Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

If a fortress was supposedly impregnable to attack, it was also liable to be besieged — and in such situations, women and children were commonly evicted. Simon had heard all too many stories from Baldwin of sieges in which the weaker members of the community had been turfed out, only to find themselves blocked by the surrounding armies. Usually their fate was that of starvation, stuck between the warring sides.

Well, his Meg and Perkin wouldn’t suffer that, he decided. No, in preference he would have them both taken to the river and given passage on a boat of some sort. They wouldn’t have to travel far before they were outside the city, and thence could make their way to some place of safety … he hoped. It would be terrible to release them from the Tower only to learn later that they had been caught, or murdered, or …

The possibilities were endless. Meg was still a good-looking woman, and could be ravished in a moment, while Perkin was just an unwanted mouth to feed. He would be killed, thrown in the river. Both gone. It was unbearable.

It was growing dark by now, and he was still musing grimly on the dangers that surrounded them when William Walle came out from the hall.

‘Have you heard the talk in the streets?’ Simon asked.

‘The mob? Ach, they are always belly-aching about something,’ William said dismissively. ‘There is no man in this city who isn’t convinced that he knows better how to rule the nation than the king and his advisers.’

‘There is a lot of discontent,’ Simon said. ‘You only have to walk in the streets for a little while to tell that.’

William shrugged. ‘Yes, but what can people do? There is a king on the throne, and what he wishes is the law. That’s all there is to it.’

‘What of the stories of the queen returning with an army?’

William scoffed at that. ‘The queen? How would she control a host of men? And could she buy enough to come here? I doubt it, because all her wealth has been sequestrated by the king. Her brother won’t aid her, because it was the queen who showed the world that he was being cuckolded. His first wife still resides in gaol, a constant reminder to him of his dear sister’s interference. No, Simon, I don’t think you need worry about that. Besides, if she did try to invade, she would have to cope with the full might of the king’s response. And how many men would wish to go to war to serve a woman, when they knew that their own king, God’s anointed man, was against her? Not many. No, if she were foolish enough to try it, she would find that raising a force is one thing, but then persuading men to fight for a cause which all can see is doomed, is quite a different matter.’

Simon nodded. ‘I see.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about here.’

That conversation had been an age ago. Sleepless, Simon had sat thinking in his chamber for so long that he could hear the guards wandering down to the buttery for a warming ale before returning to their duties.

Feeling restless, Simon rose and walked outside. It was a clear night, with the stars showing like a sprinkle of diamond-dust on a dark silken sheet. Quite beautiful. And although the moon was not full, it was bright enough to show him all the court after a few moments to acclimatise his eyes.

He walked to the door that led up to the bishop’s chambers and tested it. With relief he found it would not yield when he pushed, and he returned to his own chamber feeling reassured.

But even as he pulled off his clothes and settled into the bed beside Margaret, he could not get to sleep. No matter what William said, Simon was convinced that the threat of invasion was real, and the risk of an uprising here in the capital, equally real. England felt like a tinder box. And Simon thought he could hear the flint being struck all about him.

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

Near Rouen

Baldwin had the men roused and ready and mounted before the sun had fully shown herself. He was not going to be found napping if he could help it. He was hoping that such a small force would excite little comment. They had ridden fast enough, with luck, to avoid news of the English invasion having reached this far. There were no warning beacons lit on the higher hills that he had seen, such as would have been fired over in England if the French had attacked. No, with luck they would be able to reach the city, enter it, and make their way to the duke without being challenged.

Of the squires who were with his force, there was one whom he trusted more than the others. This man, who was called Ranulf Pestel, was plainly a good, strong fighter. Baldwin would take him into the city, along with Jack and Paul, while the others would remain hidden outside. There was no point in taking too many men. Better that the rest should stay concealed, and if Baldwin and Paul could persuade the duke to join them, all well and good.

Their journey was not eased by the antics of Paul, who wavered between bravado and cowering terror at the ordeal ahead. ‘Why didn’t you leave me with the others?’ he tried one last time as they approached the gate to the city.

‘You are needed, rector. But if I hear any more whinings, you will return to England without a pardon, and I will personally deliver you to the Bishop of Exeter for him to do with you as he will,’ Baldwin said. ‘Now, shut up — because I do not wish for this boy to be made into a coward like you.’

‘You have no idea how hard this is-’ Paul began, but before Baldwin could reach over and grab him, he saw a sudden movement from Ranulf. He had a small switch in his hand, and Paul gave a yelp. He put a hand to his ear, and it came away with blood on it. ‘You cut me, you bastard!’ he cried in a voice that was a mongrel sound, mingling rage and panic.

‘I’ll use steel next time. Now shut up ,’ was the laconic reply.

Baldwin smiled to himself. He disliked having to use punishments, but then again he had a very low opinion of Paul de Cockington, and if a whip over his head could make him less of a threat to their mission, he was content.

The city of Rouen was one of those happy places in which the citizens had little fear of guests. Indeed, they seemed to welcome them, and Baldwin reflected that with the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary only two days away, the inhabitants were well used to the sight of pilgrims and other visitors. It was ideal for their purposes.

‘Where is this inn?’ he asked Paul.

‘How should I know?’ The man shrugged. ‘All I heard was, it was close to the abbey.’

‘Then we must try each one in turn,’ Baldwin said, and led the way along the narrow streets towards the great church that lay at the centre of the town.

It took them much of the morning to learn precisely nothing. There was no sign of the duke, and Paul swore that there was no one he recognised anywhere from the duke’s entourage.

‘What about this one?’ Baldwin demanded as the four stood just inside the doorway of a little inn.

‘There must be other rooms in this place,’ Ranulf said. ‘Wait, Sir Baldwin, and I’ll see if I can find them somewhere else.’

‘Very well. We shall wait here.’

Richard de Folville had been glad to arrive here in Rouen because the constant wanderings were beginning to wear him down. Travel was all very well, but he was used to the comfort of a good bed, and the fact that they must all keep riding to remain safe struck him as nonsensical. There was little chance that they would be the target of an attack now, surely.

Here in the city, he felt the strain of the last months beginning to slough away. They had been here for three days of peace and relaxation, and while he had not managed to liberate any additional money from the duke, he thought that he might be able to before long. The boy had let slip that he was running low on funds, and it was possible that he might need to go to a bank. His mother had funds which had been advanced, and the duke was sure that he would soon be able to acquire some.