Candace Robb - The Cross Legged Knight

Thoresby crossed himself. ‘It cannot be so, Emma. All the saints would suffer likewise.’ It was what he used to comfort himself.

‘The bishop is a coward! He could not even keep track of my father’s ransom money.’

It was true. Someone had altered the documents passed between the family and Wykeham to record a lesser amount offered by the Pagnells. Wykeham had not discovered it until he returned the ransom to the family and they declared it short a considerable sum. ‘Wykeham has made recompense, has he not?’

‘If you mean did he return the entire amount after being convinced of his error, you know that he did. But he can never make recompense for my father’s life.’ Emma pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and with the other hand pressed her heart. ‘And now he insults us with charges of trying to harm him.’

‘Did he behave as if he believed that when he greeted you? It is his retainers, made uneasy by the climate at court, who suspect ill of anyone who crosses him of late.’

And his fear of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. Wykeham had insulted the second most powerful man in the kingdom and quaked now at the thought of what form the duke’s vengeance might take.

Michaelo set the brandywine on the table. ‘Your Grace, shall I send your page to bed?’

‘I’d forgotten him. Yes, do that.’

Tonight Wykeham’s two clerics — Thoresby had come to think of them as the bishop’s shadows — had been told to take their dinner where they might, their lord and Thoresby would dine alone. It had been Thoresby’s hope that good wine and a leisurely dinner would warm up the bishop, encourage him to speak more of the court, of the king. Not long ago Thoresby had also been lord chancellor and close to the king. But his feud with the king’s mistress, Alice Perrers, had not sat well with Edward and Thoresby had resigned as chancellor. Although his duties as Archbishop of York called him south often, he felt distanced from the court now, out of touch.

The evening had not gone quite as Thoresby had hoped. Wykeham sat across from him, swirling the wine in his cup, picking at the fish course and staring silently at the fire in the hearth. The strain of court life told on him. He had aged and broadened in the years since they had last sat companionably before a fire, just the two of them. That had been before his promotion to bishop and then lord chancellor. Wykeham had been the king’s privy counsellor and one of the wealthiest clerics in the English Church, thanks to King Edward’s favour. As such he had been much at court, but he had not had the cares of the chancellor’s office. Since then a habit of pursing his lips had etched lines around his mouth and the frown mark between his brows looked as if it penetrated to the bone. Beneath his cap his forehead was broader, his temples silver.

‘Tell me the gossip of the court,’ Thoresby said. ‘How goes the king?’

Wykeham did not answer at once. He took a bite of fish, sipped some wine, as if considering what to say. ‘He is not the man he was.’

‘He is ailing?’

‘God forgive my saying it, but his age is telling. He grows forgetful, loses his temper with no provocation. And the vultures are moving in. The household is ruled by Mistress Alice, who guards the king night and day. It is difficult to get past her.’ Thoresby flinched at the mention of his nemesis. ‘She has grown too powerful since the death of the queen,’ Wykeham concluded.

‘The king should marry,’ Thoresby said.

‘He is too old.’

‘Mistress Perrers does not think so.’

Wykeham grunted.

‘Yet you would return as his chancellor?’ Is the man mad ?

‘Once I thought all I wished for was to be Bishop of Winchester. But my king raised me higher, and I saw how I might serve him and all the kingdom. I cannot now forget that vision.’ Wykeham lifted his hand as if to feel the chain of office about his neck and, finding none, dropped it. ‘But you know my situation.’

‘I know that you agreed to be parliament’s scapegoat for the losses in France.’

A slow blush gave Wykeham some much-needed colour. He attempted a chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough. ‘You are kind to put it so.’

In spring, parliament had refused to consider King Edward’s request for a new tax for the war with France until the clerical ministers were replaced with lay ministers, particularly Wykeham, who was unpopular among the nobles. They blamed the clergy in high office for prolonging the war with France because as Churchmen they did not answer to secular authorities, so they pursued their own interests. The delays counselled by the ministers had allowed France time better to fortify its army and defences. Although the king believed the clergy were merely convenient scapegoats, he had bowed to the will of parliament and asked Wykeham to step down, hoping to replenish his war chest with a new tax. In the end, the king had gained little. He was still in debt to his Italian bankers and the crown of France was ever farther from his grasp.

‘I know my lord king,’ said Thoresby. ‘He heard the demands, looked at you with expectation and you could not deny him.’

Wykeham reached for the wine, took a long drink, set the cup down with a clatter. ‘It is as you say. I could not do less for him.’

‘I warned you — I expect you remember.’

‘You warned me of the court, not parliament.’ Wykeham cut a chunk of bread, dipped it in the fish sauce.

‘I did not expect your problems to come from the people. The king’s war has given them an unfortunate power over him.’

‘It is ever unwise to be ruled by one’s purse.’ Wykeham lifted the dripping bread to his mouth, holding a linen cloth close beneath his chin. ‘I counselled caution, the parliament judged that caution cost too dear.’ As he chewed, he wiped his fingers, then the edges of his mouth. ‘The members of parliament are fools, but the king needs their money.’

The long war with France had depleted the royal coffers and taxed the people to the point where all grew stubborn about further taxes.

‘I understand that the new tenant in your townhouse has been a member for Kingston-upon-Hull. Wealthy?’

Wykeham had been lifting his cup of wine. He took the time to drink before answering. ‘Not wealthy enough to buy a townhouse in York, or to build one.’ He placed the cup on the table and sat back, folding his hands. ‘Are you wondering whether he might be a donor for your lady chapel?’

Thoresby deserved that. It had been a clumsy question. ‘As you have seen, there is still much to do.’

‘It will be a worthy monument to you and your predecessors,’ Wykeham said.

‘But I am also curious about Godwin Fitzbaldric,’ Thoresby said. ‘I know he must earn his standing in York, become bailiff and mayor at least before he has another chance at parliament.’

‘Why do I woo him, is that your question? Who are his friends? How influential is he? Can he help me regain the chancellorship?’

Wykeham’s touchiness answered most of Thoresby’s questions. ‘I grow transparent in my old age.’

‘I needed a tenant, he and his wife found the space pleasing. That is all there is to know about Godwin Fitzbaldric.’

Thoresby was relieved when the servants entered with the meat course and another flagon of wine. While they fussed with serving, Wykeham resumed his study of the fire, though now with cup in hand, sipping frequently. Thoresby let the meal continue quietly, his thoughts on Wykeham’s strained relations with Sir Ranulf’s family, how impatiently he awaited Lady Pagnell’s summons.

As if reading his mind, Wykeham’s first words when the servants withdrew were, ‘I would be far wiser to befriend the Pagnells than the Fitzbaldrics. This property exchange — let us pray it softens the lady.’