Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

‘He swore he would tell no one,’ the bishop said. He was not meeting Baldwin’s eye, but instead stared off over Baldwin’sshoulder as though at a tapestry hanging on the wall.

‘Bishop, have you ever seen a man being tortured?’ Baldwin rasped. ‘He will tell anything to stop the pain. And if a man is shown that his torturer will put him to exquisite agony, and still kill him, even the weakest will choose a swiftdeath without much pain over the alternative. He lost two fingers. What more would you expect of him?’

Bishop Stapledon looked at him again. He gave a slow nod.

‘Very well, Sir Baldwin. I shall take you at your word. I was asked to advise on some matters a little while ago. One suchmatter was the likely threat from Mortimer while he lives abroad.’

‘The man has escaped barely with his life,’ Baldwin commented. Simon looked puzzled, so he explained briefly, ‘Lord Mortimerwas the man who escaped from the Tower of London last year. He was one of the leaders of the Lords Marcher who lifted theirstandards against the king and his allies.’

‘He is a greedy, dangerous warrior,’ Stapledon said. ‘Crafty and sly. He has already made one attempt upon the king’s life. Did you know? Only a year ago a man was captured in London — he had been paid by Mortimer to assassinate the king! And therehave been other attempts on the king’s life, and those of his friends, since then, too. This is not an isolated incident.’

‘What of it? If a man is captured trying to kill the king, he will be caught and killed,’ Baldwin said.

‘But what if the enemy is within his own orbit? What if the person whom he should fear most of all is actually nearer to himthan any other?’

Baldwin shot a look at Simon, who returned his glance with an expression of happy incomprehension.

For Baldwin the bishop’s words could mean only one thing: that the bishop had at last realised, along with most of the population of the country, that Despenser was a malign influence at the heart of government. With the power that Stapledonheld, surely there could be some means of removing Despenser before he caused any more hardship to the people of the realm.

‘Yes. I fear that the king is in great danger,’ Stapledon finished. ‘His wife is too untrustworthy.’

Baldwin felt the breath leave his body in a great gasp of horror. He stared at the bishop dumbfounded.

Stapledon continued thoughtfully. ‘There are many who mistrust her. I have myself been anxious about her for some while, especiallysince that nonsensical affair over Saint Sardos in the summer. The French are trying to provoke us. The matter could havegrown much more dangerous. Fortunately, cooler counsel prevailed, but we cannot be assured that it will again in future. Ihave already had to propose that the queen’s household should be disbanded, and all her French friends have been arrestedand are held, but she can still write to her brother. Who can tell what sort of dangerous information she may provide? Perhapsher brother might decide to come and support Mortimer in an attack on our country? If he did, what could we do to protectourselves against his host? And if he was being warned in advance of our lack of defences in different parts of the realm,that would itself be of signal benefit to him. Thus I advised the king in my message. And in addition I advised him, throughthe sealed lips of the messenger, to put his mind most boldly to the idea of an annulment of his marriage.’

‘You suggested that?’ Simon blurted. ‘But what good could that do? The king and she both made their vows before God!’

‘Simon, you have no understanding of international business,’ the bishop snapped. He was himself most concerned, Baldwin saw, andbiting the head off another man was a simple means of assuaging his own feeling of guilt at having exposed himself so gravely.

‘But I do,’ Baldwin said. ‘So, this must mean that you have a spy who can keep an eye on the queen at all times, so that whenshe begins to write a letter there is someone there to read it, or who can open it and read it later, perhaps?’

‘I do not know, nor do I care, what procedures have been imposed upon her,’ the bishop said. ‘All I do care about is thatthe message I sent to his majesty remains entirely confidential and secret! It must never become exposed to all!’

It was some while later that Baldwin realised that the bishop had never admitted whether the message he was so concerned aboutwas the one in the messenger’s mind, or the one put in his hand in writing.

Exeter Castle

The sheriff was keen to fetch his horse and go for a ride when he was distracted by a guard.

‘Yes? What is it?’ he demanded testily.

‘There is a man here to see you from the cathedral, sir.’

‘What of it? Tell him to be here again later when I may be able to see him for a little while. I am busy.’

‘I do not wish to wait, Sheriff, not when I can see you right away,’ Robert Busse said firmly.

The sheriff groaned inwardly. He didn’t know this old man from the cathedral, but he recognised the type all too well: helooked the sort who would consider any necessary restrictions of the church’s powers as a personal affront. There were alltoo many of them about the city. When a murderer ran from the scene of his offence and into the cathedral close, the men therewould close ranks and do anything in their power to obstruct the city’s men in their attempts to arrest him. Even though,by harbouring a murderer in their midst, they were risking their own lives as well as those of all the men around them. Itwas lunacy, in his mind, to allow such ridiculous abstract demarcations as borders of cathedral responsibility compared withthose of the city, when the result was that known felons could evade justice. Bloody sanctuary! It was a mad way to organise things, and gave people an escape when they had committed the mostoutrageous crimes.

Not only menfolk from the city made use of the church to escape their rightful punishments, either. Christ in chains! It wasonly a little while ago that one of the canons from the cathedral, that thieving scrote John Dyrewyn, broke into a painter’shouse and stole five pounds’ worth of goods. Not because he was owed money or anything, but because he was a thief. No betterthan a common draw-latch. He was seen, the crime was witnessed, and yet there was nothing the city could do to bring him tojustice because, oh dear, the man was a canon, and therefore answerable only to the Church court. And you knew what sort ofjudgement he’d get from his own kind.

Then there was that foul, venal piece of dog-turd, the Rector of St Ive. He kidnapped the wife of John de Thorntone and robbedhim as well, adding simple theft to the brutality of his treatment of the woman. And he blankly refused to return his ill-gottengains or apologise to the lady. Sweet Jesus, you couldn’t invent some of the crimes these supposedly ‘godly’ men were guiltyof.

The memory of all these past offences, and more, made his tone chill. ‘I am very busy just now.’

‘Ah yes. Going hunting?’ Busse said sarcastically. ‘You have a man of mine in gaol for no reason, and you are going to leavehim there just because you wish to enjoy a good day’s hunting? I scarcely think that to be honourable behaviour for a Christian.’

The sheriff bridled. ‘You suggest that I am holding someone unfairly? Let me tell you …’

‘You have a member of the Holy Catholic Church held in your gaol. That itself is illegal, for you took him without informing my lord bishop. He is aware now, and may seek damagesfrom you.’

‘You will not threaten me, Brother. Are you from the cathedral? I do not recognise you.’