Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘Yes, we will show the queen that she cannot simply ride some small boat over here and expect a welcome with open arms! Hah!’

‘Come, let us halt here and rest,’ Baldwin said. Grimacing, he dismounted. Today’s journey from Cornwall had been long, and he was desperate for a chair and, unusually for him, a large goblet of wine. Although, with his thirst, perhaps a quart of ale would be a better choice.

The steward met them at the gate and bellowed for ostlers. Soon they were ensconced on a broad bench, backs against the wall, while the steward told them of the number of men in the town and about the castle. For the array here, the king could depend upon almost a hundred.

As commissioners, Baldwin and Ovedale had simple instructions. To find the strongest men in each hundred, arm them and put the more competent into armour, and then group them in their twenties, called vintaines, which were the basic unit of the king’s host. The vintaines were lumped together into centaines, hundreds, and ten of these formed a millaine. Thus was the king’s force composed, with each man knowing his vintaine, his centaine and millaine. Orders could be sent from the commander to the groups without difficulty, and each unit should be able to operate, in theory, to ensure success.

But not, of course, when the individual components were unready.

The steward here was a cheery-looking fellow named Sir Giles de Sens, who smiled a great deal. He had a large paunch, a round face, and the high colouring that spoke of his enjoyment of drinking and good food.

‘How are matters in Cornwall?’ he asked as soon as the two men had drunk enough to take the edge from their thirst.

Food was being prepared as they waited, and Baldwin’s mouth watered at the smells emanating from the kitchen a short distance away. ‘Not so bad as I feared,’ he admitted. ‘The men appear fit and ready. However, there is a great deal of loyalty to the queen there. She was popular among the miners.’

‘But they will do their duty to God and their king!’ Ovedale stated. ‘They love their king, and will obey him.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said.

‘You doubt their loyalty to the king?’ Ovedale asked, shocked. ‘I doubt no one. Nor do I trust them when they have not yet seen the size of the force that opposes them.’

‘If,’ Sir Giles said, ‘you are correct, Sir Baldwin, pray, what do you think of their devotion to their king, or to, say, my lord Despenser?’

Baldwin shot him a look. The man looked easy and relaxed, but that was no guide. He had just asked a dangerous question, because it related directly to Sir Hugh le Despenser, and Baldwin was sure that Ovedale was a firm supporter of Sir Hugh. ‘I think it is as strong as any man’s in the land,’ he said at last.

‘Even so?’ the steward said, and now he grinned, and Baldwin saw his eyes flit over towards Ovedale. So this man was fully aware of Ovedale’s position then, and was testing Baldwin. His eyes were shrewder than Baldwin had first thought.

It was much later that he sought out Baldwin. Ovedale had already gone to find a suitable bed for the night, and Baldwin was enjoying the peace without him. He was staring up at the stars, admiring them as they twinkled in the clear sky, watching occasional gossamer-thin clouds drifting past in the deep, dark blueness, when he heard the steps.

‘I am sorry to have asked in front of that fool, Sir Baldwin,’ he said.

‘Asked what?’ Baldwin murmured.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry. Down here, we know where our loyalties lie. We serve Sir Hugh de Courtenay, and that makes our task all the easier.’

‘I am sure that he would make it very easy,’ Baldwin said tersely. ‘He, like any other knight, must support the king.’

‘The king, yes. Not his favourite, though. There is almost no one in the land who has any warmth of feeling towards Despenser.’

Baldwin shook his head sadly. ‘Goodnight, friend.’

‘No, please, Sir Baldwin. Wait a moment or two more. I have been asked to speak with you by Sir Hugh de Courtenay himself. He wishes to know whether you will support …’

‘I have given you my answer,’ Baldwin said. ‘I can give no other.’

‘Oh. Well, that is a shame, Sir Baldwin. There are strange things happening all over the realm, and you will soon find that taking this kind of attitude isn’t very sensible.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

Sir Giles smiled with an appearance of regret. ‘Oh, I don’t seek to threaten, Sir Baldwin. No. All I want to do is to help you to make your own choice. You cannot want to support Despenser, after all. No man would wish to see that knuckle-headed dollypoddle stay in a position of authority. He is a danger to the realm, to the king himself, because he foments trouble all the while. Do you deny this?’

‘I deny nothing,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘But I have given my oath.’

‘There is no shame, Sir Baldwin, in serving the kingdom. You could say that you were seeing to the interests of the crown itself, in the authority itself, rather than the man.’

Baldwin turned to him. ‘You seek to twist words? I am not a man of law, I am a simple rural knight, and I have no need for such dissembling. You mean to ask me to deny my oath to the king. I shall not. I like the queen, and I would do all in my power to protect her — if it was in my power — but I have made an oath before God, and I will not break that.’

‘Then I am sad, my friend,’ Sir Giles said. ‘Truly sad. For I fear that all such oaths will be thrown into the pot soon, and only those who seek the good of the people of this land of ours will be honoured.’

‘So be it. But I will stay true to my word.’

‘You will defend those whom the king orders you to?’

‘Yes.’

‘So perhaps we shall one day meet on a field of battle, with you protecting Despenser, eh, Sir Baldwin?’

Baldwin said nothing. He turned his face to the stars once more, and Sir Giles waited a few moments, and then strolled away.

There was nothing more to be said. When the queen at last invaded, they would instantly become enemies.

Louvre, Paris

Paul de Cockington gazed about him with wonder at the sight of the soaring walls of the great fortress at the western end of the city. He had seen them often enough, of course, for no one could miss the fortress from anywhere in the city. It loomed over all, as much a symbol of dominance and control as it was of protection, but he had not come so near to its huge white walls before, and from here, they were stunning.

‘Who are you?’ he asked his new friend.

‘My name is Roger Crok. I am a squire.’

‘But not in the service of the king,’ Paul said shrewdly. No man here in France was in the English king’s service.

Crok’s face hardened. ‘I was once a loyal squire. My father was a contrary old man, and he died some years ago. When my mother remarried, she tied herself to a gentleman who was opposed to Despenser. So Despenser took his revenge and had my stepfather arrested. He died in prison. Not content with that, Despenser and Bishop Stapledon stole my mother’s dower, and finally sought to capture and execute me. That is how Despenser and the bishop operate, after all. They capture men, allege treachery, and then conspire to steal their victims’ lands and treasure. I preferred not to wait for that day. I took to the sea as soon as I realised my danger.’

He smiled still, but there was an edge to his voice that told Paul not to push him further. Not that he had a desire to. Paul could recognise a dangerous man when he met one. Still, he was a dangerous man himself. There was no need to be scared of a fellow like this. Not when his brother was sheriff of Exeter.