The Bishop Must Die: (Knights Templar 28)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘What sort of guard does he have about him?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘A small number of knights and men-at-arms. There is Ralph la Zouche, Richard de Folville, some twenty or so all told now. It is not enough to protect him from a determined attack, certainly.’

  ‘And what are they doing?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘They guard him, of course.’

  Baldwin looked at him unblinkingly. After some moments, Paul looked away, then, ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘You have insulted my companion here, the honourable Keeper of the Port. Now you seek to insult me as well. Do so, and you will learn the full meaning of pain. You are a slug who is dishonourable and dishonoured by your treatment of an innocent woman. Don’t think to speak so freely to me again! Now: do they guard him from attack, or guard him as gaolers?’

  ‘A little of both, perhaps. But I think that they tend to seek to serve him, not hold him against his will.’

  ‘So they could be persuaded to come back to England with him?’

  ‘It would cost much to bring them back! The Folvilles have been responsible for murder and robbery. You try to get them back here without a king’s pardon, and you’ll find your efforts wasted.’

  ‘So you think that they would have to be assaulted and killed?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But you can easily find him, which is the main thing.’

  ‘But you took days to get here, I assume. So he will have moved, having taken this most sensible advice from his tutor?’

  ‘Ah, but he is intending to be at the cathedral in Rouen for the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lady.’

  ‘Why?’ Baldwin asked. His head was set to one side as he listened intently. ‘The Feast of the Nativity of Our Lady has nothing to do with Rouen; she is patron of Lourdes, and that is many miles away.’

  ‘True. But the duke is a man most fixated with prophecies and history. Some of these ludicrous tales say that he will be a king to rival the Holy Roman Emperor himself and—’ He caught sight of the expression on Baldwin’s face, and reflected that this odd knight might well think that the duke was a paragon of virtue. So many people in the realm did, and deprecated any insults. ‘Anyway, he has a lively fascination with all history and a desire to see the cathedral where King Richard Coeur de Lion’s heart is buried. He must have loved Rouen much.’

  ‘Why that specific date?’ Simon said. ‘Didn’t King Richard die earlier in the year?’

  ‘Your studies do not mislead you,’ Paul said sarcastically, ‘but if you had but a little more education, you would recall that, although King Richard died in April, yet was he born on a glorious day in September: on the Feast Day of Our Lady Herself. The prince wishes to visit the cathedral to see the tomb.’

  Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look, then rose and made for the door. There the gaoler waited, leaning against the wall and picking his teeth with a long splinter of wood. ‘All done, masters?’ he said.

  ‘For now. Don’t mistreat him,’ Baldwin warned.

  ‘Aye.’

  Simon shot a look back into the room before the door was closed and bolted. ‘What do you think, Baldwin?’

  ‘If it were possible for a more unpleasant little man to have wheedled his way into the companionship of the king’s son, I could not imagine it. What more undeserving fellow could there be?’

  ‘But could he be telling the truth?’

  ‘What value could there be for him to invent such a tale? No, I think he’s telling the truth well enough. And that means that we must send to the king with this news.’

  ‘Last I heard, the king was at Dover.’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He looked at Simon.

  ‘I know,’ Simon said. ‘The last time we saw the king, he told us to take ourselves out of his sight, didn’t he? How do you think he’d respond to our returning?’

  Baldwin could only agree that their reception last year had been distinctly frosty. ‘We had just brought news that his wife was deliberately staying in France, that she was having an adulterous affair with the king’s most notable traitor, that his son was staying there with her, and that all those sent to guard his son and his wife had turned traitor too and were now in the pay of his wife and her lover. It was not the best news he could have hoped to receive!’

  ‘True. But I do not wish to go and ask for an audience with him. That would mean speaking to Despenser – and I am not ready to have any dealings with that snake.’

  ‘You may not need to,’ Baldwin said, musing. ‘The good Bishop Walter is already there. Seek him out, and explain the situation to him. I think he will himself be grateful for the news, and for the opportunity to present it to the king. Perhaps your reception will be better than you might have thought.’

  Monday before the Feast of St Laurence*

  Canterbury

  Their journey had been slow, and with the whining, petulant Paul in his train, Simon found it longer than it truly was.

  ‘How do you expect me to present a decent case when you don’t let me rest!’ the fellow complained.

  ‘I expect you to do the best you can,’ Simon said shortly.

  It had been like this much of the way from Portchester. Naturally the man was shocked when he heard it was likely that the bishop would be with the king, and his mood had slumped into melancholy. That was three days ago. Since then they had travelled along the coastal roads to Dover, only to learn that the king and his household had recently moved from there to Canterbury, where they were eating the poor prior, Henry Eastrey, out of house and home. It was a particularly hard blow for the prior, since he had already suffered several visits that year, and was still forced to house the whole of the queen’s pack of hunting hounds, which she had given to him as a stern responsibility, hoping that he would look after them carefully, but not offering any financial assistance. Not that she could have, since the king had already confiscated all her income.

  Now, at last they were entering the ancient walled city, and if anything, it appeared that Paul’s resentment and nervousness were increasing. ‘Can’t we stop for a cup of wine? A quart of ale or cider? What’s your hurry?’ he nagged as they rode under St George’s gateway.

