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that the last thing Despenser could afford was to allow the King to leave his sight. If he were to go to France, Sir Hugh le Despenser could not go with him. The French King had already declared that Hugh was an enemy of France and would be executed if he set foot on French soil.
    No. He couldn’t go to France, and if
he
couldn’t, the King mustn’t. To be left alone here in England while Edward crossed the Channel would mean an alliance among the barons, and Sir Hugh’s neck on a block. There were few in whom he could genuinely place his trust, were the King to leave him to the wolves.
    Chief among his enemies was the Queen. She despised him, because when the King lost his infatuation for her, he took all her wealth and property and used it to reward the man he adored. She blamed Hugh for that, he thought with a slow smile. As well she might. It was he, together with the avaricious Bishop of Exeter, Walter, who had hatched the scheme which would reward both by impoverishing her. Only a short while ago she had been one of the wealthiest magnates in the land; now she was reduced to the status of a humble corrodian at the King’s court.
    All of which had made her Sir Hugh’s most implacable enemy, which was why he had decided she must be removed. To have someone with her resourcefulness, with her injured pride and intense desire for revenge,sitting at court and retaining the title of ‘Queen’, would be like setting a magnet in a box of iron filings and hoping it would remain clean. Better by far to remove all the filings or – since that was impractical – remove the magnet.
    He wondered how Jack atte Hedge was getting on.

Lydford, Devon
    Simon scowled at his wife as he entered the hall. She was not alone.
    At the table, sitting on Simon’s bench and drinking a pot of ale with every sign of delight, was a Lay Brother from Tavistock. Simon thought he recognised the fellow, although he did not know his name, but he had no doubt that whoever had sent him, it would not be for his own benefit.
    ‘Ah, Bailiff, I am glad to see you again,’ the man said.
    ‘Yes?’
    Meg smiled and left the room with a special grin for her husband. He glowered back.
    ‘Bailiff, I have a message for you.’
    ‘Is it from the Abbot or John de Courtenay?’
    The Brother blinked. ‘Neither, Bailiff. It came straight from Bishop Walter of Exeter. He wishes for you to join him. In London.’

The Tabard Inn, Southwark, Surrey
    Jack atte Hedge woke before dawn, as was his wont, and did not move in the dark as he listened to the breathing of the others in the room.
    This was not the inn where he rested from choice. He had left most of his belongings and his horse over in Chelchede 2 , to the south and west of Thorney Island, but he needed to study the place from this, the Surrey side of the river as well. There could be a useful angle which could be seen from here.
    The inn was filled with travellers on their way to London, and the snoring and grumbling of the tranters, carters and men of some wealth was loud to his ear. He was used to sleeping apart from others and being so accustomed, he found the noise of this party almost deafening.
    In the past he would have woken beneath a tree orbeside a stream with the sound of birdsong as the thrushes, robins and blackbirds began to warm themselves for the day’s work. But that was in the days when he was more hardy. Truth be told, more recently he was grown soft. It had been many years since he had last slept in the open in winter. No one would do so from choice, and he found now that he couldn’t face the idea at all. Far better that he should sit in a warmer environment and stop his joints from aching, even if it did mean he must endure the row.
    He rolled from the bed, a rough palliasse stuffed with straw, and the man who had shared it with him grunted and swore in his sleep. Dressing quickly, Jack pulled on his belt with his purse, then drew his knife’s cord over his head so that the small