Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘So that is that,’ Margaret said.

Simon nodded. ‘I think we should prepare too.’

‘Hugh has almost everything ready. He and Rob are with the horses, I think.’

‘Good,’ Simon said.

Walking with her to the stables, he found himself reflecting on the last year. So much danger, the constant threat of invasion, and now all had come to pass. And Bishop Walter was dead — murdered here, in this cruel city. And for all Simon and the others’ efforts, when it had counted, the bishop was not guarded with enough men. The notes and the leather purse had, in fact, succeeded. By distracting Simon from the real risk of the mob, they had helped kill the bishop, on the very day foretold.

‘Wait one moment,’ he said as they passed the Tower, and he walked into the bishop’s rooms.

Little had changed. With Walle and John de Padington dead, no one had seen fit to enter and clear away his belongings.

It lay on the table. Simon went and took it up, pulling the drawstring loose and peering inside at the notes. The sight made a small shiver of revulsion run through him, and he tugged it shut again.

St Alban’s

The tavern was one of the best in the town, Paul de Cockington had been told, and as soon as he entered, he could tell it was true.

He was exhausted. The sailing to Normandy and back had been terrifying, what with his fear of the water, and his more pronounced horror of blades. He had been convinced that he would be killed when they got to Rouen, and it was surely only the miracle of the murder of that man Pestel that had saved them all. Neither the duke nor Sir Baldwin wanted to be found near the corpse. A murder victim was always difficult to explain.

After they landed at last, it had been touch and go as to whether he would be snatched away by some eager knight who sought more men. It had taken a very swift visit to a barber to ensure that his hair was cropped into a tonsure again so that he might walk away, and he had taken flight as soon as he could.

There was still danger, of course. He might have been discovered by the queen’s army. He had heard about that as soon as they landed. But once again, he had been fortunate. He had found a little abbey, and the abbot had been generous and kindly, and very hospitable. There, in the seclusion of the cloister, he had been sure of his safety, and for the first time since leaving Exeter, he felt truly at peace.

Still, yesterday he had decided he should try his luck again. He had his little chapel, after all, and it looked ever more appealing as the days passed. Never again would he put himself in such danger, he swore. No, he wouldn’t look at a woman like that de Gydie again, gorgeous though she was, with her slim little hips and enormous … But no. From now on, he was a celibate.

In the tavern, he sat at a bench with some others, who looked at him with suspicion, but moved along to give him space. He would rest here today, he decided, and continue on his way tomorrow. With fortune, he would make it to Exeter in only a week or so.

The serving wench came and took his order, and he could not help but appraise her backside as she swayed with the athletic precision of a dancer between the benches and stools set all about. Dark hair, and that air of willingness that always took his fancy. Not that it would ever again, of course.

She was back soon with a large earthenware jug of wine. She passed him a cup, then bent to pour. And in that moment, Paul once again had a vision of heaven, as her tunic fell open and he could see the delicious breasts within.

He was gaping. As she stood upright again, he snapped his mouth shut and gave her a smile. She returned it — with a small wink, he thought, as though she was showing she knew what he had seen, and he was welcome to it …

Perhaps there was no need to hurry to Exeter, after all, he considered, watching her taut body as she walked away again.

Furnshill

Jeanne heard the hoofs and went to fetch her dagger. Edgar marched to the door, reporting, ‘One rider — it’s him again.’

She set the dagger back on its hook on the wall and wiped her hands on her apron. It was good that Peter had been coming here so often. There was a hope in her breast that he and Edith would be able to mend the fracture and live together again, although she was not sure that she herself would be willing to live with her own father-in-law, had he been so inconsiderate to her. Still, it was Edith’s choice, not her own.

‘Master Peter, you are most welcome,’ she said, greeting him warmly.

‘Lady Jeanne, I am very glad to be here,’ he said, his eyes going to the room behind her. ‘How is my wife?’

‘She is well,’ Jeanne said, and felt satisfaction that he had at least asked after Edith rather than his own son.

‘I would like to speak with her, if I may.’

‘I will fetch her,’ Jeanne said. Edith was out in the little garden Jeanne had created, and it took only a few moments to bring her back inside.

‘Please, Lady Jeanne, don’t go,’ Peter said. ‘You should hear this too, because you have been so kind to us all.’

‘Very well.’

‘Edith, I am here to ask you to have me back again,’ Peter said. ‘I know that the last months have been very difficult for you, and I promise I will do everything I can to make things easier in future. Will you have me again?’

Edith looked at Jeanne, but Jeanne could not interfere in the affairs of another married couple. This had to be Edith’s own decision.

‘Peter, I would like to live with you again, but I cannot give up my parents and their friends. Where would I be now, without the kindness and generosity of Lady Jeanne here?’

‘I agree. And I will not force you to do that.’

‘I will agree, then. But it is hard for me to live with your parents.’

‘Then it is fortunate that I don’t ask that!’

‘You don’t …?’

‘We shall return to our own house. I cannot live under my father’s rules either, and need my own household. Will you return with me to the old house?’

‘Very happily!’ Edith said, and now she did run into his arms as Jeanne dabbed at her eyes and sniffed, and left them alone.

London

As they passed over the London Bridge, riding down into Surrey, Simon halted at the city drawbridge. He took out the purse and weighed it in his hand, and then hurled it as far as he could downstream, watching it as it bobbed on the water, and then disappeared out of sight.

It felt as though he had cast out a demon.

* 16 October 1322

* 28 June 1323

* 15 May 1323

* 14 August 1325

* 16 August 1325

* 6 May 1323

** 19 January 1326

*** Kirby Bellers in Leicestershire

* 20 January 1326

** West Sandford, near Crediton, Devon

* 20 January 1326

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* 29 January 1326

* 11 November

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* 31 January 1326

* The lands here were acquired by King Henry VIII after the Dissolution, at which point the town was renamed Lynn Regis or King’s Lynn. The latter name stuck.

* 26 February 1326

* 28 February 1326

* 2 June 1326

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* 25 September 1326

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* 30 September 1326

* 1 October 1326