Michael Jecks - The Bishop Must Die

There was a man at an alley’s corner who found his predicament amusing. Loud laughter echoed along the street, and others joined in to see this foreigner in such misery. There was nothing he might do with so many about, so Richard de Folville swallowed his pride and marched southwards. Before he had gone many yards, he heard the patter of feet behind him, and felt mud hit his back. Turning, he saw three ragamuffins pelt away, while more people showed their appreciation.

He left there in a ferocious rage, walking along an alley to get out of the way of Londoners, and after a short distance, found himself confronted by a small beggar-boy holding out his hands for money. Richard put his hand towards his purse, but in preference he yanked out his dagger and plunged it into the boy’s breast, shoving his other hand over his mouth, watching as the life flared, burned, and was snuffed out in the lad’s eyes. There was no sound. Richard picked up the body, and threw it in among some rubbish.

There was no one to see him. No one would care. The whole city was a festering sore, filled with maggots that sought to eat each other. No one could miss one brat.

Tower of London

‘Sir Baldwin, I am glad to see you,’ the Bishop of Exeter declared brusquely. ‘Do you have a moment for me?’

They were in the green outside the Tower itself, and Simon had been walking with Baldwin, discussing the king’s departure. ‘Of course, my lord.’

‘Sir Baldwin, you are to leave soon?’

‘Yes. With the king gone, there seems little point in my remaining,’ Baldwin said. ‘I must return to my wife. She will be alarmed at the rumours of war.’

‘But of course. And Simon?’

‘I am at your disposal, Bishop. I would dearly like to return home, but the thought of riding west in the train of the king’s host appeals not one whit. Especially not with my wife. It is too dangerous for a journey of that length. The realm is too disturbed.’

‘I am glad to hear it, if only for purely selfish reasons,’ the Bishop said. ‘Now I have these new responsibilities in London, I would be glad of a man’s help who was independent. I think that you would be a great source of comfort to the king and the queen, were you to agree to remain here in the Tower for a little, to help guard their son.’

‘John?’ Simon said. ‘I would have thought he was as safe as a lad could be, here in the Tower.’

‘Perhaps he is, but I would prefer to think that there was a man I knew here to see to his protection.’

‘Well, I have no objection,’ Simon said. ‘The way home, as I said, is too dangerous.’

‘Good. That, then, is decided. It is one less thing for me to worry about.’

‘You should be careful in the city,’ Baldwin noted. ‘There are many who have taken a dislike to bishops just now.’

‘Ha! I have been unpopular in London for the last five years,’ the bishop said. ‘I am only glad that now, at least, the most dangerous man is in the gaol.’

‘He is to be tortured, I believe,’ Baldwin said stiffly. He detested the very idea of its use.

‘The king ordered it,’ Bishop Walter said. ‘But if you could persuade him to divulge any details without its use, I would personally be most glad. The man will be executed for trying to kill me, but there is no need to exact any more punishment than that, surely.’

‘Has his torture not begun already?’ Simon asked. ‘I thought he was to be tested days ago.’

‘Sir Peregrine has been too busy with me,’ the bishop said. ‘He has been involved in the disposition of the forces about the Tower, and is, I think, reluctant to interview the prisoner. Not many approve of torture.’

He shot a look at Baldwin. He knew of the knight’s past as a Knight Templar, and Baldwin’s view of the use of torture.

Later, Baldwin and Simon met with Sir Peregrine.

‘Sir Peregrine, I hope you do not object to my raising the matter, but the torture of the lad in the gaol — are you to continue with that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I am so commanded by the king.’

‘You do so only with reservations?’

‘I despise the very concept. If a man’s guilty, let him be put on trial and, if guilty, hanged.’

‘Then, would you object to my speaking with him?’ Baldwin said. ‘I would prefer to save him the pain of torture.’

‘By all means.’

It took a short time to arrange, and then Simon and Baldwin were taken into the little gaol under the Tower.

Simon looked at the man in the gloom with interest. He had already lost the healthful appearance he had possessed as a stevedore, and now his eyes glittered with what looked like a feverish passion.

The fellow rose and walked to the bars of his cell, where he looked them both over, from their boots to their faces. ‘You’re the two who caught me.’

‘We are,’ Baldwin said. ‘And now I hope we can save you from additional pain. You know you are to be put to the torture?’

‘It’s part of the torture, this waiting, isn’t it? I’ve been expecting it for the last three days. Is it to start now?’

‘Only if you wish it. What is your name?’

‘Why?’

‘We have heard it is Paul, but we know that’s not true. You don’t come from Taunton, do you?’

‘I come from not far away. What is it to you?’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. This is my companion, Bailiff Simon Puttock. What is your name?’

‘You can call me Paul.’

Baldwin gave a fleeting frown. Such reluctance to give a true name was rare, in his experience. ‘You know that you will not escape here? There is little hope for you, I regret. Whatever you fear about giving away your name truly is not worth worrying about, my fellow. Why not merely tell us?’

‘Call me Paul.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘In that case, Paul, tell me, why did you intend to kill the bishop?’

‘Me?’

‘You left him notes at different places. We know all this, man! Come, tell us why you wished him ill.’

‘He is a thief, no better than a cutpurse. He colludes with Despenser to rob the innocent, no matter what their status. You can serve him if you wish, but he deserves death for his felonies!’

‘You think yourself robbed by him, then?’

‘I think he robs us all,’ Ranulf said.

‘Did he take your land? Money? What?’

‘Leave me alone!’

‘You will die here, but unless you help us now, you will die having endured great pain. There is no need for that,’ Baldwin said infuriatedly.

‘You think a man should be scared of death? That false bishop should be, after his crimes!’

Baldwin studied him very closely now. He always felt that a man’s words could be measured, and sometimes it was more what a man did not say than what he did that mattered. ‘You refuse to say where you come from, you refuse to say who you are, you refuse to do anything to explain your hatred of the bishop … Even though you have been sitting in this cell for days now, knowing that the result must be torture. What would motivate a man to keep so silent?’

‘You may invent all the reasons you wish, Sir Knight.’

‘The only reason I can imagine is that there is someone else who could continue to carry out your deed,’ Baldwin said, watching him intently. ‘Ah yes, that is it, isn’t it?’

‘I am saying nothing!’ Ranulf said, but now Baldwin could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Simon looked over at Baldwin. ‘The date on the notes, Baldwin. The last note said fourteen days from last Wednesday. If he has an accomplice, and they intend to stick to the same plan, the Bishop will die on the Wednesday of next week.’

‘What note?’ Ranulf began, and then realised his error.

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully. ‘Fellow, whoever you are, I am afraid that if you thought your accomplice would be able to succeed where you have failed, you are now mistaken. Whoever it is, they will fail just as you did.’