Michael Jecks: The Bishop Must Die

‘Are you preparing for war?’

‘We have to be ready. The king appears convinced that it may come to that.’

‘You think that the queen will return with an army?’

Baldwin sighed. ‘I just do not know. She is an honourable woman, I would stake my soul on that. But she has been terribly mistreated. What might she not do?’

‘We should look to the defence of the house,’ Edgar said.

‘If it comes to war, I shall be asked to help,’ Baldwin said. ‘And if that does happen, I may have to leave home for some time.’

‘I shall be with you.’

‘I would prefer you to stay here.’

Edgar shook his head. ‘When you fought before, I was always at your side, Sir Baldwin. I should be there again if you are to ride to battle.’

‘I cannot ride to war knowing that Jeanne and the children are left here alone and in danger,’ Baldwin said firmly. ‘I am sorry, old friend. But you must remain here to protect the manor and all within it.’

‘It may not come to it.’

Baldwin smiled without humour. ‘The king thinks it will. From all I have heard recently, Edward is planning to defend the realm against both the queen and the French. There is a fear that there will be an invasion, possibly two.’

‘But they will be seeking the king, surely?’ Edgar said.

Baldwin nodded, unconvinced. ‘It is possible, yes. But I have this concern: you know as well as I do, that the queen’s lands were mainly here in Devon and Cornwall. Perhaps there are enough men here who have sympathy for her.’

‘Sympathy for a woman who leaves her husband?’

‘Don’t presume to judge her,’ Baldwin said. ‘She has suffered enough. First her husband chose to spend his time with Despenser, then he broke up her household, arrested any Frenchmen in her service, sequestrated all her properties, confiscated all her money and income and left her with a pittance — and then even took away her children and gave them into the protection of Despenser’s wife. A chivalrous man might consider that she had reason enough to wish to stay away from her husband.’

‘Perhaps. However, I think there are more men in the realm who would flock to her simply because they hate the Despenser than because they admire or sympathise with her.’

‘True enough!’ Baldwin chuckled, but then he grew serious again. ‘Yet I fear that there could be warriors marching through these fields before long, Edgar. Perhaps before spring. It has happened before.’

‘So, I should find two good rounseys,’ Edgar said.

Baldwin nodded and watched as the other man strode back to the house.

Baldwin had known many knights in the Order whom he could call ‘friend’. There was something about a life of dedication, an existence based entirely on service to others, which had forged between the Templars an enduring bond; those who still lived were comrades who had served together in countless battles, and the obscene betrayal of their companions only strengthened it. All through those dark days, Edgar had remained at his side, and whenever there had been a risk of a fight, Baldwin had always been glad of Edgar’s strong, calm presence nearby. If it were to come to it, Baldwin would feel strange riding to war without his sergeant. It would leave him with an odd sense of loneliness.

It made him think of Simon. His friend for more than a decade, Simon had been terribly offended late the previous year when Baldwin had been told to throw down his weapons by a felon. It was impossible for Baldwin to do so. If he had, matters could have ended in disaster. So he had kept a firm grip on his weapon, and the issue had been resolved. But Simon had feared for his daughter. And since that day, the two men had not spoken.

Baldwin thrust the sword back into its scabbard. It had been hard to tell Edgar he must remain. But it was harder to know that even Simon Puttock would not be at his side.

He felt truly alone.

Exeter Cathedral Gaol

Paul de Cockington woke shivering.

There was a thin stream of light, which penetrated from the tiny slit of a window high overhead, and barely illuminated this side of the cell.

It was outrageous! How the bishop had the gall to bring him here, he didn’t know. The man clearly didn’t understand whom he was dealing with. He seemed to think Paul was only some feeble arse who’d submit to his will. Well, he wasn’t . Paul de Cockington was the son of a knight and the brother to the sheriff, damn the bishop’s eyes, and no de Cockington had ever accepted treatment of this kind.

He had a palliasse of linen with a rough straw filling, which was revolting. He was used to a good mattress on his beds, not a roll like this, spread out on the floor. His meal last night, if it could be so termed, was a shameful mess that he wouldn’t have served his dog, and with only one blanket, he had spent much of the night huddled in a ball, trying to keep himself moderately warm. It was a disgrace that a man of his position should be held in such discomfort.

When the door opened, he was pleased to know that he would soon be able to express his feelings in some detail to whomsoever had placed him in this foul little pit. It must be a mistake. No bishop would treat a de Cockington in this heavy-handed manner; it was some pathetic minion who had-

‘Get up!’ the man rasped from the doorway, and Paul jerked his head in disbelief.

He was a short fellow, but broad. That he was strong was self-evident, but Paul knew he was only a lowly lay brother at best. ‘Are you talking to me ?’

‘No — the rat. Get up!’ the man said, with a grin. He apparently felt that this was the height of inventive humour.

‘What is your name?’ Paul asked.

‘Gaoler. Now, shift yourself.’

‘I asked what your name-’

The man grimaced, and entered the room. Without speaking, he took Paul’s left wrist, and dragged the rector towards the door.

‘Hey, leave go of my hand, you churl! Who do you think you are, eh? Get off me, you fool.’

‘Who do I think I am? I’m a man from town, and friend to Alured de Gydie. You know — the man whose wife you stole and raped. The one you tried to rob! We take that sort of thing seriously down here, Rector — if you are a rector. You won’t need a title when you’re sitting in that gaol day after day, will you?’

‘You turd, let me go!’ Paul spat. He scrabbled with his spare hand to try to turn and get to his feet, but the gaoler had lugged him across the cell and out to the passageway before he had an opportunity. Then, springing to his feet, he tried to wrest his arm back, but the gaoler had his forearm in a grip as strong as a smith’s. ‘You’ll pay for this!’ he blustered.

‘I daresay,’ the gaoler said without emotion.

Paul de Cockington suddenly found that they were in the open air, and it was some surprise to note that they weren’t heading to the Bishop’s palace. Instead, the gaoler manhandled him past the great west door of the cathedral, and on, out to the Bickleigh Gate.

‘You aren’t taking me to the bishop,’ he declared.

‘Well noticed, Rector. With attention to detail like that, you’ll go far. Perhaps as far as the city gaol.’

‘You can sneer at me, man. When my brother the sheriff learns how you’ve treated me, you’ll learn to regret it.’

‘Go on, then. Go and find your brother,’ the gaoler said, and released him. He carried on, marching east, past St Martin’s, and never once looking back.

Paul looked about him uneasily. He didn’t want anybody coming and discovering him. The streets were busy enough for him to be moderately safe, but there was always danger, if he were to be discovered by Gydie or one of his friends or servants. Better by far to get up to the castle.