The Bishop's Brood

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘That is true,’ agreed the first guard, stepping back quickly from where he had been fussing with his cushion. The dog had decided to sit on it, and its savage demeanour did not make him willing to argue. ‘I am surprised the outlaws did not see his cart was full of women and leave it be.’

  ‘Perhaps they fired first and realized their mistake later,’ said Eleanor.

  Geoffrey shoved the dog off the cushion so Eleanor could sit and then knelt next to her, watching the oarsman ease his little craft into the strong, fast-flowing current. The guards’ words were revealing. They indicated Stanstede had been a popular and well-known figure locally. So, either the men who had ambushed him were not locals, or they did not care whether he provided a service or not. Geoffrey strongly suspected the real target had been Xavier, and that Stanstede’s death was incidental. But that conclusion did not answer the real question: who had perpetrated the ambush? It could not have been Weasel, because he had been attacking Eleanor’s solar at the time.

  It was not long before the ferryman had transported them across the river, and Geoffrey helped Eleanor on to the opposite bank. She took his arm again, and they walked into the Elvet.

  The goldsmith had been a wealthy man. His home was built of stone, and all the windows had glass, although these were shuttered against the foul weather, giving the house an oddly abandoned look. Geoffrey’s rap was answered by an ancient, sparse-haired woman who was almost bent double with age. White gums showed that she had long been without teeth. Her eyes were filmed with blue, so Geoffrey wondered if she was sightless, as well as toothless. She stood on the doorstep squinting and peering, her jaws working rhythmically on nothing.

  ‘It is Eleanor Stanstede, Mother Petra,’ said Eleanor politely. ‘I have come to share my grief, as a widow, with Alice.’

  ‘Grief?’ queried Mother Petra. ‘I thought you would be dancing on the table to be rid of Haymo! Why you married that old lecher is beyond me.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ said Eleanor, quietly dignified, ‘and it is not nice to speak badly of him now he is not here to defend himself.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Mother Petra, standing aside to let her enter. ‘I will be joining him in Purgatory soon enough, and I can tell him what I think then. It is a terrible thing for a woman to have a son like him. Had I thought he would grow up to become a brothel keeper, I would have drowned him at birth.’

  ‘You are Haymo’s mother?’ asked Geoffrey, a little confused. If Stanstede was seventy years old, as everyone said, then the old crone who stood in front of him must be verging on ninety – a great age indeed when most people considered themselves lucky to reach fifty.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded Mother Petra. ‘You speak English like a Norman – carefully and with a hint of native French. You are no Saxon.’

  ‘His name is Geoffrey Mappestone,’ said Eleanor patiently. ‘He is Roger’s friend, and offered to escort me here to make sure I did not fall in the snow. May we see Alice?’

  ‘If you are coming in, then hurry up,’ snapped Mother Petra, when Geoffrey was slow in following Eleanor over the threshold. ‘You are letting the heat escape, and I do not want to spend the rest of the day in a cold house.’

  Jarveaux’s home was even more luxurious inside than out. The walls were decorated with murals, mainly geometric designs, while the floors were covered in thick carpets that made even the prior’s comfortable domain seem inferior. The old woman led them along a passage, and up some stairs to a cosy chamber on the upper floor.

  ‘Wait here while I fetch her,’ she instructed. ‘She is sculpting marchpanes. It seems that the deaths of my two sons have not made a great impact on their wives – you are out visiting, while she laughs and jokes in the kitchens.’

  ‘Two sons?’ asked Geoffrey, bewildered. ‘You are the mother of Stanstede and Jarveaux?’

  Mother Petra cackled, revealing her toothless gums. ‘I had seven sons from five husbands. I was a beauty once, and men courted me from far and wide. But I have lived to see them all in their graves, husbands and sons. The last was Haymo. I always said I would outlive them, and I was right.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Geoffrey, thinking grief must have turned her mind.

  ‘Why?’ asked the old woman. ‘The only good one among my whole litter was Thurstin. Now there was a man after my own heart!’

  ‘Thurstin was Flambard’s father,’ explained Eleanor in a low voice. ‘And my grandfather.’

  Geoffrey’s mind reeled. ‘She is related to Flambard as well? God’s teeth, Eleanor! She seems to have produced half of Durham!’

