Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

Sitting now, he sipped from the goblet and considered that life. That a man could be so devoted to God that he might throw aside all his father’s great wealth, was astonishing in such a backward age. It was two hundred years ago that St Francis had been born, while his parents were abroad in France, which was why he was named for the land. And he had heard a voice while he was in a shrine telling him to rebuild a church, so he had gone and sold some of his father’s cloth to pay for the rebuilding. And that, naturally enough, led to his father’s rage, and soon afterwards the two separated. Francis went so far as to throw off even the clothes which his father’s money had bought for him, and he had to rely on the charity of the Bishop just to clothe himself.

He was clearly a deeply religious man. In the Cardinal’s view, he was almost certainly insufferable, too. He had met some ascetic, religious types in his time, and often they were the most difficult and truculent of all. There was no negotiating with them. Which was why the Pope generally preferred the slightly more worldly when it came to diplomacy. They were easier to deal with.

The Cardinal sipped again, and was about to settle back to consider some messages recently arrived from the Pope, when there was a respectful knock at his door.

‘Yes?’

‘Cardinal, the Bishop Walter would like to speak with you.’

Thomas d’Anjou pursed his lips. Then he nodded silently and finished his wine. There would be time later to read the letters.

‘Bishop,’ he said as Walter Stapledon arrived.

‘Cardinal.’

The Bishop was feeling ever more anxious. The impression that men were looking at him askance was increasing, and had grown now to include almost all those in the English delegation, bar Baldwin, Sir Richard and Simon Puttock.

‘Cardinal Thomas, I am very sorry to trouble you again.’

‘What is it, Bishop? I am a little busy this evening.’

‘I am deeply concerned. The Queen has not responded positively to my discussion with her.’

‘Ah. But your difficulty with the accusation of being involved in the murder of that man — the Procureur — that has gone?’

‘Yes, I think I am no longer considered guilty of that, I thank God. Yet still, I do have the duty to act as guardian to the Duke while he is here, and then to take the Queen home. Yet she will not allow any discussion of such a-’

‘Then you must hold yourself in preparation against the day that she agrees at last.’

‘You have seen how she habitually wears a widow’s weeds? How easy do you think it would be to persuade her to come back to England when she refuses even to make the effort to show that she is willing to tolerate the Despenser?’

‘From all I have heard, your Despenser does not make it easy for her to return. And not he alone,’ the Cardinal said pointedly.

‘Sir Hugh acts in the best interests of the realm as he sees it.’

The Cardinal eyed him steadily. ‘Let us dispense with polite forms, Bishop. The Despenser sees only his own interests and his own benefits. He does nothing for the good of the realm. That is clear enough even here in France. I would myself not command a dog to return to his power. And you want the Queen Isabella to submit to him? I find your demands upon her astonishing.’

‘I only submit the desires of her husband, my King,’ Stapledon said tersely.

‘Only him? Not the wishes of his great friend Despenser? And how convincing do you think that will sound to her?’

‘Cardinal, this is a matter of a husband and wife. A man and woman bound by holy-’

‘Matrimony, yes. I know. And it is also true, is it not, that your Sir Hugh le Despenser has already attempted to have the Pope annul the marriage? Sir Hugh, not the Queen’s husband. Sir Hugh sent his emissary to the Pope, did he not?’

Stapledon gaped in shock. ‘But … he could not! There could be no justification for such an act.’

‘Absolutely right. There is no justification. And yet it happened. Curious, no? So, you see, Bishop, I will not aid you to have the Queen sent back to the land where her position and person are held in such low esteem. I would deem that an act of deplorable cruelty.’

‘I … I shall have to consider matters further.’

‘Do so. I would suggest that you make your peace with her, Bishop, for she is a calm, sensible lady. All she requires, I believe, is the money the King promised her for her upkeep while she was here in France looking after her son. Their son. And you hold the purse. You can release the money.’

‘The King ordered me to hold on to it until she agreed to return to England,’ Bishop Walter said wretchedly.

‘Then I fear you are gripped on the horns of a dilemma. I do not envy your position.’

‘There is no choice. I am a servant of my King,’ the Bishop said firmly. ‘I will obey my King’s commands. I would prefer to make peace with the Queen, but if I may not, I may not.’

‘Then go in peace, Bishop. I will pray for you.’

The Bishop nodded, but then his attention was drawn to the goblet. ‘What a marvellous piece of workmanship. May I look at it?’

‘Yes. It is one of a kind, I think. You like such trinkets?’

‘I have seen its like only once before,’ the Bishop said absently.

‘Where was that?’

‘I used to be the chaplain to Pope Clement V. He had a pair like this. I remember them clearly.’

‘Made by the same man, I have no doubt,’ the Cardinal said shortly. He took his goblet back, weighing it in his hand with pleasure. ‘I have had this for these twenty years past. Those which you saw are probably the ones which I myself gave to him. Clement was always a shrewd and kindly man to those who respected him.’

‘Yes,’ the Bishop said. But he could recall the terror of the destruction of the Templars, wrought largely at the instigation of Clement. That was still a matter of shame, he thought.

The Bishop had a short walk to his chamber, and he marched quickly with a couple of boys holding lanterns. Ever since the murder of Walter de Lechelade in Exeter Cathedral Close some forty-five years before by the Dean’s men, the Bishops of Exeter had been made aware of the dangers of walking about at night in the dark without aid.

He paid little attention to the way, for he was still smarting at the Cardinal’s attitude. It was remarkable to him that a fellow striver in the service of God should be so unhelpful. If he himself had been asked to assist a man like the Cardinal, he would have done all he could to support him. To be thus ejected, almost as though he was some form of beggar at the door, was humiliating in the extreme. He was a Bishop, in God’s name, not some humble penitent who deserved a flea in his ear.

The door to the passage that led to his rooms was just here. He thanked the boys, gave them a few coins for their trouble, and entered.

He felt exhausted. Travelling here to France had unnerved him in the first place, because he knew how unpopular he had become. But to arrive here and have that harridan the Queen rail at him before everyone in the French court, that had brought home to him how fragile his position was. If possible, it had been made even more so by the effect of the French official’s death. To have people accuse him, to actually believe that he was capable of such a vile attack — that was repellent! And meanwhile he still had little idea how on earth he could make his way homewards, for he dare not return to the King without Queen Isabella, or at the very least, some kind of promise from her that she would soon follow him.

The passage was lit by occasional candles, set widely apart. He walked along, careful to avoid stepping too close to them. It would not be the first time a man had accidentally brushed against a candle and either scorched a great hole in an expensive robe, or even had a smudge of molten tallow stain his sleeves.