Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

It was true. The French were massing along the borders of Guyenne again, in the face of the English refusal to honour past agreements, and to allow her son to travel there at such a time would have been sheer lunacy.

‘Then he will have to stay with us,’ had been Mortimer’s contribution. He was firm in his opinion that the only safe place for the duke was with Mortimer’s own men.

Richard de Folville wondered at that. It seemed much more likely that Mortimer just didn’t want the lad out of his sight. It was plain enough that he had an eye to his own protection, and that would mean keeping the king’s son nearby. That way, he would continue to keep the queen on his side, he would have a greater bargaining potential with the English and French kings, and he would also be able to conclude the negotiations which all had heard of now, to have the next English king married to a suitable heiress. Mortimer and Queen Isabella both had their minds fixed on a wedding with Philippa of Hainault. She was almost nine years old, so a little young for the duke, but that was no impediment. And more to the point, her father had ships and men. Mercenaries from Hainault would be a marvellous bonus to Mortimer if he was serious about invading England again, and Richard was sure that this was the plan.

All well and good. He hoped they would take him with them, and then he could win the usual reward of a fighter — a full pardon for his past behaviour. At which point he could return to Teigh, and resume his life.

If he wanted to. It was hard to imagine returning to that life of tedium: taking up the cure of souls, watching over the men and women of the area, holding Mass, praying until his knees were calloused, feeling the damp coldness seep into his legs and arse, and occasionally drinking a sup or two of wine — when he could afford it.

The alternative was to live life to the full. To take to the roads with his sword in his hand, and help himself to what he wanted from the world. That was more appealing.

But first he would have to have the pardon, and the assurance that these fellows would be able to win the upper hand. Bearing in mind the cretins running the country now, he had little doubt that these would find England ready to greet them with open arms, were they to try to return.

It was just as they were discussing the plans for the departure to Hainault, that a messenger had arrived from that very place. He passed a note to Mortimer, who opened it after studying the seal.

‘What does it say?’ the queen demanded.

‘Your friend the Despenser sent those men to catch your son,’ Mortimer said. He whistled through his teeth in wonder. ‘Despenser has negotiated with the peers of France to have you evicted from the realm here, or to have you and Edward killed.’

Duke Edward leaped to his feet. ‘I don’t believe you! My father would never-’

‘He would not have been told of this plot,’ Mortimer said. ‘Very well — that decides matters. You will both have to remain with me in my entourage. Come, we must arrange for all our belongings to be readied for departure early in the morning.’

Paul cleared his throat nervously. ‘My lord duke, I think that would be a mistake.’

Mortimer rounded on him. ‘Are you a strategist, Priest?’

‘Hear him, Sir Roger,’ the duke said. ‘We discussed this yesterday. Speak, Tutor.’

‘I only mean this: if there are to be more attacks with men trying to kill the queen and the duke, you would be better to have them separate. Let the queen travel to Hainault, but the duke go away from her.’

Mortimer clenched a fist. ‘We’ve discussed this enough already.’

‘We know that Normandy is loyal to his mother, and the Normans are still fond of the memory of William the Bastard. Why not ride for Normandy?’

‘Your Highness, that would be foolish. Better by far to keep our forces together. Once we are in Hainault we will be safe,’ Mortimer said bluntly.

‘If it is truly safer, I can join you later,’ the duke said. ‘But for my part, I am keen to see the land of my ancestors. Normandy is almost our motherland, is it not? And I would like to visit Rouen, too. King Richard Coeur de Lion’s heart is buried there, and I have a strong desire to see it.’

‘What if there should be another attack on you?’ Mortimer burst out. ‘It is ridiculous, I will not allow it!’

‘And when did you have the right to control me?’ the duke said coolly. ‘I was not aware that I no longer had the right to choose my own destiny.’

‘You are here under my protection.’

‘Sir Roger, I am here under the protection of the King of France, my uncle. And I will take my own path.’

‘You should be with us so that we can take ship together,’ Mortimer said, and now Richard could almost hear the man’s teeth grinding.

‘I will be. You ride on, and I will follow after. I will let you know where I am so you can send messengers when you need me to join you.’

‘Where will you stay?’ Mortimer demanded. ‘Without money, you’ll find lodgings hard.’

‘My mother will give me an allowance, I am sure.’

‘The inns of Normandy are not expensive,’ Folville put in, ‘and there is a good one within a few hundred feet of the abbey. I am sure that with the usual hospitality of the Order we would be able to find good lodgings.’

And that had been that. The queen for once had been quiet — Richard thought because she was so shocked at the attack on young Edward, as well as alarmed that her son would be away from her again.

There was no argument against his words. The idea that all would remain together was wildly dangerous. They made too tempting a target: the traitor, the queen, and the son. Together they would fetch a truly royal ransom, were they to be captured.

Exeter

William Walle hurried over the grounds to the Bishop’s Palace as soon as the summons arrived.

They had returned to the city only the day before. There was little point in remaining at the bishop’s house when the bulk of his work was still up here, and so they had packed their belongings in the wagons and made the short journey back to town in the morning. Then, in the afternoon, the bishop had returned to his labours, while messengers were sent to seek advice on all the men whom Baldwin had suspected. Before long, with luck, the responses would arrive and the knight could be asked to come and take another look at the matter, to see whether there was anything else that might help tell who was threatening his lordship.

But now William had been called to the palace again, just as he was preparing to visit the tavern near the Broadgate. The man who fetched him said simply, ‘The bishop asks that you come at once.’

He found Bishop Walter sitting in his little chair by the table in his hall, John the steward at his side, looking lugubrious. ‘Another one,’ he said.

‘What?’ William strode across the floor and took up the shred of parchment. ‘ You will die unmourned and alone ,’ he read aloud. Glancing at his uncle, he said, ‘Where was it?’

‘Here, on my table,’ the bishop said listlessly, pointing. ‘It just lay there, like that. Face up.’

‘I didn’t see it myself,’ John said. ‘I was in here most of the afternoon, but I had to leave to supervise the arrangement of the chamber below for the ecclesiastical court next week. There’s the case of de Cockington, which has to be decided. I was only gone for a short while.’

‘Which means that the man who put this here is clearly someone who knows when you are here, and when you are not,’ William said, remembering Baldwin’s words. ‘It has to be someone from within the cathedral, Bishop.’