Stone of Destiny, page 25
‘I had little choice,’ Sinclair retorted. ‘And now I am here, why should I discuss matters with you? I am finished, I am done. I have to return to Scotland.’
‘Hush now,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Prior Sinclair, why make enemies of us? All we have done is what we were supposed to do. Sacristan Sylvester is responsible for those hideous deaths, not us. We have dealt with you justly and fairly. You owe it to your dead and to us to speak the truth, honestly and directly.’
‘On a more practical basis,’ Cranston interjected, ‘if you cooperate, we will always regard you as a persona grata to London. We are not here to force the truth, Prior Sinclair, but to reach it. Naturally you can object. You can insist that the lay brothers who escorted you here take you back now, but if you prove difficult, so will I. You plan to return to Scotland. However, I could delay that by months with this obstacle and that. Sacristan Sylvester’s murderous plot has been discovered. He will meet with judgement. We have no issue with you, Prior Sinclair, and what you tell us here is only a matter for us, no one else.’
‘Listen,’ Athelstan declared, ‘I know, we know that you are an accredited envoy of King Robert and the Scottish council. You had a mission to secure, by whatever means possible, the return of the Stone of Destiny and the Scottish regalia from London. The first being held in Westminster Abbey, the second somewhere in John of Gaunt’s palace of the Savoy. I am correct, am I not? Yes or No?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am of English stock, Prior Sinclair, but if I were Scottish, I would certainly sympathize with your desire to secure the return of very sacred relics, which are really yours by right and law. However, like you, Prior Sinclair, I do not compose the music of the world, I simply dance to it. Where possible I will try to do what is right, and that’s another reason we are meeting here. I will be blunt, honest and direct. I beg you to do the same. First, let me assure you that the treasure chest you and Paltoc were searching for was a will of the wisp. What lay buried in that cemetery was a very expensive coffer crammed not with relics but with cheap tawdry kitchenware. The chest was found by Ursula the pig woman. You must have seen her and her pet sow wandering St Erconwald’s cemetery.’
Sinclair just gaped.
‘My Lord Prior, I speak the truth.’
‘You mean,’ Sinclair gasped, ‘that was the so-called treasure, cheap kitchenware?’
‘Yes, it certainly was. In brief, I believe Paltoc took the coffer, sealed, bolted and locked from the arca in the Savoy Palace. At the time he truly believed it contained treasure, but it didn’t. Paltoc removed the coffer during a season of great violence. He simply didn’t have the time to open, check the contents, and hide the treasure away. Instead, he brought it across to Southwark and buried it in his family grave. Ursula, who haunts the cemetery, saw what happened, immediately dug it up, broke into the coffer, kept that for herself but sold the contents to The Piebald tavern.’ Athelstan laughed sharply. ‘You may have even eaten from this kitchenware during your stay there.’
Sinclair sat gaping in astonishment.
‘This is the truth?’ he gasped.
‘Prior Sinclair, I would swear on the Eucharist, the most solemn vow a Christian can make. But there is more.’ Athelstan paused to take a deep breath. ‘Before the Inquisicio earlier today, I had the two stones brought to the Guildhall. One from The Bannockburn, the other from Westminster. Now, I had studied the one from Westminster, indeed you saw me do so. However, during the Inquisicio, as I studied the one taken from the cog, I suddenly realized that too is a replica, a very clever one, but still not genuine.’ Athelstan pointed at Sinclair. ‘You know I studied the manuscripts in the abbey library. According to the texts, two crosses were cut into the side of the real Stone of Destiny, I mean the genuine one.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘The side being to the right or left depending on how you look at the stone. The first cross was clearly etched in the right-hand corner. The other cross in the centre bottom. Now, the latter cross is there in both stones but the former, the one to the right-hand corner, is missing on both.’
‘Never,’ Brother Sinclair stuttered. ‘The Guardians of the Stone, my good brothers, murdered in the abbey, would have noticed it.’
‘No.’ Athelstan shook his head. ‘Remember the light in the abbey sanctuary is very poor. The cross is small and both sides of the stone are hidden because it is placed beneath the English throne. I only noticed what was missing in the full good light of that Guildhall chamber. In addition to the poor light, the Guardians of the Stone were fairly old men, their eyesight failing. Of the two stones, the one kept in the abbey was a finer copy. The one brought from The Bannockburn, however, was certainly not a perfect replica. I suggest it would have only been a matter of time before the exchange was discovered. But by then of course you would be back in Scotland.’
