Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘No one deserves it. The weights are increased steadily over days, until the victim is suffocated. He cannot breathe because the weights crush the air from his lungs. It is a slow and agonising death. Do not make jest of it.’

William caught sight of the expression in Sir Baldwin’s face, and it was not the kind of look that would tolerate humour. To change the subject, he spoke of Biset.

‘It is a surprise, to be honest. I had thought that the true culprit was another man entirely. Until this latest note appeared, all the evidence appeared to speak of John Biset being guilty. He could have had a seal to fit that little purse, he had reason to want revenge for the loss of his treasure, and he had reason to kill that man.’

Baldwin stopped. ‘What man?’

William pulled a face. ‘I should not tell you, but I doubt it matters now,’ he said, and told Baldwin about the head in the barrel. ‘I felt sure because of that, that it had to be Biset, but when I sent men to enquire, they learned that he had fled the country. All said he was flown to France.’

Baldwin nodded pensively, and the two men walked to the bishop’s gaol. When they came to the gaoler’s door, the knight was welcomed with apparent sincerity.

‘My lord, please enter here, and take your ease. I remember you, sir. Oh, yes. You have been to visit me here more than any other knight in the city. How may I serve you, Sir Baldwin?’

‘First, you can release the man Geoffrey of St Albans, and bring him to me. Then you could hurry to the cathedral bakery and fetch a good white loaf. I shall pay for it. And then ask for a jug of wine and four cups. Could you do all that for me?’

‘Of course, Sir Baldwin. Give me but a moment,’ the man said, and a short while later, Geoffrey of St Albans was in front of them.

He was not, Baldwin thought, a prepossessing sight. Where William had seen avian characteristics, Baldwin saw only the figure of a ravaged old man. All cunning and intelligence had been leached from him, and all that remained was a husk.

‘Geoffrey, please be seated,’ Baldwin said.

The man shook his head, and his eyes darted about, searching the ground at Baldwin’s feet.

Baldwin tried again. ‘Do you know what you are accused of?’

‘They say I did something, but I didn’t, sir. I was just told not to tell, so I didn’t. Then they jumped on me and dragged me here to the prison. And I’ve done nothing.’

‘That’s what they all say,’ William muttered.

‘And some speak the truth,’ Baldwin countered. ‘Geoffrey, has anybody told you what you did?’

‘I’ve done nothing.’

Baldwin nodded. He was about to speak, when a thought struck him. As the door opened and the gaoler returned, heavily laden, Baldwin said, ‘Geoffrey, are you knight or squire?’

‘Squire, sir.’

‘You have fought in many battles for the king?’

‘Yes, sir. I was in the last war with the Scottish — but they beat us. They slew so many of my friends … That Bruce, sir, he is the devil. I know it. The devil himself arrived there while we were preparing for the battle, and it was the Bruce. And then, when the battle began, there was dreadful thunder, as if the heavens were about to open up, and I looked up, but there was no cloud in the sky, not one. And then this thick, roiling smoke, and all smelling of the devil. Brimstone, that’s what it was, sir, and it came upon us, and we could do little but choke. The devil came upon us, and-’

‘Have you been taught your letters?’ Baldwin interrupted.

‘Eh?’ The old man looked at him, his mind still set upon the battlefield.

‘Can you read?’

‘No. Why?’

Exeter

And so another stage in his life was beginning.

It was infuriating to think that he had been so close. The expression on the bishop’s face was more appalled as he read each new note, and yet now the damned man was free. Even the incompetent fools who served Bishop Walter could not miss the fact that Geoffrey was too dim to be able to have composed such missives.

Still, the tale he had given the old fool had been inspired. When Geoffrey had confronted him out there in the chamber beneath the bishop’s private room, he had thought his bowels would empty. The idea that he had gone through that terrifying experience up there, and was almost free and safe, only to hear that stentorian voice behind him, had frozen the blood in his veins. But then he had thought of the ingenious story — that there were threatening messages being left for the bishop, and he had personally been given the task of checking on the chamber in order to catch the man red-handed.

It had persuaded Geoffrey. More, it had been obvious that this man, who was a warrior by trade, and who detested spies and subtle strategems with every fibre of his being, would not divulge the tale to anyone unless he was convinced that they were safe. It would probably take the bishop himself to persuade Geoffrey to give the truth. No doubt they would go to that extreme.

Which was sad, because it meant that he would have to devise another means of continuing the campaign. He had to see more messages being delivered to the bishop, and then, with luck, he would at last have his chance. He would be able to draw a sword or knife and end the bishop’s foul life, once and for all.

Exeter

Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was marching towards the house which had grown to be his favourite residence in the city. Knocking, he had to wait only a very short time before he was allowed entry, and then he strode through to the little parlour and waited fretfully, taking his hat off, then resetting it on his head. He did so several times while waiting.

‘Sir Peregrine, I am pleased to see you, sir.’

‘And I, you. You look magnificent, lady,’ he said with sincerity.

She wore a tight-fitting tunic, much in the latest fashion, with a high bodice and soft silken shawl about her shoulders, for the day was not the warmest. Hearing his tone, she arched her eyebrows slightly and smiled. ‘Your compliments are always welcome, but to what do I owe this visit? You were here only yesterday.’

‘Yesterday I did not have my news. I fear I am to leave the city soon,’ he said brokenly. ‘The king has commanded me to depart with all haste. I should have gone some days ago, but you have brought me so much joy, I could not bear to leave. However, now I have a definite order, and I may not refuse him.’

‘Then of course you must go,’ she said. ‘Where will you travel? To his side?’

‘No. The king is at the coast, helping to organise defences, I think. I am ordered to ride to London, where I am to serve in the Tower. The walls are strong, but they need men to guard them. I have to collect the knights who owe me their service, and some men-at-arms and archers, and hurry there.’

‘You have been to London?’

‘A few times, but it is not the sort of city I would wish to return to. Especially now I have met you.’

‘It is a good city. I have been there on legal matters often enough. But you are right to say that it is not the place to stay for long. I wouldn’t wish to either. I am happier with the country.’

‘I regret the moments I am away from you. I would prefer to remain here at your side.’

She smiled at that. ‘You are gallant and chivalrous, Sir Peregrine. But please, there is no need for so much effort. We are very comfortable in each other’s company, are we not?’

‘I am happy with you, my lady.’

‘Well, then. Perhaps this is not so unfortunate after all. How would it be if I were to join you? I would prefer to ride with you to London than stay here alone. This city of Exeter is lovely, but without a friend, it is a poor place.’