming terrified of what he might do. I commiserated with her and then, little by little, explained why I had visited her, basing my story on half-truths; how the Scot had attacked me in London, then in spite murdered my betrothed. I gently stroked her hatred for the Scot, until it overcame the terror in which she held him and so together we laid our plot.
    The next day I visited the woods outside King’s Lynn and, having found the site I was looking for, I returned to my chamber at the inn. I stayed there until dusk, then I dressed in my darkest clothes, blackened my hands and face, and quietly led my saddled horse out of The Sea Barque. The widow was waiting for me and nervously announced that all was ready. She had combed her hair and wore a kirtle of scarlet which emphasized her small, round breasts and narrow waist. I repeated my plan, received her assurances and then went up to her chamber, where I hid myself behind the arras which ran alongside the wall at the foot of the bed. Here I found the dagger and club I had ordered to be concealed. Satisfied that all was well, I settled down to wait. After a while, I heard knocking on the downstairs door and then the gruff voice of the Scot announcing himself. The house