Sinclair picked up his goblet and sipped carefully. ‘Of course,’ Athelstan continued slowly, ‘you would expect that the stone brought from The Bannockburn would be a perfect replica, but I suggest two things. First, when Edward I seized the genuine Stone of Destiny, he also took all the manuscripts from Scone Abbey where the stone was lodged. These manuscripts were brought south and entrusted to the library at Westminster Abbey. The Scottish Crown would find it difficult therefore to fashion a replica.’
‘I know what you are going to say, Brother Athelstan, and let me assure you, you will speak the truth. We did have a detailed description of the stone sent to us by no less a person than Sacristan Sylvester.’
‘Of course,’ Cranston breathed. ‘Sylvester was sacristan. He could pull that stone in and out whenever he wished. He could measure it, take careful note of its markings, and despatch such information in confidence to the Scottish Crown.’
‘Yes, yes he did,’ Sinclair replied wearily. ‘But he made a mistake.’
‘Very good, Prior Sinclair,’ Athelstan declared. ‘You have been honest. I will give you my explanation.’
‘Before you begin …’ Sinclair raised his hand as if taking an oath. ‘I swear, Brother Athelstan, that I had no part whatsoever in the murder of my brothers at Westminster.’
‘I believe you, Prior Sinclair.’ Athelstan lifted his goblet in toast. ‘To return to the matter in hand: last summer, London and the southern shires teetered on bloody revolt. A short time before this occurred, John of Gaunt travelled north to treat with the Scots. I believe he took the real Stone of Destiny and the regalia of Scotland with him. I believe such precious items are still in his possession. I assure you of that.’ Athelstan pulled a face. ‘More than that I cannot say. You, a member of the Scottish council, must know what happened next.’ Sinclair cleared his throat and glanced nervously around.
‘You’re safe,’ Cranston murmured. ‘We are alone, no one can eavesdrop.’
‘For your ears alone,’ Sinclair retorted. ‘Only for you.’
‘We can suspect what happened,’ Athelstan offered. ‘It’s a matter of logic. If my Lord of Gaunt had handed those treasures over, we would not be sitting here.’
‘True, true, Brother. Well.’ Sinclair’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. ‘In brief, Gaunt travelled north because he was frightened, terrified of the coming storm. He was caught between two pressing dangers. On the one hand the growing boldness of the peasant rebels to his rule in both London and the surrounding shires. On the other hand, Gaunt was also aware of the curdling hatred of the powerful English lords, nobles such as the Earl of Arundel and others. Gaunt was trapped. He came to ask for a Scottish army to move across the border and place itself under his command. He would then march on London and shatter his opponents. He would get the army, and in return he would hand over the Stone of Destiny and all the regalia of the Scottish Crown.’ Sinclair shrugged. ‘That was it. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else.
‘Satan’s tits,’ Cranston breathed. ‘You must be romancing, exaggerating?’
‘Sir John, nothing was put in writing, but I was there at that council meeting. Gaunt made that offer, the Stone of Destiny and regalia in return for knights, hobelars and men-at-arms with proper provision. King Robert and the council fiercely debated this, then the Great Revolt broke out in London. The news we received was of a violent uprising, yet it seemed confined to London, Essex and Kent. King Robert’s advisers warned him that the northern shires remained fairly quiet, whilst the revolt in London was being bitterly opposed and short-lived. You know what happened. Your young King confronted the rebels and their cause collapsed. King Robert’s council also argued that it would be disastrous if a Scottish army crossed the border and became trapped. In the end, King Robert broke off negotiations, saying he could not commit himself.’
‘And Gaunt?’
‘He was furious, and his anger deepened further when he received news about the destruction of the Savoy. You must remember, Gaunt’s visit to Scotland was not a hurried one. He lodged at Melrose Abbey and the proceedings between us took time and careful scrutiny.’
