Candace Robb - A Vigil of Spies

‘I have prayed much on this, and I believe that John of Gaunt is a man who understands that his path in life is to support the king.’ Her husband’s brother, the powerful Duke of Lancaster, second living son of King Edward. ‘I cannot say that I have ever sensed in him a man who believes he’s destined to be king of England.’

‘There are many who would disagree.’

‘His power and wealth frighten many, my lady. But you did not come to Bishopthorpe to hear their opinions.’

‘No.’

‘He is not always a pleasant man, or easy to deal with, but his sense of honour is profound and steady. I believe you would be wise to keep him near you.’

‘I am relieved to hear you say so, Your Grace, for I’ve ever felt I could depend on John, as has my Edward.’

‘I would warn you about your son John.’ He raised a hand to quiet her apology. ‘He needs discipline, he needs to learn respect for his fellow men. Some time in the company of a man like Owen Archer would do him much good.’

‘I have asked Geoffrey Chaucer to stay behind, talk to the captain about his joining my household,’ said Joan.

‘Good.’ Thoresby nodded. ‘Yes. That would be good. As for whom to avoid, I warn you against Alice Perrers and her friends at court.’

‘Even the Nevilles?’

‘I’ve come to accept that they are a necessary power in the north. But of those in Perrers’s circle, beware.’

She nodded. ‘What of Alexander Neville? If he is named your successor, who in the Church might I trust?’

That was simple. ‘Put your trust in William Whittlesey. The Archbishop of Canterbury is a good man. And Brantingham, Bishop of Exeter.’ Thoresby coughed and paused for a sip of honeyed water, which she kindly handed him. ‘As you have witnessed here, be wary of William Wykeham. As Bishop of Winchester, he is powerful, but you will have support in resisting him.’

She nodded. ‘Any others?’

‘I do not wish to name too many, Your Grace, for you’ll have Lancaster to guide you, and he will have the pulse of the nobility.’

Now she grew even more serious. ‘And the other matter, Your Grace? The curse on my family?’

Thoresby took her hand. ‘I cannot believe that God would curse Prince Edward for the sins of his grandparents. Nor do I believe that God would hold King Edward and Queen Isabella solely responsible for the crises of their reign. They were caught up in currents that each believed threatened their ability to fulfil their duty. As your own husband has, I am quite certain, itched at times to escape the long shadow of his most noble father the king, so must have your husband’s grandfather squirmed in the shadow of his father, Edward Longshanks, a most formidable man. But that earlier Prince Edward had not the blessed counsel and gracious example of a mother such as was Queen Philippa, your husband’s late mother. As for Queen Isabella, though I respect your affection for France, I suggest that, in that realm’s court, she had been raised to believe herself superior to her fellow mortals, and was, therefore, unable to bear her husband’s slights, nor did she consider it necessary to temper her own lust and ambition. I pray I have not offended you.’

He’d noticed that Joan had straightened a little, subtly widening the distance between them, and her hand had grown heavy in his.

‘You think I have no cause to worry for my family, Your Grace?’

He read disappointment in her eyes and hastened to add: ‘I did not say that. A pilgrimage to Canterbury, with the intention of making a vow to rule wisely and with God’s guidance — that I would advise you to make, my lady. You might also contribute to the lady chapel at York Minster in memory of your husband’s grandfather.’

She warmed to his suggestions, pressing his hand. ‘I shall do so, Your Grace. A pilgrimage and an offering. Yes, these seem fitting gestures of atonement. I am most grateful for your counsel, my good lord of York.’

After Joan’s departure, Brother Michaelo brought Thoresby some more honeyed water, helping him to drink.

‘I could not help but hear you mention your lady chapel, Your Grace,’ he said, with a knowing look.

Thoresby felt himself blush. ‘Shameless, I admit. But it was worth it to see that look in your eyes once more, Michaelo. Well worth it.’

‘What look, Your Grace?’ Michaelo asked, feigning innocence.

Thoresby chuckled, Michaelo joining him, until Thoresby had a fit of coughing that reminded them both of their impending separation, and both grew solemn.

‘I forgive you, Michaelo. How could I not, when faced with the results of my own surrender to temptation?’

‘I do not deserve your forgiveness, Your Grace,’ Michaelo whispered, bowing his head.

Irritated to have to use breath to force a kindness on his secretary, Thoresby said, ‘I have no patience for humility. Accept my forgiveness and be done with it.’

‘May God watch over you, my lord,’ Michaelo murmured, and began to leave.

‘Stay a moment. I am brusque because I am uncomfortable with my own part in your surrender, Michaelo. I have neglected your spiritual needs. Benedict said that your superior, and that is me, should use every curative skill, as a wise physician does, bringing in wise counsellors for you, showing you the way to humble reconciliation. I witnessed your severe penance years ago and chose to believe that was enough, despite the arrogance that gradually reasserted itself in your character. I recommend you to Dom Jehannes. He is a good man, and a worthy counsellor.’

‘Your Grace,’ Michaelo whispered, ‘the fault is all mine.’

Thoresby shook his head. ‘After I am gone, I pray you find peace in Normandy. Now go. I am tired.’

Michaelo covered his face and hurried from the chamber.

Princess Joan had said her brief farewells, accompanied by Sir Lewis, Sir John and Lady Sybilla. Thoresby had managed to preside over the little gathering from a comfortable chair — it was pleasant to sit by the window and feel the sun on his back. He blessed their journey and bade them pray for his soul. As soon as they withdrew, he admitted to Magda that he was ready to return to his bed.

As the sounds of the princess’s departure receded in the hall, Thoresby gave a great sigh, settling back deeper into the cushions.

‘I have survived the princess’s visit.’ He winced at the breathless quality of his speech.

‘Quiet now, Thy Grace,’ said Magda.

‘She wants Archer to join her household, you know,’ Thoresby whispered. ‘What do you think of that? He would remain in Yorkshire — listening for her. Occasionally Sir John would ride north to receive his report. Do you think he will agree? He would be richly rewarded for his service. I’d need have no concern for the comfort of his family.’

‘Magda has no opinion in this, though she thinks the princess might do best not to mention her young peacock when proposing it. As for thou, see to thyself. Rest. In a few days Bird-eye will return with his family. Thou shouldst save thy voice for the children, eh?’

‘Michaelo tells me that Archer took it very hard, Gilbert’s betrayal.’

‘The princess’s visit weighed heavily on Bird-eye in many ways, Thy Grace. He has much healing to do.’

‘I would like to know that he’s well provided for.’

‘Rest.’

Alfred had suggested that Owen go home for a few days before returning with Lucie and the children.

‘The men will be on their best behaviour, after witnessing a hanging of one of their own,’ he reasoned. He looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot.

‘You grieve as much as I do,’ Owen said. ‘When I return, you hasten to York to see your lady, eh?’

Alfred had agreed. Now he came to help Owen carry his packs out to his waiting horse. ‘You have a companion for the journey.’