Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘Be glad, then, that there is no parliament yet. By the time it is called, I hope you will be able to join me. A journey to London or York would be a fine way to bring the colour back to your cheeks.’

She smiled at him, but shook her head. ‘I cannot even dream of such a journey, Baldwin. I am so weary, so weary. The child is strong, though. He thinks nothing of waking two or three times in the middle of the night to suck my pap.’

‘He will be strong,’ Baldwin assured her, peering down into the cradle where his son lay.

‘You should leave, not stand goggle-eyed at the sight of your son.’

‘Woman, I am gazing down at my firstborn son and marvelling at his perfection. Which is in truth a proof of the sire’s beauty.’

‘And nothing to do with the dam’s, I suppose?’

‘Madam, you merely own my heart,’ he swore, his hand on his breast.

‘Then stop letting your eyes slide to him, then,’ she laughed weakly. ‘Go!’

His horse was already waiting, and he was able to make the journey in good time, even with the hazardous roads. In less than a half-day, he was cautiously trotting over the icy wooden drawbridge to the Bishop’s well-protected manor. Soon afterwards he was in the Bishop’s hall, cupping his hands about a mazer of warmed and heavily spiced cider.

Bishop Walter II was a tall, stooped man in his sixties. His eyesight, never good, must now be supplemented with strong spectacles, which he was forced to hold over his nose with one hand while poring over documents. Still, he was a strong man, and although Baldwin knew he suffered dreadfully from piles, he had few other ailments to show how old he had grown.

‘I am glad you were able to come, Sir Baldwin,’ he said. For a moment or two he peered at Baldwin through his glass lenses, his eyes enormous and staring, and Baldwin was reminded of a man gazing in terror, until suddenly the Bishop threw the bone spectacles down with a petulant gesture.

‘My Lord Bishop? Is there something I can do to help you?’

‘Only one thing: I would have you travel with me to see the King. Sir Baldwin, there are matters which are being discussed, and I have been called to give my advice, such as I may. I should like you to join me. There is a need for sound heads. Dear God, yes.’

Second Monday after the Feast of St Hilary 1

Bishop’s Palace, Exeter

Simon Puttock rode into the city of Exeter with that tormented feeling of being wrenched from his family again, although this time it was ameliorated by the knowledge that he was at least safe from the politicking of the monks at Tavistock. That was, it was true, some relief.

‘How much further is it to London?’

Simon grunted. He had intended to leave this lad behind. Rob had been his servant for a while in Dartmouth, and he had become a form of fixture in Simon’s life, no matter what Simon did or said to deter him. When Simon left Dartmouth for (as he hoped) the last time, he had intended to leave Rob as well, but the lad appeared to have developed a highly undesirable devotion to Simon. First he had trailed along with Simon to Tavistock, then to Exeter, which had tested the fellow’s commitment significantly, and now he insisted upon joining Simon in this, his longest trip overland. All the way to London, in God’s name!

‘I mean, are we halfway yet?’

‘Halfway? All we have done is a matter of a few leagues, boy. We are going to Westminster, which is at least seventy more.’

‘Oh.’ Rob was quiet a moment, his face scowling with concentration. ‘So we’ll be a few more days, then?’

Simon groaned. All the way from Dartmouth to Exeter the last time they had travelled together, Rob had kept up a constant demand to know whether they were ‘nearly there’ yet. Simon foresaw days stretching ahead during which he must suffer the same queries. He could almost feel nostalgic for the old days when he had wandered about the country with his truculent, monosyllabic servant Hugh. But he’d had to leave Hugh at home to protect the place. The country was too unsettled to leave his wife and children there without someone to rally defence.

The palace gate was guarded, which was normal enough, but Simon was a little surprised to see that there were more guards behind the gateway, and all were well-armed. He received some cold, suspicious stares as he let his horse wander slowly inside the court and climbed down, rubbing his arse. The way had not been arduous, but recently his backside was less used to the rigours of saddle-wear.

‘Simon! Old friend! It is good to see you!’

Baldwin had his arm in a firm grip almost before Simon had turned, and the Bailiff was struck by his friend’s evident joy to see him arrive. ‘Didn’t you know I was being sent too?’ he asked, clapping him on the back.

‘I had heard, but I hardly dared to think you would be allowed to join us. Meg is well?’

‘Very. I left Hugh to guard her and Edith, although whether or not she’ll find that a comfort, God knows. The poor fellow’s still not recovered.’

‘Hardly likely that he would be. He lost his all in that fire. He is only fortunate that he could return to your service,’ Baldwin noted.

Simon nodded. In the last year, a fire had taken Hugh’s wife and her child, and although Simon had done all in his power to ease his old servant’s mind, there was little any man could do in the face of such a disaster.

‘How much have you been told?’ Baldwin asked after a few moments.

Simon looked down at Rob and told him to see to the horses, before casting a glance at the palace. ‘Little enough. I heard that the Bishop wanted me to join him on this journey, and to be honest I saw only an escape from the in-fighting at Tavistock.’

‘You have heard then?’

Simon tilted his head to one side.

Baldwin smiled. ‘John de Courtenay has already demanded that the election be set aside and that there be a full hearing into the whole matter of Busse’s abbacy. He has alleged that Busse is unsuited for the post, that he used necromancy to win it, that he’s already selling off the Abbey’s silver, that he’s … goodness knows what else. I feel sure that you are much better off being away.’

‘And what of Jeanne?’

A cloud passed over Baldwin’s face. ‘She was terribly sad to hear that we were being asked to go so far. In God’s time, I hope we shall return safely, but I am worried for her, Simon. It was a hard birthing. Very hard.’

‘The child is all right?’

‘Yes. I have called him Baldwin,’ the knight admitted self-consciously. ‘It was not my own choice, but Jeanne was insistent. I should have liked to call him after my father, or my brother.’

Simon nodded. Baldwin had left England to sail to Acre during the final defence of the city against the heathen hordes, and when he finally returned to his home, both his father and brother were dead. It was a curious thought, that he might have been gone for so long that his family ceased to exist. Simon had no brothers, so he could only guess at the effect such a loss might have upon a man. To change the subject, he shrugged. ‘I don’t know how much help I am supposed to be to the Bishop.’

‘Nor me,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But the good Bishop appears determined to have me with him for the benefit of my advice. I suppose I am reluctant to refuse to help him, and yet it is such a bad time.’

In his mind’s eye he saw again his wife. She had been determined not to weep before him, both because Jeanne had always been a proud woman, and because she knew it would only leave Baldwin feeling miserable too. She had clung to him when he hugged her before going, and it was only later, on the ride from Fursdon to the ford, that he had felt his shoulder and realised that it was wet from her tears.