‘Heaven be my witness,’ Cranston declared. ‘If all of this became public knowledge, Gaunt would face charges of high treason. People would ask what really was that Scottish army for? To quell the revolt? To crush the nobles? Or, God forbid, remove his nephew from the throne and seize the Crown for himself?’
‘Gaunt made himself very vulnerable,’ Athelstan declared. ‘And that is not like him.’
‘Ah yes.’ Sinclair smiled bleakly. ‘Gaunt demanded nothing should be put in writing and he protected himself well. He warned us in no uncertain terms that if his offer was ever published or proclaimed in any way, he would personally destroy both the Stone of Destiny and the regalia which, for the future, would remain firmly in his grasp.’
Sinclair spread his hands. ‘Gaunt, full of fury, left for London. We recognized his threat and the council decided to act. We would secure the return of what,’ Sinclair fought to remain calm, ‘what in God’s name is rightfully ours. You know what happened, I can say no more, except to grieve over what transpired. We were stealing a replica and replacing it with another. What a disaster! What a cost! All those poor souls sent into the dark; God have mercy on them and bring Sylvester and Gaunt to judgement.’ Sinclair drained his goblet. ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan, I have told you the truth. There is nothing more and I must go. Lay brothers wait for me in the taproom to escort me back. One final word.’ Sinclair got to his feet and leaned over the table. ‘Be careful of Prior Norbert, they say he is Gaunt’s spy.’
‘Do they indeed?’
‘Yes, my Lord Coroner. Now I must go.’
Athelstan lifted his goblet. ‘God speed you then, Prior Sinclair.’
Once the Blackrobe had left, Athelstan just sat shaking his head.
‘Brother.’
‘Sir John, I am intrigued. What we have discovered here tonight is that our noble regent helped himself to the stone and took it away from the abbey. But how could he do that? How did he have the time and the means to recreate such a replica?’
‘My good friend.’ Cranston smacked his lips. ‘We’ve touched on this before. Earlier this year, do you remember, the English throne in the sanctuary of Westminster Abbey was refurbished. People thought it was in preparation for a royal occasion, perhaps the young King wearing his crown. Now we know that the throne was refurbished, during which the stone must have been moved.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Athelstan breathed, ‘and it was all supervised by Master Thibault. He would have had the original Stone of Destiny taken to the sacristy to be carefully scrutinized and examined by some master mason heavily bribed by his masters. Thibault would have ensured that Sylvester and the rest were firmly excluded from the process.’
‘I believe the same,’ Cranston agreed. ‘The refurbishment was a pretence so Thibault could make careful note. You see, Brother Athelstan, Gaunt knew what was coming. He had sown the tempest and he would have to reap the whirlwind. He needed Scottish troops and so he prepared. As for removing the stone and making the exchange – well, I have already scrutinized the records of the abbey. Gaunt demanded that the abbey church be closed for a short while, so he could pray safely, securely and serenely for his journey to Scotland. He also brought presents in great caskets, pure beeswax candles and linen cloths for the different shrines and altars. He handed over those presents, but I am also certain that he took the replica stone into the abbey in one of those coffers. He and Thibault made the swift exchange and the real Stone of Scone was loaded into a chest and removed.’
‘Very, very clever,’ Athelstan declared. ‘Yes, it all makes sense. And so we have it. The English throne is refurbished, the stone is scrutinized, careful note being made of all its markings. The replica is fashioned. Gaunt uses his desire to pray to disguise the removal of the original stone from the abbey and its replacement by a replica. Very subtle indeed.’
‘God knows, Athelstan, the full truth of all this. It does make me wonder.’
‘Sir John?’
‘Gaunt has made his move on the chessboard and he was blocked. Think, Athelstan! Sinclair returns to Scotland with empty hands, but at least he knows the truth of the situation. Will Gaunt make the Scots a second offer? Only this time will they agree? More importantly for us, if Gaunt ever learns that we know what he has done, that would make us the most dangerous men in the kingdom.’ Athelstan leaned over and squeezed Cranston’s hand.
‘Very good, Sir Jack, then let us walk very carefully, very prudently through the dark.’
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Stone of Destiny is, of course, a work of fiction, but I have tried to faithfully depict a busy medieval parish in Southwark during the last decades of the fourteenth century. Athelstan lived at the time of the great poet Geoffrey Chaucer, and if you really want to find colourful medieval characters, study his Prologue. It certainly was an inspiration to me in writing this and other novels.
