Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

‘You must not listen to the mob,’ Simon said firmly.

‘But I have to. It is impossible to miss their jibes and insults,’ the bishop said. He spoke as a man who was exhausted, shaking his head and looking down into his lap. ‘It is not one man, you see, Simon. The whole of the city seems to hate me. I can feel it like poison seeping through the walls here: the whole population of London wishes me dead. If I could, I would wish I had never come here.’

‘To London?’

‘Yes. I believe I will die here. This killer, this Paul of Taunton, will kill me here. I am sure of it.’

Near Honfleur

Sir John Felton had excelled himself. As soon as the first ships had delivered their cargoes, he began to wonder whether to continue with the mission. Dithering, he demanded guarantees that the whole force might be deposited safely, else he must recall them and re-embark. It was only the determined arguing of Sir Nicholas de Cryel and Sir Robert de Kendale that made him agree to continue, and even then the two stood near as though to threaten him should he change his mind again.

Baldwin waited, fretting, while the ships lay idle, convinced that at any time he would see a force arrive to repel their little attack. Paul de Cockington, after witnessing the slaughter on the dunes, had grown mercifully silent, and Baldwin had managed to find the young lad, Jack, safe and sound. If he could, he would have brought the officer who had selected Jack, in preference to the boy himself. As it was, he had found him a pony so that he could remain at Baldwin’s side.

By noon, it was clear that it would take the rest of the day and much of the next, to disgorge their men and matériel.

‘Let me take men ahead,’ Baldwin pleaded to Felton. ‘I can provide a mobile defence in case the French come to attack again.’

Felton demurred. ‘We need all the men we can at the bridgehead. What would you manage on your own? There is safety in numbers.’

Baldwin had caught a sympathetic look from Sir Nicholas, then he left them in disgust. Felton was going to turn the whole venture into a disaster, and many men could be killed as a result.

He was striding away, kicking at the sand in his fury, thinking of Jeanne and of how she might hear of his death, when he heard his name called. He stopped to find Sir Nicholas hurrying to catch up with him.

‘Sir Baldwin, I would have a word with you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Could you ride on along the river, and see if you can reach Rouen? I will arrange for a separate covering force here while you do that. We need intelligence about the town and where the duke is before we can decide how best to catch him.’

‘It is a matter of catching, you think?’

‘What do you think? If the duke wanted to leave France, he could do so. I do not believe him to be held against his will. He’s obeying his mother, damn the French whore! No, we’ll have to take him by force, I think.’

‘What of Felton?’

Sir Nicholas frowned. ‘Leave him to me.’

‘But he will deprecate my efforts,’ Baldwin said.

‘Sir John Felton is a retainer to Sir Hugh le Despenser. And I don’t think Sir Hugh is particularly bothered about the duke’s safety.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I will see to it that the duke is safe, Sir Nicholas. If I can reach him and bring him back, I will do so.’

‘Good.’

Thus it was that Sir Baldwin de Furnshill set off that afternoon with a force of thirty men-at-arms, one boy mounted on a pony, and a rector, to find the heir to the crown of England.

Tower of London

When he heard someone calling him, Simon was at first surprised then confused. It was the voice of a man he knew all too well, but this was not his natural environment.

‘Simon! It is inordinately good to see you. And Sir Baldwin with you?’

‘Sir Peregrine! In God’s name, I hadn’t expected to find you here,’ Simon said.

‘Ah, but like a rotten apple I have a habit of appearing when you least expect me. You select the apple, you clean it, you open your mouth and sink your teeth inside, and as you chew, you see the half of the worm in the rotten hole in the middle, eh? That’s how you look on me!’

‘Not at all, Sir Peregrine,’ Simon chuckled. ‘It is always good to see you. And I hope I find you well this fine day?’

‘I am better than well. I am in the peak of fitness, and I feel delighted to be here in the city again.’

‘You do?’ Simon was surprised. ‘I thought you detested this place, calling it a cesspit and midden. You used to say that London was a reflection of the people who ruled, and you usually had a word or two to put in about Sir Hugh le Despenser.’

‘Yes, but I have had a most fortunate experience since then. I have discovered a lady …’

‘And this poor, misfortunate lady is the focus of your adoration?’

‘I am afraid so.’

‘She surely cannot like you?’

‘Ah, well, on occasion she does. When we journeyed here, my friend, she appeared to lose some affection for me, but when we arrived, I insisted that she come to the Tower as my guest, and gradually I have felt her warm to me. I hope … Perhaps given time, I may, um …’

Simon smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘In that case, Sir Peregrine, may I buy you a pint of wine? If you are as fortunate as you clearly think, I can only wish you all the good luck in the world. The love of a good woman is a marvellous thing.’

‘I think I am lucky. She has been struck with misfortune herself. She has been widowed twice, while I have lost my own loves, as you know. Perhaps we shall find comfort with each other.’

‘I most certainly hope so,’ Simon said, as he led the way to the bar. ‘And what other news do you have?’

‘Little that is good,’ Sir Peregrine sighed. He waved to the bottler and ordered wine for them both, then continued, ‘There are plenty of tales of a fleet forming across the Channel. Over a hundred ships, they say, and a great force of men to fill them.’

‘Will the queen travel with them? Mortimer surely will be aboard to lead the attack, but will she?’ Simon wondered.

‘Mortimer is a strong man. He wouldn’t leave behind his best bargaining counter. No, he will have her with him, as a figurehead and quencher of opposition. Few would dare to raise a hand against the mother of the next king. Nor the wife of the present one,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Queen Isabella covers all those who may ally themselves with the king. She protects Mortimer from all.’

‘What of the people when she lands, though? I have been Keeper of the Port, both at Dartmouth and at Portchester, so I know how many men a ship will carry. Even a hundred and fifty ships would only give them some one and a half thousand men, tightly packed. That cannot be enough to roll over the opposition.’

‘You may be surprised at the opposition,’ Sir Peregrine said sagely. ‘You know how hated Despenser is in the country. How many will seriously raise a hand to defend him?’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ Simon said doubtfully. It was an unpleasant thought, that only a tiny number would bother to try to defend the king, and yet he would not himself. Not because he had a lack of respect for his king, but because he had an overriding detestation for the Despenser. ‘Is there any news from the south coast?’

‘South? No news of any attacks, so far as I know,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘It all appears to be concentrating about Hainault.’

‘So, anyway,’ Simon said. ‘Tell me about your woman …?’

Friday before the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary *

London