  Simon ignored him. He had been persuaded, much against his will, to come here to the city, but he would be damned if he was going to hang about here. He had too much to get back to, what with his wife and son waiting at Portchester, and the knowledge that the realm was clinging to peace by its fingernails.

  It was some relief to know that Baldwin and the other commissioners had been successful, and that there was now a large force encamped all about Portchester, so if any French warriors sought to begin an invasion, they would find themselves seriously tested upon landing. That at least should guarantee Margaret and Perkin’s safety. That – and Baldwin’s sworn oath that he would not leave them alone, but would personally ride to their protection if there were an attack. Together with the sight of his own servant Hugh, grim faced and resolute as always, standing at his door with his staff in his hands, Simon was persuaded that his family would be as safe as they could be. He himself could do no better than that.

  Still, he recoiled at the thought that here in Canterbury he might meet with Despenser, the man who had in the last year hounded Simon unmercifully, merely in an attempt to get at Baldwin. If he met Despenser, he must try to forget that the man had persecuted him, that he had stolen Simon’s house, that he had made Margaret cry more often than any man, that he had tormented even Simon’s daughter, and caused the split between Simon and Edith’s in-laws to the extent that Edith could not even show them her baby son. Their own grandchild. Yes, Simon must swallow all this, must behave with perfect civility and keep his hand from his sword. Because to try to stab Despenser would inevitably lead to his own death, and to the deprivation of livelihood, home and hearth to his family. He knew that. And it helped his temper not a whit.

  So as he rode up the street, he had two thoughts: first, that he must pray not to see Despenser, because he might be
unable to restrain himself in the man’s presence; and second, that he could hardly bear to be so close to the rapist and thief who was even now complaining yet again.

  ‘Shut up, or I’ll kick your arse!’ he said and trotted ahead to avoid the whingeing.

  If the fellow had a brain, he would have tried to escape on the way here. Simon and Baldwin had both realised that, which was why Simon had four men from Portchester to aid him. One was a grizzled old sergeant who had served in several wars with the king, and the other three were bright enough fellows, whom Simon had handpicked for the job of guarding their charge. Paul had never once been alone, and without at least one pair of eyes watching his every move.

  The city was filled, as usual, with pilgrims. It was many years since the appalling murder of St Thomas at his altar in the church here – a hundred and fifty or more – and yet Christians poured into this wealthy little city from all over the kingdom still.

  It was scarcely surprising. For a man to spill blood in a church was truly shocking. Even the felons he had captured and executed, the roughest, most hardened outlaws in the country, would draw the line at that. Steal a cross, yes; take the rings from a woman’s hand, certainly; kill a priest, possibly … but kill a bishop at the altar of his church? No.

  So every year, more and more people came here to seek the marvellous cures for their bodily ailments, for their misery, for redress against their persecutors. Simon drew his mouth into a moue at that thought. Perhaps he should go to pray that his own private persecutor should be persuaded to leave him alone? But what would be the point? In the last years of the effective rule of Despenser, so many must have begged God to release them from his vile exactions, and none of their prayers had been answered. God Himself, seemingly, was struck impotent in the face of Despenser’s astonishing avarice.

  It was a source of great relief when Simon saw a familiar face among the teeming throng. ‘William? Squire William Walle?’

  The man heard his name being called, and turned to peer along the crowded roadway, and when he caught sight of Simon, his face broke into a beaming smile. ‘God love you, my friend! How are you? And what are you doing here?’

  Simon could almost feel the waves of horror emanating from the rector behind him as Paul tried to conceal himself behind the guards. ‘Squire, I have urgent news for the king, and it may be best that I speak to the bishop to try to gain an audience.’

  ‘Really?’ William said, but a look at Simon’s face made his smile fade, and he nodded. ‘Come with me, then. I will take you straight to him.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Leatherhead, Surrey

  Their passage so far had been quiet and uneventful, which was how it should have been. Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple glanced over at the lady beside him on her horse, and felt his heart glow. She was beautiful, wise, accomplished … He was entirely smitten with her.

  ‘You enjoy the view, Sir Peregrine?’ she asked sweetly.

  ‘How did you know I was looking at you?’ he protested. ‘You were not watching me, I know.’

  ‘My dear Sir Peregrine,’ she said, turning and facing him in that strange little manner she had, her head a little lowered, her eyes studying him seriously. It was a fascinating idiosyncrasy, making him feel that she was treating him like a wayward son, but it was also enormously seductive.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You perhaps do not realise that even a widow can tell when a man is studying every facet of her dress to see where the mud lies. Or that he is searching her face for any new wrinkles.’

  ‘My lady, you know that is not true! I have only allowed myself to view you in an entirely chaste manner, seeking to remember every aspect of your beauty so that, when I am no longer in your company, I may still be able to bring it to mind.’

  ‘Oh, in truth, gentle charmer? I think that if you were to seek such magnificence, you would do better to have stayed last night with that delicious young wench at the inn.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘You liked more than one, then?’ she said, mock-chidingly.

