Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

It began in his knees, and moved up to his hips, his belly and his heart, making him feel as though he might sag and fall like a sack of turnips. He grabbed at a wall, and was forced to take some deep breaths, but then all was washed away by the anger that coursed through his body. That any man might dare to attack him was appalling, but to try to do it so close to his home — that was an insult as well. He only wished he had caught the other man too.

There were three of his servants in the yard, an ostler and two men from the vill who were to have been helping in his fields as a part of their annual service owed to him, and at the sight of them, he wondered whether it would be possible to capture his assailant. ‘Hob, take those two men with you and go out towards Tidpit. There is a man around there somewhere who tried to waylay me this morning.’

He gave them a rough description of the man, with some idea of where he was heading, before sending them on their way. With fortune, they might find him, and that might mean that they could learn who had sent him.

Meanwhile he had the parchment, he told himself. He would take that to the priest. Old Peter would know what it meant.

West Sandford

The rest of the morning seemed to go well. Simon, Margaret could see, was actually relaxed in Baldwin’s presence. It was marvellous, the way that he occasionally laughed, and he appeared much more at ease with her, too.

When he and Baldwin had returned from the terrible affairs over west, towards Oakhampton, just before St Martin in Winter, it had distressed her to see them. Edith brought them, and she was as alarmed to see her father in such an evil mood with his old friend, and although she and Margaret had done all they might in the evening, when Baldwin left the following morning, it was obvious that the two men were as far apart as ever. The wounds inflicted upon their relationship were as deadly as the weapons they held sheathed at their hips.

Oh, but it was good to see the two together again. She sat at the table, Simon at her side, Baldwin opposite, and while they ate, and Baldwin grumbled at his dog, Wolf, who kept resting his head on the table and gazing longingly at the food, Margaret could not help but smile to see the fondness in Baldwin’s face and the returning easiness that was so evident in Simon’s.

It was a little while later that Perkin joined them, sitting down and enthusiastically demanding ever more tidbits, until his trencher contained a large mound of food. As soon as he arrived, the dog plainly gave up, and padded from the room.

‘Eat that, and you’ll burst,’ Baldwin said as Perkin filled his trencher.

‘I won’t burst. It’s easy,’ Perkin said with such enthusiasm that Simon put a hand over his mouth.

‘Quiet, Perkin. No need for all that noise.’

Ignoring his father, Perkin leaned forward to Baldwin. ‘You know, I’ve got a knight.’

Baldwin glanced at Simon, who shook his head. ‘Carved. Hugh has shown himself wonderfully competent with a knife and a block of wood.’

Margaret shot him a look. Usually when her husband made that comment, he followed it up with the observation that since Hugh’s head was made of wood, it was hardly surprising that he had an affinity for the stuff. But she was sure that it upset Hugh to hear it repeated so often and had taken to asking Simon not to say such things in Hugh’s presence. Simon had tried to laugh it off, when she first raised it, but she had pointedly told him that if he wished to take over the management of the household, he could do so. Hugh was mostly her servant in the home, and she wouldn’t have him repeatedly offended.

There was no need to say anything this time. Simon returned her look with an expression of such innocence that she wanted to laugh again.

It was hard, very hard, to be aware of such happiness while their daughter was still in Exeter and not permitted to contact them. Margaret was suddenly reminded of her daughter’s face, her smile, and was struck with a feeling of indescribable loss. It was much the same as that dreadful period when she had lost her little Peterkin, her first son. That death had sent her into despair for months. She had even considered that most appalling crime of all, self-murder.

She was brought back to the present by Baldwin’s quiet voice, saying, ‘Margaret, I will arrange for her to contact you. Do not fear.’

‘But I don’t see how. Her father-in-law will be sure to notice any kind of visit. If he doesn’t, then Peter will, and he is such a dutiful son that he will not lie to his own father.’

That was true. Peter was a good man, but he was very young. Young and a little naïve. If he recognised a visitor, he might well feel that it would be better for him to let his father know. ‘He would recognise Hugh, after all. He came to our house often enough.’

‘Of course he knows Hugh. No one who has once enjoyed the pleasure of his sunny demeanour could forget him,’ Baldwin said, popping a piece of apple into his mouth with a satisfied smile.

‘You can look smug if you wish, Baldwin, but I don’t see how you have helped us,’ Margaret said.

Baldwin’s grin broadened. ‘It is simple, my dear. I looked at Hugh last night, and it struck me instantly.’

He was about to continue, when there was a loud bellow from the pantry, a clattering of pans and pots — and suddenly Hugh returned, his head lowered on his shoulders, his face as black as a moorland thunderstorm.

‘Master, that dog’s eaten the lunch.’

Simon gazed at him blankly. ‘What?’

‘The knight’s brute got in at the food. Lucky I’ve got more ready. Won’t be as good, though.’

Behind him, Margaret saw the great dog sidle in through the door, still licking his lips. Approaching Hugh, he showed the whites of his eyes as he watched the servant declaiming about the damage done, before slinking to Baldwin’s side and shoving his head under his master’s hand. Automatically Baldwin began to stroke the dog, his hand falling down Wolf’s neck.

‘All I can say is, let me know when you’re bringing hounds into the house again, and next time I’ll stand guard.’ With that, Hugh scowled at Wolf again, who winced slightly, and then stomped from the room, muttering all the while about, ‘Hounds and beasts coming in and eating my best pieces of …’

‘So,’ Margaret said sweetly, ‘you don’t think our Hugh would be quite right for a task like this?’

Baldwin gave her one of those slow smiles of his. He could be entirely charming when he wanted to be, she thought.

‘Meg, your Edith has a maidservant. And I have a manservant who could charm the birds from the trees if he put his mind to it. Yes, I am sure that I will be able to get a message to Edith for you.’

With those words, spoken with that utter conviction, Margaret felt that now her life was about to return to an even balance.

She looked over at Simon, and saw the raw gratitude in his face, too, and was about to express her thanks, when she saw Perkin lean over and cuddle Wolf. The sight made her smile. Until, ‘Baldwin, your dog!’

And Baldwin rapped Wolf sharply on the head as the beast hurriedly bolted the mouthful of Perkin’s food he had grabbed.

Rockbourne

When Hob and the men returned before the middle of the day, John Biset didn’t really expect much. It had been optimistic after all, to hope to find the felon in the tan cloak. ‘No success?’ he demanded.

‘Well, Sir John, I’m not sure.’ Hob followed John into the manor and stood scratching his head a moment. ‘We had an idea that the man was running west of north, from what you said, so we went up there a little ways. When we came to the stream, there was mud, and marks all over of a man running. So we wondered where he might be off to, and when I thought about it, the only place seemed to be Coombe Bissett.’