The Great Revolt of 1381 was soon crushed by the great lords, who made sure that the rebel leaders were either hanged or hunted out of the kingdom. Nevertheless, reading the legal records provides some interesting perspectives. Men and women who ranked prominently in the ranks of the peasant armies were often very successful in avoiding exile and execution. For example, we have individuals deeply involved in the destruction of the Savoy being given pardons and even rewards from Gaunt and other ministers. This in turn makes you reflect about who was fighting for whom. Gaunt’s palace, however, was devastated and its ruination complete. The rebels indulged in a frenzied orgy of destruction. Plunder was either burnt or thrown into sewers or into the Thames. The Savoy embodied all that the peasant armies hated. The opulence, the luxury, the wealth, as well as a callous indifference by the lords to the welfare of anyone else.
John of Gaunt was not in the Savoy or in London during the uprising. He had, as the novel describes, decided to leave the City and journey north to negotiate with the Scots. Many commentators have argued that Gaunt, who was a born intriguer, could have simply decided to put himself out of harm’s way. If the rebels had captured him, execution would have certainly followed. Ostensibly Gaunt and the Scots negotiated over the usual complaints from both sides: petty raiding across the border, the theft of livestock, hostile incursions and so on. However, there is also a very strong possibility that Gaunt may have been looking for military help to resolve the sea of troubles confronting him.
The Flayer is also a product of the times and a theme I often touch upon in my novels. England went to war with France. Pillaging French towns, and plundering their contents, almost became a way of life for many of the great English milords. They in turn needed troops. Men were reluctant to leave their fields and farms for a season of war in France. The great lords became more and more dependent on the sweepings from English jails as well as the free companies, cohorts of mercenaries who sold their swords to the highest bidder and, when the money ran out, so did they. The cruelty of these men was unbelievable. One historian argued that their savagery was even greater than that of the Nazis during the Second World War. Little wonder, as Catholic historians point out, that God had to raise a saint, Joan of Arc, to deliver France from this scourge. Joan did not pull her punches. English mercenaries perpetrated horrific atrocities, including flaying the skin from their victims. On one very famous occasion, Joan, who tried to act with all humility and gentleness, lost her temper with one English commander. She marched up to the castle gate and screamed, ‘Glasdale, come out, so I can send your soul to hell.’ The Flayer mentioned in this novel would have found comrades richly deserving of him.
The Stone of Destiny, or the Stone of Scone, is and was a source of sacred mystery and one of the most important Scottish national icons. We do not know its true origins. Rich legends about the stone abound. Some claimed it was the stone used by Jacob to rest on when he had his famous dream of heaven opening and angels ascending and descending. According to this legend, the stone ended up in ancient Egypt in the possession of Scota, daughter of the Pharaoh of Egypt, who pursued Moses and drowned with his army in the Red Sea. Scota’s husband, however, survived this catastrophe. He, his wife and the stone then wandered Europe before they ended up in Scotland.
However, the most probable origin of the stone were quarries close to the abbey, where it was kept before it was seized by Edward I and taken south to Westminster. Under the terms of the Treaty of Northampton as well as the Treaty of Edinburgh of 1328, the English Parliament authorized the return of the stone to Scotland, but this did not happen due to the opposition of the London mob. It remained in England; Scotland, however, never forgot its great treasure.
At the beginning of the twentieth century there was a move by prominent people in Scotland to secure the return of the stone. My novel mentions it being stolen; that could have been a strong possibility. In the mid-twentieth century such a theft did occur when four Scottish students succeeded in removing the stone from Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day 1950. They entered the abbey as visitors, cleverly concealing themselves until the abbey closed. They then dragged the stone from the Coronation Chair on a coat through the abbey to a waiting car. Once the theft was discovered, the police and the authorities launched a major hunt but with little success. Three months later, on 11 April, the stone was found in Arbroath Abbey. The theft provoked further debate about where the stone really should be. Eventually, in 1996, on the 700th anniversary of the stone’s removal from Scotland by Edward I, that sacred relic was formally and with great ceremony returned to Edinburgh Castle.