  ‘She is Flambard’s grandmother,’ said Eleanor in a whisper. ‘At least, that is what she says. Thurstin was a priest, and not supposed to have children. But Flambard has always been solicitous of her, and it is possible they are related. He bought her this house when he became bishop here.’

  ‘He did,’ confirmed Mother Petra proudly. ‘And ask yourself: why would a great man like a bishop bother with the likes of me unless she were his grandmother.’

  ‘She is cantankerous,’ muttered Eleanor. ‘No one would agree to have her nearby unless there was some family obligation.’

  ‘Eh?’ croaked the old lady. ‘Speak up. I cannot hear when you mumble.’

  ‘I was just telling Geoffrey how fond Flambard is of you,’ said Eleanor in a loud voice.

  ‘He is my grandson,’ said Mother Petra. ‘The best of all my grandchildren. But I will fetch Alice for you, and you can sit together and count your blessings that you are now both widows.’

  She hobbled away, although Geoffrey suspected that she was a good deal more sprightly than she would have them believe. The fact that she had answered the knock to the front door before the servants suggested she was alert and curious, and that she was sufficiently agile to reach it before a second knock had been required. If she were responsible for the cunning vested in Flambard, then Geoffrey suspected she was a formidable figure, despite her great age.

  ‘So, you are Jarveaux’s sister-in-law,’ he said to Eleanor when she had gone. ‘If Jarveaux and Stanstede are her sons, then you and Alice are sisters by marriage.’

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘Durham is a small city – most people are related in some way or another.’

  Geoffrey had wondered why Jarveaux had been chosen as a recipient for one of the maps, and now it transpired he was Flambard’s uncle. And Flambard’s other uncle – Stanstede – was Flambard’s daughter’s husband. Geoffrey scratched his head, and questioned whether such a liaison was legal or proper. He also wondered how many more of Durham’s population had some family tie to the unchaste bishop.

  ‘Eleanor!’ came a low voice from the door. ‘I heard what happened. I am so sorry.’

  Geoffrey saw a woman in the doorway, offering Eleanor outstretched hands that were covered in flour to the elbows. Heedless of the white smears they left on her cloak, Eleanor slipped willingly into the woman’s embrace. Because he had the impression the goldsmith was as old as Stanstede, Geoffrey had anticipated a middle-aged woman, who would bear her grief stoically. Alice Jarveaux, however, was not middle-aged. She was in her twenties, and exquisite in the way only Saxon women could be: small and delicate, with silvery gold hair arranged in two neat plaits rolled in circles above her ears. Her eyes were a deep sapphire-blue, and her complexion as perfect as a Christmas rose.

  ‘I have had a terrible day,’ she announced. ‘Walter ordered horses for today, and the groom made me pay for them, even though Walter is dead and will not be going anywhere.’

  ‘He hired them from the castle?’ asked Eleanor sympathetically. ‘Those men drive a hard bargain.’

  ‘The groom said it was not his fault Walter died, and that he should not have to suffer financially because of it,’ said Alice. ‘Insensitive brute!’

  ‘This is Alice Jarveaux,’ said Eleanor, pulling out of the embrace and turning to Geoffrey.

  ‘Haymo and Walter seem to have done well in acquiring themselves young wives,’ said Geo
ffrey, thinking he should consider moving to Durham when he became too old and infirm to fulfil his duties as a soldier.

  Eleanor smiled. ‘As I said, this is a small city, and the choice of husbands is not great. It is better to have one who is old, than none at all. Is that not so, Alice?’

  ‘Only if he is rich, too,’ said Alice. She looked Geoffrey up and down with the eye of a professional. ‘So you can rid yourself of any designs on me. You are comely and of an age where you are young enough to be active but old enough to be interesting, but you clearly have no money.’

  ‘I have a manor,’ said Geoffrey, resenting the implication he was a fortune-seeker. ‘And I have no intention of taking a wife, anyway – young or otherwise.’

  ‘Do you prefer men, then?’ asked Alice bluntly. She looked him up and down again. ‘You do not look the type, but appearances can be deceptive.’

  ‘I prefer their company to that of prattling women,’ retorted Geoffrey, feeling a discussion of his sexual preferences was not an appropriate topic in the home of a recent widow. No wonder Roger had been happy for him to accompany Eleanor to visit Alice: Roger had known the woman was a shrew.

