Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘Oh, so it wasn’t one of them.’

‘Perhaps it was,’ Baldwin said kindly. The squire appeared to be quite crestfallen. ‘It would be wrong to ignore any possibility until there has been a chance of considering it in more detail. Now, what is the bishop doing about this possible threat? Let me guess — refusing to tolerate any change in his plans or routines?’

‘Absolutely. He says that to do so would only prove to those in the city who mean him harm that there was substance in the story.’

‘And he may be right. However, if the cost of proving your confidence in your innocence is your life, perhaps a different fee could be considered, eh? Well, you have convinced me. I shall ride back to Exeter with you. We will leave very soon, and stay overnight at my house. It will be good to return and see my wife once more,’ he added.

Montreuil

‘So, Sir Edward, I hope I can serve you well enough?’ Paul de Cockington said nervously.

It was the first time in his life that he had been so close to a member of the royal family, and that knowledge was making his mouth work all on its own, as though there was no need for him to engage his heart or his brain to keep talking. Before he walked in here, he had been sure that he would soon show the lad that he was considerably wiser. How hard could it be, to control a mere boy? But there was something in this fellow’s face that stopped a man from taking liberties.

‘Father, I am sure you will suffice for me,’ the Duke said. He wore a slight smile on his face, as though he understood Paul’s effusiveness, and found it endearing. Like a man who enjoyed a puppy’s tail wagging. ‘I hope your duties will not be too arduous.’

‘I should be delighted to help you,’ Paul said. ‘I would do anything to serve you, my lord.’

‘Then first discover the benefits of silence, eh?’ Duke Edward said. ‘I have a need for some moments of peace.’

They had left the main chamber, and had reached the smaller room above it. The Duke was a little distracted, Paul could see, but he was scarcely interested in the feelings of the Duke, since his own mind was growing so disordered. All he could think of was that he was here, alone, with the heir to the English throne.

‘How long will you need me?’ Paul asked.

‘Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. My last confessor has been forced away, and my tutor and other men from my household have been given other duties. Good Sir Roger Mortimer has persuaded me that they must serve me in Aquitaine. So I have need of more. And those who are in England would be … a little difficult to recruit at this time.’

Paul knew that. There was the small matter of Queen Isabella’s rift with her husband. Whereas before it would have been easy to hire men to serve the Duke, now no man would be allowed to leave England to come and swell the queen’s small host. And any who were, would be viewed as spies sent by the king and therefore rejected by Queen Isabella. However, men who were already exiled from England and who would be glad of a promised pardon in exchange for their service, would be loyal. That was why he and the Folvilles and others had been brought here.

It was not long before there was a knock at the door. When Paul opened it, he found himself gazing into the blue eyes of the queen’s lady-in-waiting. She curtseyed, grinning all the while, and he found his own attention being absorbed by her embonpoint. Noticing the direction of his look, she gave him a mockingly stern shake of the head, before motioning him aside.

Commanded by this imperious little angel, Paul moved from her path, and the lady entered the room. A few paces behind her was the queen. In a few moments, Paul found himself outside the room, staring at the closed door.

‘Come, Father. I would speak with you.’

This was from a tall, strong man. He could have been well past his middle forties, from the look of him, for his face showed the passage of a number of tribulations. There was an immensity of sadness in his eyes, as well as resolution and anger. It was the anger which Paul saw most, and the sight made him pause with some anxiety, until he realised that the rage was not directed at him.

‘Sir?’

‘You are Paul de Cockington, eh? I don’t know nor do I care what brought you here to France, fellow. But know this, you have a sacred duty here to the next king of England. Understand that, and understand that you must help me to serve him by telling me of any danger that shows itself.’

‘Who are you, to tell me what to do?’ Paul said haughtily.

‘Further, if you are to have any possibility of returning to England and winning a pardon for whatever you have done to drive you away, you will keep me informed of all who come to meet the young duke and anything else which pertains to his safety, the security of his person, and the realm which he is to inherit.’

‘I am most sorry, but if you think that I will submit to you in this, you are-’

‘You will do all this, and be richly rewarded. Fail me, little priest, and you will learn that I am not an understanding opponent.’

‘Perhaps you are not, but my duty will be to the duke, and no one else.’

‘Priest, you will be answerable to me alone,’ the man said, leaning forward. ‘For I am going to invade the kingdom, and that boy in there will soon become king. And if anything happens to him and I find you implicated in it, I will personally take great pleasure in dissecting your body.’

He stared coldly into Paul’s eyes for a few moments, before abruptly turning and striding out. Almost as soon as he had gone, the door reopened and the queen and her lady-in-waiting walked out without speaking to Paul.

In the chamber, the duke stood pensively staring through the window. He heard Paul’s steps and turned quickly. The afternoon sun shone full upon the lad as he caught sight of Paul, and the rector was shocked into immobility at the expression in his eyes.

For the very first time, Paul appreciated that, although this was a powerful man, the son of a king, and a Duke in his own right, in the lad’s eyes, he saw only terror; the terror of a boy who knew that his parents loathed each other, and for whom there could never be peace in his family again.

Third Monday before the Feast of St Paul and St John *

Bishop’s Clyst, near Exeter

Baldwin trotted up the roadway to the bishop’s great house with an eye open to all dangers.

Only the last day, there had been some acts of hideous treachery committed. To hear of rape and murder was one thing, but to learn that the crimes had been committed on the Sabbath was most shocking, even to a man like Baldwin, who had witnessed so many foul crimes in his long life.

‘I am sorry that your journey was increased,’ William was saying again.

The poor fellow looked quite worn down, Baldwin thought, which was unlike him.

‘I am sure that it is merely a matter of sense,’ he said. ‘The bishop has so many calls upon his time, it is not surprising that he might decide to move away from the palace for a few days. Perhaps it was only to relax a little. He is always such a hard worker.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ William said, but he retained an expression of watchful anxiety as they clattered over the drawbridge and up to the main yard.

There was good need for his concern. As Baldwin looked about him, he saw seven men-at-arms in the court, and up at the hall, he saw two more. That wasn’t counting the men on the walls. This was not a peaceful residence away from the city, it was a fortified manor in preparation for war. A sudden chill settled in his breast at the thought that the long-feared war might even now be at hand. It had not occurred to him that there could have been recent news about the queen and Mortimer. But if there were to be reports of imminent attack, it was natural that the bishop would go and see to the defences of his favourite house outside of Exeter.