Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

Now, at last they were entering the ancient walled city, and if anything, it appeared that Paul’s resentment and nervousness were increasing. ‘Can’t we stop for a cup of wine? A quart of ale or cider? What’s your hurry?’ he nagged as they rode under St George’s gateway.

Simon ignored him. He had been persuaded, much against his will, to come here to the city, but he would be damned if he was going to hang about here. He had too much to get back to, what with his wife and son waiting at Portchester, and the knowledge that the realm was clinging to peace by its fingernails.

It was some relief to know that Baldwin and the other commissioners had been successful, and that there was now a large force encamped all about Portchester, so if any French warriors sought to begin an invasion, they would find themselves seriously tested upon landing. That at least should guarantee Margaret and Perkin’s safety. That — and Baldwin’s sworn oath that he would not leave them alone, but would personally ride to their protection if there were an attack. Together with the sight of his own servant Hugh, grim faced and resolute as always, standing at his door with his staff in his hands, Simon was persuaded that his family would be as safe as they could be. He himself could do no better than that.

Still, he recoiled at the thought that here in Canterbury he might meet with Despenser, the man who had in the last year hounded Simon unmercifully, merely in an attempt to get at Baldwin. If he met Despenser, he must try to forget that the man had persecuted him, that he had stolen Simon’s house, that he had made Margaret cry more often than any man, that he had tormented even Simon’s daughter, and caused the split between Simon and Edith’s in-laws to the extent that Edith could not even show them her baby son. Their own grandchild. Yes, Simon must swallow all this, must behave with perfect civility and keep his hand from his sword. Because to try to stab Despenser would inevitably lead to his own death, and to the deprivation of livelihood, home and hearth to his family. He knew that. And it helped his temper not a whit.

So as he rode up the street, he had two thoughts: first, that he must pray not to see Despenser, because he might be unable to restrain himself in the man’s presence; and second, that he could hardly bear to be so close to the rapist and thief who was even now complaining yet again.

‘Shut up, or I’ll kick your arse!’ he said and trotted ahead to avoid the whingeing.

If the fellow had a brain, he would have tried to escape on the way here. Simon and Baldwin had both realised that, which was why Simon had four men from Portchester to aid him. One was a grizzled old sergeant who had served in several wars with the king, and the other three were bright enough fellows, whom Simon had handpicked for the job of guarding their charge. Paul had never once been alone, and without at least one pair of eyes watching his every move.

The city was filled, as usual, with pilgrims. It was many years since the appalling murder of St Thomas at his altar in the church here — a hundred and fifty or more — and yet Christians poured into this wealthy little city from all over the kingdom still.

It was scarcely surprising. For a man to spill blood in a church was truly shocking. Even the felons he had captured and executed, the roughest, most hardened outlaws in the country, would draw the line at that. Steal a cross, yes; take the rings from a woman’s hand, certainly; kill a priest, possibly … but kill a bishop at the altar of his church? No .

So every year, more and more people came here to seek the marvellous cures for their bodily ailments, for their misery, for redress against their persecutors. Simon drew his mouth into a moue at that thought. Perhaps he should go to pray that his own private persecutor should be persuaded to leave him alone? But what would be the point? In the last years of the effective rule of Despenser, so many must have begged God to release them from his vile exactions, and none of their prayers had been answered. God Himself, seemingly, was struck impotent in the face of Despenser’s astonishing avarice.

It was a source of great relief when Simon saw a familiar face among the teeming throng. ‘William? Squire William Walle?’

The man heard his name being called, and turned to peer along the crowded roadway, and when he caught sight of Simon, his face broke into a beaming smile. ‘God love you, my friend! How are you? And what are you doing here?’

Simon could almost feel the waves of horror emanating from the rector behind him as Paul tried to conceal himself behind the guards. ‘Squire, I have urgent news for the king, and it may be best that I speak to the bishop to try to gain an audience.’

‘Really?’ William said, but a look at Simon’s face made his smile fade, and he nodded. ‘Come with me, then. I will take you straight to him.’

Leatherhead, Surrey

Their passage so far had been quiet and uneventful, which was how it should have been. Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple glanced over at the lady beside him on her horse, and felt his heart glow. She was beautiful, wise, accomplished … He was entirely smitten with her.

‘You enjoy the view, Sir Peregrine?’ she asked sweetly.

‘How did you know I was looking at you?’ he protested. ‘You were not watching me, I know.’

‘My dear Sir Peregrine,’ she said, turning and facing him in that strange little manner she had, her head a little lowered, her eyes studying him seriously. It was a fascinating idiosyncrasy, making him feel that she was treating him like a wayward son, but it was also enormously seductive.

‘Yes?’

‘You perhaps do not realise that even a widow can tell when a man is studying every facet of her dress to see where the mud lies. Or that he is searching her face for any new wrinkles.’

‘My lady, you know that is not true! I have only allowed myself to view you in an entirely chaste manner, seeking to remember every aspect of your beauty so that, when I am no longer in your company, I may still be able to bring it to mind.’

‘Oh, in truth, gentle charmer? I think that if you were to seek such magnificence, you would do better to have stayed last night with that delicious young wench at the inn.’

‘Which?’

‘You liked more than one, then?’ she said, mock-chidingly.

‘My lady, please do not torment me!’ he groaned. ‘If you prefer, I can ride at the rear with the men in the van.’

She allowed a smile at that. ‘You would be happier there?’

‘No. I feel warmed by you as though you were the sun. You fill me with delight. In truth, I do not know how to describe my feelings for you. You are all kindness, all generosity, all beauty …’

‘Enough! You must stay here, and continue to pretend to adore me with your eyes. I cannot believe you are serious, for I am a mean little creature, in truth. No, don’t deny it.’

‘But I do! Fervently! I have been so happy to escort you these last days, and would prefer that you wished to travel to France, or to the Holy Roman Empire, so that our time together was not to end so soon. I … I wish we could spend more time together, madam.’

‘Oh, I am sure you would grow to dislike my pettiness, my many faults.’

‘How could a man grow to dislike the stars? How could he dislike the beauty of the sun? No man could look upon you once and fail to be utterly possessed by you.’

‘Really? And do I possess your heart, then?’ she smiled, and in an instant the smile was blotted out, and she put her hand up. ‘Nay, do not answer, I beg you.’

‘I cannot hope that you may one day reciprocate my feelings?’