  ‘Do you,’ said Alice acidly. ‘We women are often accused of mindless chatter, but you need only to venture into a stable to know that is not true. Men blather far more than women, and on the most tedious of topics – shoeing horses, how sharp a hoe needs to be, how leather-soled shoes slip on cobbles, or the optimum size of cartwheels. But women discuss matters of interest and importance.’

  ‘Like what is the best flour for marchpanes and how difficult it is to see to sew by candlelight?’ asked Geoffrey coolly.

  Alice studied him, hands on hips. ‘It will not be long before we fall out. Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘He is a friend of Roger’s,’ said Eleanor. ‘But do not argue with him, Alice. He saved my life – some louts broke into my house and shot at us with crossbows.’

  Alice nodded. ‘I heard about that, too. It was all over the city, like the news about Haymo’s death.’

  ‘I will miss Haymo,’ said Eleanor sadly. ‘I know I complained about him, and several times I wondered whether I was wise to marry such an old man, but he was always kind and gave me everything I asked for.’

  ‘Well, now you will not have to ask him for anything,’ said Alice practically. ‘If you want something, you can have it, because his fortune is at your fingertips. But do not delve into it for a few days yet. Wait a week or two, for the sake of appearances, then start to enjoy yourself. We will show this city how to live, you and I!’

  Eleanor gave a wan smile. ‘Alice has always known she would outlive Walter,’ she explained to Geoffrey. ‘She has been looking forward to the day when she is free of him.’

  ‘When I was fourteen, my father presented me with a number of potential husbands,’ said Alice. ‘I chose Walter because he was the oldest and wealthiest. For a dozen years of discomfort, I knew I would secure myself a life of contentment and freedom.’

  ‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, trying not to show surprise that a child could be so calculating. ‘But will your family not make you marry again?’

  ‘They will not!’ said Alice fiercely. ‘I can manage my own affairs, and need no family to meddle. It has all worked out rather well. It was me who recommended that Eleanor take Haymo. Like Walter, he was old and rich, but unfortunately he was rather more vigorous than his half-brother, and led her something of a merry dance until his sad demise.’

  ‘Cenred wants me to continue running the brothel,’ said Eleanor tearfully. ‘But I do not think I can. You know I do not approve of that side of his business.’

  ‘I will help,’ offered Alice generously. ‘Cenred is right: we do not want bands of lust-crazed men marauding the city. It is better that a proper service is provided to eliminate that sort of thing.’

  ‘You should not offer your expertise for a day or two,’ advised Geoffrey. ‘It will be considered unseemly for a woman whose husband’s body is still warm to take up employment in a brothel.’

  Alice shot him an unpleasant look. ‘I offered to help with the administration, not as one of the whores. But I have neither time nor inclination to waste my day with the likes of you.’ She turned to Eleanor. ‘I am sorry you are sad, but remember that Haymo had a good life, and was happy with you. It is a pity he died with an arrow in his chest, but better that than choking his last while enjoying his conjugal rights on top of you.’

  It was not a pleasant image. Eleanor swallowed hard and Geoffrey winced. Alice was a woman who did not mince her words, so Geoffrey decided not to mince his. The whole point of the visit was to solicit information that might help them locate the third map, and that was what Geoffrey was going to do, no matter how much his questions might offend or annoy the abrasive Alice.

  ‘How did your husband die?’ he asked. ‘And when?’

  ‘What business is that of yours?’ asked Alice in amazement. ‘You have no right to enter my home and ask me that kind of thing!’

  ‘I heard he choked on an oyster,’ said Eleanor quickly, seeing it would not be long before Geoffrey and Alice insulted each other to the point where further conversation was futile. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘He is probably one of King Henry’s commissioners,’ said Alice, regarding Geoffrey with dislike. ‘He heard I have a fortune from my husband, and has been sent to see whether I killed him. He plans to claim Walter’s estate for the Crown and have me wrongfully convicted of murder. I know how the King’s “justice” works for us Saxons.’

  ‘Geoffrey is Roger’s friend,’ said Eleanor gently. ‘He has never even set eyes on King Henry.’

  Geoffrey had actually met King Henry on a number of occasions, but he said nothing.

