The Death of a King

realize I cannot account for what passed between us but, after I had given absolution, I questioned Mortimer about Edward II’s death. It’s strange. The fellow swore he had not killed the king. Of course, I tried to press him further but he refused to say any more. I thought it peculiar. Don’t you, Master Clerk?”
    Naturally, I agreed with him. I thanked him for his assistance, then withdrew, rather confused about some of the details of my conversation with him.
    I returned to the inn and packed my saddle-bags for an immediate return to London. I remember little of that journey, neither the clinging cold during the day nor the warmth and food of the inns where I lodged at night. I was totally taken up with what Orleton had told me. His remarks about Mortimer, I quickly dismissed. The dead baron had been the bishop’s friend and patron which would account for Orleton’s attempt to clear his name. Even if the bishop was correct, Mortimer could have been lying or, more probably, using some legal quibble to clear himself of any personal guilt in Edward II’s death. No, what fascinated me, Richard, was Orleton’s reference to the official investigation at the November Parliament of 1330. The great rolls of Parliament, preserved in the muniment room of the Tower of London, would have recorded such an event and this fact led me to consider a different approach to my inquiry.
    So far, I had relied on personal witness but Orleton had demonstrated the flaws of such a method which relied on hearsay, prejudice, half-truths and even deliberate lies. Moreover, most of the important witnesses were either dead or unapproachable. Consequently, by the time I entered Cripplegate early this afternoon, I had decided that the answers for which I was searching could lie here in London. As you know, Richard, the English may despise good government but they have an almost religious awe for competent administration. Ever since the early days of Henry the Angevin, this administration has revolved around the Chancery and the Exchequer. The former is the royal writing office which issues all writs, letters and proclamations whilst the latter is the treasury, controlling the revenues of the crown. Both are subject to royal scrutiny and so both keep meticulous accounts which they deliver annually to the great muniment room in the Tower. Of course, I am acquainted with both and I decided to reconstruct Edward II’s imprisonment by a thorough scrutiny of all government records for the year 1327.
    Such records, however, would only provide the facts but no narrative, no contemporary account. When I got back to my lodgings, I lay fully dressed on my bed wondering where I could find such a source. Then the bells of St Paul’s Cathedral began to ring out for Saturday vespers. The cathedral dominates Bread Street and the constant tolling of its bells from matins to compline has always irritated me, but this time they came as an answer to a prayer. The cathedral is staffed by canons and I am on cordial terms with their archivist, Simon Islip. I remembered a chance meeting a few months earlier when we discussed the highly delicate task of preserving vellum. Islip was greatly concerned with this matter as he was responsible for the annals of his cathedral which, he proudly maintained, served as a valuable history, not only of the capital but of the country at large. These annals may be the very things I need, a contemporary account of the events surrounding the death of Edward II.
    So, dear Richard, without stirring abroad, I can finish this wretched business. Tonight, I shall celebrate with a meal and a romp with my Kate, a description of whose charms and arts would only offend your celibate nature. I bid you adieu. God keep you. Written at Bread Street, 6 November, 1345.

Letter Three
    Edmund Beche to his friend, Richard Bliton, Prior of Croyland Abbey, greetings.
    I closed my last letter, Richard, so confident that my work amongst the records would finally finish the task, but they have simply clouded the matter further. At the same time I wrote to you, I also sent a report to the king, describing my interview with Orleton and explaining what I intended to do. His grace replied promptly. He expressed special interest in the bishop’s last meeting with Mortimer and ordered me to report again once he returns from his campaign against the French.
    I began my research at St Paul’s and in the Tower Muniment Room and, within three weeks, I was