Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘I would like that a great deal,’ she said, and in her belly she could feel the warmth as he smiled at her, as though his smile could emulate the sun and heat her blood.

‘I shall rue the moments I am not with you,’ he said simply. ‘They are wasted.’

‘You great fool!’ she responded, and gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. ‘You should enjoy all your moments. I shall make much of every moment you are away. Each will be precious because, in passing, they bring you nearer to me again!’

He frowned slightly, as though working through her logic, and she felt a brief irritation that he didn’t understand her at once, but then she saw her error as he reached out and took her gently in his arms. And then she was unaware of the servant girl, or the room, or anything, as she felt his lips on hers. And she felt that surely she must die now. And if she did, she would be content for God to take her, because she had felt adoration once more.

He set her down, and looked into her eyes with an expression of deep intensity, saying, ‘Woman, I am sorry if that offended you.’

She could scarce speak, her heart was still fluttering so wildly. ‘It did not,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Good.’ He suddenly grinned. ‘I would hate to have to try to experiment again.’

‘Perhaps you should?’

When he had gone, she stood at the entrance to the little hall with a hand resting on the doorframe. His visit had brought an enormous surge of energy; most of all, she felt young again. She had been sure that Sir Peregrine was a stolid, affable man who could never surprise her, and in an instant he had managed just that. It was thrilling.

But she had work to do. Before she could continue with her pleasing thoughts of the fellow, she had to get out to meet the man at the cathedral.

Exeter

They found Geoffrey of St Albans at the corner of the cloister, where he was sitting watching doves pecking at the grass.

William nodded to John, and the two approached him from behind, stepping quietly so as not to disturb him.

‘They love their bread,’ Geoffrey said.

He turned suddenly and threw William a grin. ‘Did you think to surprise me, squire? You need to move more silently to do that. Remember, I was a warrior.’ He was a curious old man. With his small bright eyes, and the way he ducked his head, he reminded William of a sad-looking bird himself.

Everyone in the cathedral knew Geoffrey well. He was an amiable fellow generally, and it was thought that he had been installed here as corrodian because he had lost his mind in a battle. The king honoured him, it was said, for his loyal service. But what if his true loyalty was still to Lancaster, the man killed by the king?

‘I have heard that you were in the bishop’s palace a few days ago. Do you remember that?’ William said.

‘You mustn’t ask me about that,’ Geoffrey said, and shook his head disapprovingly. ‘No, not about that.’

‘Why?’ John asked sternly.

There was something wrong though, William could see. The man was not scared of being discovered; rather he was surprised that he should be asked. He had the look of a man who was asked whether he would consider eating a fox. It just wasn’t the sort of thing a man in his chivalric position could consider.

‘You were in the bishop’s parlour, weren’t you?’ John said. ‘You placed a piece of parchment in there. Who put you up to it? Was it allies of your old master, eh?’

There was a cunning look in Geoffrey’s eyes now. ‘You want to trick me, don’t you, but you won’t. You shouldn’t be asking such things,’ he said, and shook his head again. ‘It’s not right.’

‘What isn’t right?’ William asked softly. It was tempting to grab the old git by the throat, but that wouldn’t help, he knew.

‘There are things a man cannot say. Not when he has been sworn to secrecy.’

‘Sworn to secrecy?’ John threw up his hands. ‘Don’t give me that ballocks, old man!’

‘Master steward, please,’ William said, trying to placate him, but John had already tried to grab the corrodian’s clothes.

In an instant the corrodian had thrown his habit wide open and whipped out a long-bladed knife. It swept past John’s face in a terrifying blur, and the appalled steward gave a startled yelp and fell on his back in his urgency to escape. ‘Sweet Mary, Mother of …’

The knife was at his throat, and the corrodian peered down at him with a frown that was more petrifying than anything else. There was nothing resembling pity or amiableness now. Only a terrible concentration. ‘You shouldn’t try to attack a warrior, steward. That’s not good. No, not good at all.’

He took his knife away and darted back, the weapon held low and dangerous, snarling, ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘What isn’t?’ William managed.

‘The guest to see the bishop. That is nothing to do with the likes of you.’

‘When did you first come here, Master Geoffrey?’ William asked.

His eyes were suddenly hooded, and he kept his blade in his hand as he looked from William to John, who was scrambling to his feet. ‘Never you mind. You leave things alone when they’re nothing to do with you, masters. Just leave things be.’

Two Tuesdays before the Feast of St John and St Paul *

Exeter

The weather was fine and bright, but Baldwin de Furnshill felt little cheer as he walked along the castle’s street down towards the High Street that day.

‘Well, my love? How was it?’ Jeanne asked as he strode towards her. She had been waiting outside with Edgar to guard her, strolling among the women who eyed the meats and fish on sale in the market. There was a gorgeous green material which had caught her fancy. Her husband’s tunic was growing exceedingly threadbare, and this new fabric would make a suitable replacement.

‘Not good,’ he responded shortly. ‘I am to leave here soon.’

Jeanne felt the news like a blow. ‘I had hoped you would remain a little longer, my love.’

‘I am sorry, Jeanne. This is not my choice,’ Baldwin said. He could barely look her in the eye. ‘The king has commanded it. That arrogant little puppy, Sir James de Cockington, has given me the warrant. I am to ride to Portchester and there to meet with a man called John Felton. He will be in charge, apparently, and I am to help him.’

‘Help him to do what?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Gather together a force to help protect the south coast. I had hoped to be released from all these trials and worries, but apparently I am still needed.’

She nodded. It would not be the first time that she had seen her husband go away. ‘When must you go?’

‘In the next week or so. It appears that the effort of protecting our shores is likely to collapse without my own specialist expertise.’

Jeanne placed her hand in his. ‘Come, husband. Let us find some food before the bile eats through your bowels!’

It was horrible that he must ride away from her again, but she would at least see that he was properly clad. She would buy the bolt of green cloth and over the next few days, make him a fresh tunic. Her man would be the best-dressed knight in Portchester. ‘You will be able to see Simon again, which will be good,’ she said.

‘I wonder how his daughter is?’ Baldwin said distantly, his eyes going about the people in the market.

‘Sir Baldwin!’

The voice was known to them both, and Jeanne squeezed Baldwin’s hand as he groaned.

‘Sir Peregrine, how delightful to see you,’ she said. ‘I hope you are well?’

The coroner bowed low to her, giving Baldwin a courteous duck of the head. ‘I am very well, and it is plain that you are too, my lady. Where do you go now? May I join you?’