  ‘My lady, please do not torment me!’ he groaned. ‘If you prefer, I can ride at the rear with the men in the van.’

  She allowed a smile at that. ‘You would be happier there?’

  ‘No. I feel warmed by you as though you were the sun. You fill me with delight. In truth, I do not know how to describe my feelings for you. You are all kindness, all generosity, all beauty …’

  ‘Enough! You must stay here, and continue to pretend to adore me with your eyes. I cannot believe you are serious, for I am a mean little creature, in truth. No, don’t deny it.’

  ‘But I do! Fervently! I have been so happy to escort you these last days, and would prefer that you wished to travel to France, or to the Holy Roman Empire, so that our time together was not to end so soon. I … I wish we could spend more time together, madam.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure you would grow to dislike my pettiness, my many faults.’

  ‘How could a man grow to dislike the stars? How could he dislike the beauty of the sun? No man could look upon you once and fail to be utterly possessed by you.’

  ‘Really? And do I possess your heart, then?’ she smiled, and in an instant the smile was blotted out, and she put her hand up. ‘Nay, do not answer, I beg you.’

  ‘I cannot hope that you may one day reciprocate my feelings?’

  She looked at him again, with that serious consideration he was growing to recognise so well. ‘I think that I do already, my friend. But that is one thing: to bind ourselves at this time is another. I do not wish to hurt you.’

  ‘How can you?’

  ‘By dying. By being taken from you. You have lost so much already. You have told me of your other women.’

  That much was perfectly true. He had been so unfortunate with his loves, and he was left, at each loss, with an ever-increasing sense of his own loneliness. ‘You too have known tragedy,’ he sighed.

  ‘Yes. I fear that together, you and I would be a great source of danger,’ she said lightly. ‘I have two dead husbands, and you have three women you have loved. What, would I die first, before we could wed, or would you expire shortly after our wedding?’

  ‘Or would we both live, enjoying our time together, nourishing each other, and living to a happy, contented old age?’

  He could hear the hope in his voice as he tried to show her how easy this would be, and for a moment, he thought he had succeeded. She turned to him again, and there was a gleam in her eyes. But then the light faded, and her face took on a sad, faraway look that he didn’t understand. He wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, because even as he saw her expression change, and she turned away from him to face the road once more, he realised that he had lost her. She would not be his.

  There was nothing more he could say. He rode on with poison in his heart.

  Canterbury

  The sight of Simon arriving was enough to make the bishop rise from his chair. ‘Simon, you are a sight to gladden the heart of the most jaded bishop. Enter, please! Tell me all that has happened since I left Sir Baldwin in Portchester. I would have news of—’ His voice was cut off as sharply as though a knife had severed his throat.

  Simon had to grin. ‘My lord bishop, you know this disreputable knave, I believe.’

  ‘William – fetch a guard. I want that dishonourable churl in gaol here before he pollutes the floor of my chamber.’

  Paul hurriedly fell to his knees. ‘Listen, please, my lord! I have terrible news from France that must be taken to the king. Perhaps my indiscretion in Exeter was merely God making use of me as He saw fit, in His divine perfection. He took the least deserving vessel and sent me—’

  ‘Shut up, fool! You mean to deride God Himself?’

  ‘I think you ought to hear him,’ Simon said.

  ‘I will listen, then, until I decide he is lying. What do you mean “terrible news”? Speak out, man!’

  With many a sidelong glance at Simon, Paul told his sto
ry, finishing with the ambition of the duke to travel to Rouen. ‘It should be easy to find him and capture him there.’

  ‘You say so? You have had experience of fighting and battles, have you?’

  ‘I only mean to—’

  ‘Don’t! Simon, what do you think?’

  ‘If this fellow’s telling the truth, it would be hazardous not to inform the king. If he lies, let the king discover it and punish this git. Better that he does than we soil our hands.’

  ‘You think so? Even after what this evil cretin did to poor Agatha de Gydie?’ The bishop stared down at Paul with an expression of intense disgust. ‘You make me want to vomit, rector. Rise, and remove yourself from my sight – and William? Go with him. Do not let him near anything that he could steal, eat or drink. He is to wait on a bench in the hall until I call for him.’

  He waited until they had left the chamber, and then lifted an eyebrow to Simon. ‘Well, I suppose I shall have to take this unwelcome news to the king. I don’t know what to make of it.’

  ‘The clear suggestion he made was that the Despenser had paid silver to have the duke murdered,’ Simon said. ‘I would suggest that you leave that side of matters to the rector to bring up. You do not wish to be the man who stands between the king and Despenser.’

  ‘True enough. Not that he has much time for affairs of any kind just now,’ the bishop said.

  ‘How do you mean, my lord?’

  ‘He is so entangled in the webs he has woven for himself, he can find little pleasure in anything just now,’ the bishop said, motioning to John to bring wine. ‘He is terrified, I think, that Mortimer will arrive at our shores with an army. He is under no illusions as to his popularity in the realm, while Mortimer has the queen and the young duke with him. The mother of the heir and the heir himself, and arrayed against them are the king and Despenser.’