she had been struck.
No, oh, no, Kivrin thought, out of breath. Agnes’s bell jangled wildly as she ran.
Gawyn ran up to them, his sword flashing in the lantern light, and then he was on his knees, too. Eliwys stood up, and stepped forward to the men on horseback, her arm out in a gesture of welcome.
Kivrin stopped, out of breath. Sir Bloet came forward, knelt, stood up. The men on horseback flung back their hoods. They were wearing hats of some kind or crowns. Gawyn, still on his knees, sheathed his sword. One of the men on horseback raised his hand, and something glittered.
“What is it?” Agnes said sleepily.
“I don’t know,” Kivrin said.
Agnes twisted around in Kivrin’s arms so she could see. “It is the three kings,” she said wonderingly.
TRANSCRIPT FROM THE DOMESDAY BOOK
(064996–065537)
Christmas Eve 1320 (Old Style). An envoy from the bishop has arrived, along with two other churchmen. They rode in just after midnight mass. Lady Imeyne is delighted. She’s convinced they’ve come in response to her message demanding a new chaplain, but I’m not convinced of that. They’ve come without any servants, and there’s an air of nervousness about them, as if they were on some secret, hurried mission.
It has to concern Lord Guillaume, though the Assizes are a secular court, not an ecclesiastical one. Perhaps the bishop is a friend of Lord Guillaume’s or of King Edward II’s, and they’ve come to strike some sort of deal with Eliwys for his freedom.
Whatever their reason for being here, they’re here in style. Agnes thought they were the three Magi when she first saw them, and they do look like royalty. The bishop’s envoy has a thin, aristocratic face, and they are all dressed like kings. One of them has a purple velvet cloak with the design of a white cross sewn in silk on the back of it.
Lady Imeyne immediately latched on to him with her sad story of how ignorant, clumsy, generally impossible Father Roche is. “He deserves not a parish,” she said. Unfortunately (and luckily for Father Roche) he was not the envoy, but only his clerk. The envoy was the one in the red, also very impressive, with gold embroidery and a sable hem.
The third is a Cistercian monk—at least he wears the white habit of one, though it’s made of even finer wool than my cloak and has a silk cord for a sash, and he wears a ring fit for a king on each of his fat fingers, but he doesn’t act like a monk. He and the envoy both demanded wine before they’d even dismounted, and it’s obvious the clerk had already drunk a good deal before he got here. He slipped just now getting off his horse and had to be supported into the hall by the fat monk.
(Break)
I was apparently wrong about the reason for their coming here. Eliwys and Sir Bloet went off in a corner with the bishop’s envoy as soon as they got in the house, but they only talked to him for a few minutes, and I just heard her tell Imeyne, “They have heard naught of Guillaume.”
Imeyne didn’t seem surprised or even particularly concerned at this news. It’s clear she thinks they’re here to bring her a new chaplain, and she is falling all over them, insisting that the Christmas feast be brought in immediately and that the bishop’s envoy sit in the high seat. They seem more interested in drinking than in eating. Imeyne fetched them cups of wine herself, and they’ve already gone through them and called for more. The clerk caught hold of Maisry’s skirt as she brought the pitcher, pulled her in hand over hand, and stuck his hand down her shift. She, of course, clapped her hands over her ears.
The one good thing about them being here is that they add tremendously to the general confusion. I only had a moment to talk to Gawyn, but sometime in the next day or so I’ll surely be able to speak to him without anyone noticing—especially since Imeyne’s attention is riveted on the envoy, who just grabbed the pitcher from Maisry and poured his wine himself—and get him to show me where the drop is. There’s plenty of time. I have nearly a week.
21
Two more people died on the twenty-eighth, both of them primaries who had been at the dance in Headington, and Latimer had a stroke.
“He developed myocarditis, which caused a thromboembolism,” Mary had said when she phoned. “At this