Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘But of course, my lady,’ he beamed. ‘I would be delighted to protect you on your journey.’

‘Then that is settled. I shall leave for London too. What could be more perfect?’

Much later, as Sir Peregrine considered their discussion and the decision that she would ride with him and his men, he would recall that odd expression in her eyes as she spoke, and he would realise why she had been so keen to escape the city with him; however, at the time, all he knew was the overwhelming glee that she felt an affection for him to equal his for her.

Exeter

She knew that her husband would be some while, so Lady Jeanne decided to spend as much time as possible looking round the market, to see if there was anything else she should buy, some little item that would be indispensable to a man about to set off on a long journey.

It was so tempting to demand to go with him. Simon Puttock, their friend, had gone to Portchester only a few weeks ago, and he had taken his wife with him. It was not unknown for a man to take his wife with him, even for warriors to take wives and children with them on campaign, but she knew that Baldwin was less keen than many to have women on such journeys. He was always worried that Jeanne might fall prey to thieves or killers, and while the realm was so unstable, she could not fault his reasoning. The land was falling into madness, with gangs of clubmen walking the streets as boldly as the king’s officers, with knights and even barons turning to outlawry to supplement their income, and hundreds of the men dispossessed of their property after the Battle at Boroughbridge trying their hands at theft just to stay alive. No, it was not a good time for a woman to travel. And at least her home was … defensible.

She was sad to think that they would be separated again. It had been that way all through the previous year, when Baldwin had been sent to France at different times on the king’s business. She had been forced to remain at home, waiting and hoping that he would return safely. And she had been very lonely.

However, she was a woman born to a certain position in life, and she knew that tribulations of this kind were natural for the wife of a knight. He must go and serve his lord or king, and she must protect the home and their children.

She was walking with Edgar along an alley, when she saw a man’s face which she recognised. It made her frown at first, because she had not seen this face in this environment. Or perhaps it was less the environment, more that the clothing or something was wrong … And then she saw a young woman come along, and instantly knew it to be Edith, Simon’s daughter. ‘Edgar — look!’ she said excitedly, and darted through the crowds, not heeding her servant’s hisses to stop.

‘Edith!’ she called, and then she had a sudden lurch in her belly as she recognised the other face. Of course — how could she have been so stupid! It was Edith’s husband, Peter. Jeanne had only met him once or twice, and that briefly. Even at the wedding, she had not seen him above a minute or two. It was not possible to see much at the church itself, and afterwards Jeanne had been involved in keeping her husband’s new cowman, Wat, away from the ale and wine. The fellow had drunk himself into a stupor at Baldwin and Jeanne’s own wedding, and she didn’t want him to act the brute at Edith’s too.

The young man looked terrible. She could see how fear had etched deep lines across his forehead. His eyes were anxious too, flickering towards her and then away, as though expecting to be struck down and robbed at any moment.

‘Master Peter,’ she said with a gushing enthusiasm she hardly felt. ‘It is so good to see you again. Do you remember me? Madam Jeanne de Furnshill, wife to Sir Baldwin, who was always such a good friend of your father-in-law. I haven’t seen you since your wedding, although I know my husband did visit you, didn’t he? Late last year, I think? And how are you both? My, Edith, you are looking well!’

‘I apologise, madam, but we have much to do,’ Peter said with a sad attempt at a smile. ‘Come, Edith.’

‘Edith, I hope you are well?’ Jeanne said.

‘I thank you, yes. I am fine, Madam Jeanne. I hope you will give my kind thoughts to your husband, and …’ Her voice petered out before she could mention her father and mother, and instead she looked down at the ground, and Jeanne saw that there were tears in her eyes.

And it was only then that Jeanne remembered that Edith had been pregnant last October. ‘Your baby?’

‘He is fine, a strapping fellow, born two months ago,’ Peter said, catching hold of his wife’s arm. ‘And now, madam, we must be gone. A good day to you, my lady.’

Jeanne nodded briefly, hardly hearing his words. Her attention was fixed upon Edith, the pale, frail-looking young woman, who turned and walked away on hearing her husband’s sharp call. In her mind’s eye she could see a young Edith, long legged and gawky, and the elegant, beautiful woman she had become, and somehow neither fitted with this exhausted-looking person.

Now that she was married, and had borne her own child, she struck Jeanne as being more of a child than before.

Exeter

‘There is no doubt whatsoever,’ Baldwin said.

Together with William Walle he had made his way here into the bishop’s little chamber as soon as they had finished interviewing the corrodian.

‘This man was a servant here?’ Bishop Walter said.

‘I can easily understand how distressing this must be for you,’ Baldwin said, and it was true. To have caught the person who had been leaving those foul messages would have been extraordinarily gratifying for Bishop Walter, removing fear and anxiety and restoring him to his old confident self.

‘So it wasn’t him? He appeared so obvious,’ the bishop said sadly.

When Baldwin had first stepped into the bishop’s private room here, he had found the man transformed. He stood straighter, walked purposefully, and generally looked as though he had returned to his usual equilibrium. His world was restored.

Now, in the space of a few moments, Baldwin had destroyed it all. ‘How could we have made such a simple error?’ the bishop wanted to know.

‘He was slightly deranged, and he reacted oddly when asked about what he saw that day.’

‘Slightly deranged? He was completely insane! To draw a knife on my nephew William …’ The bishop tutted.

‘This young servant, Paul of Taunton, who was the real culprit — Geoffrey caught him, and Paul then spun him a line, which the old fellow believed.’

When Baldwin had asked William how they had come to conclude that Geoffrey was the guilty party, he heard of the servant sweeping up the charnel chapel, and immediately set off to see if he was still about. But no one had seen Paul for days. Even now, men had been sent to the city and to the sheriff to ask that he be captured if found.

‘It seems clear enough that this fellow was the one responsible,’ Baldwin said. ‘I am sure that you will be safe now, Bishop. You were at most danger while he remained in here, in the Close, with you. Worse, he could wander in here to your palace with impunity, since he was known as a servant and lay-brother.’

‘But why though? I don’t know this Paul of Taunton,’ the bishop muttered. He was distracted, and John poured him a little wine to soothe his spirits.

‘The only thing I can suggest is, that you have a man go to Taunton to see what he may learn. Someone may remember him,’ Baldwin said. ‘How did he arrive here?’

The steward shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are many hundreds of men in the cathedral. Especially now with the rebuilding continuing. It is impossible to keep track of all of them.’