The Death of a King

further. Precious rings, which had once probably adorned the fingers, winked in the light and, at the bottom of the coffin, I found the gold pieces which must have been pressed into the eye-sockets. I then examined the skull and found a deep fracture which seemed to be the work of man, rather than the slow rot of the grave. Was this the guard Pellet’s fatal wound? I leaned forward into the musty coffin to replace the skull and yelled with horror when the soggy wood at the bottom of the coffin split to reveal another, smaller, hollow-eyed skull. I crouched in terror, breathing deeply to compose myself. When I was calm again, I stood and began to clear the coffin of the skeleton and its remains. I then raised the dark, wet wood at the bottom to reveal the second skeleton. It was smaller and more decomposed than the first. The back of the skull was smashed in, the jawbone hung loose, and I immediately noticed that it was bereft of all teeth except a few yellow stumps. Who could it be? I reconstructed the list of all those who had definitely been present at the preparation of “Edward II’s” body. There was one person unaccounted for. The old crone who had dressed the corpse. The skeleton would fit her frame and general description. Her death and secret burial was an ingenious way of keeping a secret. I breathed a “Miserere,” replaced all as I had found it, and then made my way slowly back to the surface.
    After a few days’ rest, I left for London, having made sure that the shaft and tunnel under the cathedral wall were covered and sealed and all traces of my work hidden from any prying eyes. I should have felt some relief, but instead there was only growing anger. I had braved the perils of sea and land on the king’s behalf, killed for him, lost my Kate because of him, and yet, the task he had assigned me was based on a tissue of lies.
    You see, Richard, I broke into the tomb at Gloucester, not to examine the coffin, but to find out if someone had been there before me. They evidently had. This explains the disused tunnel, the opening into the tomb and the unsealed coffin lid. No grave robber would have been so careful or ignored the precious stones I saw there. This could only mean it was someone with specific interest in the tomb. I believe this to be the king himself. Two factors force me to this conclusion. First, I have always wondered why the king ordered me to investigate the circumstances surrounding his father’s death, some eighteen years after the event took place. Secondly, the king was at Gloucester just two weeks before he ordered me to begin my investigation. Sir Maurice Berkeley remarked on the king’s interest in his father’s tomb when he visited Gloucester and he, or more likely Chandos, who accompanied him, dug that small tunnel in order to inspect the corpse. The king knew that an imposter was buried at Gloucester and simply wished to verify the fact, or even check that a corpse was really buried there. Only pure chance had prevented him finding the second corpse. However, what is more important is that I reached my conclusions through hard research and the assassination of Michael the Scot. But how did the king come to know? And why had he not informed me? As I rode back to London, I decided that some other source existed which the king did not wish me to see. My investigation had never been intended to reach any conclusion, but merely to throw up some information to corroborate this source. The king has simply used me, like some pawn in a game of chess, and I wondered again about my usefulness once this game is over. What happens to royal clerks who know too much about the great ones they serve? A diplomatic mission to some far-away place? Or an unfortunate accident in a grimy, crowded London street? Not for me, Richard. I shall return to London and pursue this task until the end. I will find out what did happen to Edward II at Berkeley Castle and why it has become so important to our king. Then I shall settle undisturbed far beyond the reach of our devious monarch. But first, I had to discover the king’s source of information. Hence, my journey back to the capital in the vain hope that I might discover something fresh amongst the records.
    I arrived back in Bread Street to find a royal writ awaiting me, which demanded further reports on my investigation. It had been issued directly by the king and sent under the secret seal. It was dated at Bouvins in Normandy only a few days