  ‘Well, Norman?’ demanded Alice when Geoffrey remained silent. ‘Do you think I deliberately choked Walter to get his gold? Is that why you came here?’

  ‘It is possible,’ he replied coolly. ‘Although I think it more likely that you drove him to suicide with your nasty opinions and comments.’

  ‘Please,’ said Eleanor, coming between them as Alice’s pretty face became dark with anger. ‘Do not argue. Answer his questions, Alice.’

  ‘Why? And why does he want to know, anyway?’

  ‘It is not for him, it is for me,’ said Eleanor. ‘Haymo was murdered. I want to set my mind at ease that his death and Walter’s, so close together, are just coincidence. That is all.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Alice, after a few moments of studying Eleanor’s face as though she might read the truth there. Geoffrey was glad it was not he subjected to such close scrutiny, because he was not certain he would have passed the test. ‘Walter choked on an oyster four days ago. You know how fond he was of oysters. It was an accident, nothing more.’

  ‘How did he choke?’ asked Eleanor. ‘What was he doing at the time?’

  ‘One moment he was charming us all with an account of how horse dung is better for a garden than cow manure, and the next he was on his feet clutching his throat,’ said Alice. ‘I had warned him before about talking and eating at the same time, but, like all men, he thought he knew better. Anyway, that was the end of him. We tried to help, but he still died.’

  ‘How did you help?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘We banged his back and tried to make him drink wine to wash the thing away, but it was no use. He started to flail around in his panic.’ She pointed to one of the windows that overlooked the street. ‘He smashed that with his fist, as though there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.’

  Geoffrey saw one of the panes had indeed been broken, and the jagged hole had been stuffed with rags so the heat would not escape. ‘Did he receive any letters before he died, perhaps delivered by a knight – or at least by a messenger you had not seen before?’

  ‘He had letters every day. He was a goldsmith and in great demand. In fact, he had so much correspondence that he hired a clerk to see to it all.’

  ‘Can we speak to him?�
��

  ‘Why?’ asked Alice. ‘Do you intend to steal Walter’s list of customers and sell them inferior work when they believe they are purchasing high quality pieces from Walter and his apprentices?’

  ‘If I did, I would not ask you to provide me with the means to do it,’ said Geoffrey tartly. ‘I want to know because your husband may have received something that belongs to the prior.’

  ‘The prior?’ asked Alice, narrowing her eyes. ‘You said you wanted to set Eleanor’s mind at rest about Haymo. Now you claim you are acting on Turgot’s behalf.’

  ‘Turgot is also concerned by two deaths within such a short space of time,’ said Eleanor calmly.

  ‘Turgot is a greedy, grasping hypocrite!’ declared Alice. ‘I will say nothing to help him!’

  ‘He is the head of a monastery,’ said Geoffrey. ‘It is his job to be a greedy, grasping hypocrite.’

  Alice glared at him for a moment, then laughed uncertainly. ‘You are right, but I will not help Turgot to grab any more of the city for his abbey. Now, Eleanor, you may stay and talk if you like, but I shall waste no more time with your impecunious knight. I have marchpanes to finish.’

  ‘Then I bid you good day, madam,’ said Geoffrey with a bow. ‘And I hope your marchpanes provide you with all the entertainment you could hope for.’

  Eight

  Eleanor wanted to stay with Alice, and engage in the kind of deeply meaningful talk of which men were apparently incapable, so Geoffrey left the Jarveaux household alone. He was reluctant to abandon Eleanor, but was informed bluntly that she had lived most of her life in Durham, and had no need of a knightly protector in a city where most inhabitants either knew her or were kin. Given Flambard’s procreational abilities, not to mention the peculiar relationships that originated with Mother Petra, Geoffrey imagined she might be related to more people than she knew.

  He recrossed the river and began striding along a path he thought led back to the marketplace. It was snowing again, and the flakes were so large it was difficult to see where he was going. His dog panted as its legs sunk into drifts that reached its belly, and shot him a resentful glance. He was aware of the hazy shapes of houses on either side as he went, but none looked familiar. He supposed he should stop at one, and ask whether he was on the right path before he became lost, but he wanted to be alone for a while, to think about what he had learned and how his investigation might proceed, and did not wish some kindly soul to offer to accompany him.