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claim the king’s corpse, but, on Mortimer’s orders, Ockle and Guerney had rejected the request out of hand. Novile also pointed out that Gloucester was a natural choice. The abbot at the time, Thoki, was a relative of Mortimer, the cathedral was near Berkeley, whilst a funeral procession to Westminster might have only provoked riots in favour of a king whose stupid errors had been wiped out by his sudden death. I was impressed by such arguments but I could see Novile was becoming bored and I suggested a quick return to the castle.
    The following morning I left Berkeley. I thanked Lord Berkeley for his hospitality and travelled as quickly as possible back to London. I arrived back safely on Friday evening and decided to spend Saturday and Sunday, not on affairs of state, but in gentle dalliance with Kate. The wench pouted at my absence but quickly forgave me when I took her to purchase a silver gewgaw in Lombard Street.
    On Monday I began my research in the library of Westminster Abbey. I did find numerous petitions from the abbey that Edward II be buried there, as well as the expenses of one of the monks, John Jargolio, who had travelled to Berkeley in a vain at tempt to secure possession of the royal corpse. He had travelled to Gloucestershire to seek an interview with Mortimer. This had been refused. Instead, he had to content himself with Guerney who curtly instructed him that Queen Isabella had decided that Gloucester would be the final resting-place for her husband. The report gave nothing else and so I spent the rest of the week delving into more records to draw up a file on Dunheved’s attack on Berkeley Castle. Dunheved himself is not mentioned in any official account until 1 August, 1327, when a warrant was issued for the arrest for “divers crimes” of Thomas Dunheved, his brother Stephen, William Aylmer, John Butler, Peter de la Rockle and Thomas de la Haye. Two weeks later Dunheved was arrested in Yorkshire and committed to Pontefract Castle. The rest of his gang were rounded up by the end of September and thrown into the Fleet prison in London. I checked the expense rolls of both Ponte-fract and Fleet (whose rolls are always sent to the Exchequer as the gaolers claim for the upkeep of their prisoners) and I was surprised to find that by December, 1327, neither Dunheved nor any of his companions had been brought to trial as they had all died from a variety of gaol diseases.
    So, Richard, I now have an arm-long list of questions which I cannot answer.
    Item—why did the expenses for Edward II suddenly end on 21 July?
    Item—what happened during the Dunheved attack on Berkeley Castle?
    Item—why did the official accounts omit any reference to an attack on Berkeley Castle, but merely accuse Dunheved of “divers crimes”?
    Item—why was Dunheved not brought to trial? And, rank though our prisons be, surely it is strange that he and all his collaborators died of gaol fever within three months of their arrest?
    Item—why was an old woman and not royal physicians brought to dress the corpse of the dead king?
    Item—why were Guerney and Ockle so secretive in their custody of the king?
    Item—why did Mortimer categorically refuse to hand over the dead king’s body to the Abbey of Westminster?
    Item—just how did Edward II die?
    Taken individually, I know there is probably a plausible answer to each of these questions, but taken together, they do cast serious doubts on the accepted version of Edward II’s murder. Roger Bacon once said that “Truth is the daughter of time.” But time waits for no man, Richard, and I have decided to approach the Queen Dowager Isabella. She may solve all my problems and I think I am well equipped to coax fresh answers from her.
    I have decided not to inform the king of my intentions, for I shall merely report that I am investigating the Dunheved conspiracy. I beg you to continue to keep silent. God keep you Richard. Written at Bread Street, 22 February, 1346.

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