Henry Bedford-Jones

The King’s Jewel

Warsaw 2022

Contents

The King’s Jewel

The King’s Jewel

The strange Sphinx Emerald which Richard had brought home to England from the Crusades was the property of Edward III in this year 1349–a year of triumph because of victory; of terror because of pestilence. And when a beautiful woman coveted the jewel, its tragic power came again to life.

SIR THOMAS JESSOP rode his black mare along the roads toward Norwich with an ever-gathering blackness, blacker than his good mare, surrounding him on all sides. The King had sent him from London; Sir Thomas wished most devoutly that someone else had been sent here into East Anglia, because horrible things were happening here–happening all around and ahead of him.

It was a lovely countryside in this late spring weather, and Norwich was the second greatest city of England, but Jessop had no love for it. He was afraid, and he had good reason for fear. There were no highways in those days, and he had to track from town to town, village to village; in all of them he found death, invisible and pitiless, and the farther he went, the more death he found–it traveled faster than he did.

He had seen the wars in France, but this was different–a different death, more deadly and terrible. One could not escape it, for it struck by stealth. He was a youngish man, strong and stalwart, a good horseman; he had strong features and fine eyes and was said to have a brave future ahead at court. Indeed, his present errand as King’s messenger was proof of favor. Because of his very strength, he knew he was afraid, and denied it not. This year, as figured in the Rolls of Parliament and elsewhere, was the twenty-third of Edward III–which is to say, the year of our Lord 1349.

Only a few short months since, Jessop had seen the King enter London in triumph, the greatest man in Europe. England was bursting with such glory and power as she had never before known. France had been shattered at Cressy, Calais had been taken. The King of Scotland lay a prisoner in the Tower. King Edward had been chosen as Emperor of Austria, and had refused the extra crown with contempt. Everywhere in England money burned in pockets and there was wild spending. And now, only a few days north of London, Jessop found himself in a different world, with death grinning at his very elbow.

His errand lay to the Bishop of Norwich. William Bateman, the Bishop, was in France as ambassador, but in his place had left an official named Thomas de Methwold. To this man lay Jessop’s errand: to obtain a royal jewel found in the Bishop’s coffers–a jewel belonging to the Crown–and to fetch it back to London. A simple errand, apparently. Now, with Norwich close ahead, fear bestrode the roads acutely. He felt it athrob in him. True, the pestilence–some sort of Oriental plague–had been bad in London before he left, and was said to be abroad in some of the shires. But this–this was worse than anyone had dreamed, and worsening daily!

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