Candace ROBB - The King’s Bishop

“And?”

Wykeham’s expression had soured. “An arrogant, ill-mannered man, Wyndesore.”

Thoresby grinned. “You soon became fast friends?”

Wykeham started, then caught the grin and laughed. “Indeed.” He was quiet while Peter served the food.

Thoresby tasted the pie. “The guards are fortunate in their cook.”

Wykeham nodded towards Peter, who sat quietly on a bench against the wall. “He is so slender, you would never guess, but Peter lives for his food rather than by it. When he hears of a good cook, he befriends him. I fear he trades gossip from the high table for tasty titbits. But discreetly, choosing with care.”

They ate in silence for a while. As Wykeham paused to refill his cup, Thoresby asked, “What did Wyndesore say?”

“Oh. Wyndesore.” Wykeham nodded. “He could not be bothered with it. ‘The lad’s dead. Pity. I had trained him well. But he could not hold his drink.’ That was it. Not a pause to consider. He had made up his mind and that was that. An appallingly ignorant man to hold such a high station.”

Thoresby raised an eyebrow. Wykeham certainly had made up his mind about Sir William of Wyndesore. “No different from most military men.” Still, he liked the sentiment. This meeting was changing Thoresby’s opinion of his host. “Concerning Daniel, my secretary saw the lad’s body as it was carried away.”

Wykeham looked up from his food, leaned forward with interest. “Did he notice anything out of place?”

“Indeed he did. Daniel’s wrists showed signs of having been bound. And his cloak had been soaked in ale. Difficult to imagine how that might happen.”

Wykeham put down his knife, bowed his head, crossed himself.

Thoresby did also. “I am afraid I paid it little heed. But your analysis has given me pause.”

“Do not blame yourself. No one else made note of the wrists. No one else has questioned that it was an accident, except those who dislike Ned Townley and wish him to be guilty.”

Thoresby walked back to his own quarters in a thoughtful mood. Who would have thought the ambitious William of Wykeham would be such a decent, conscientious man? Indeed, he seemed a man admirably suited to the position of bishop, someone with a heart, mind, and soul that worked in concert. He might even make a good chancellor; though Thoresby wondered what he knew of the law.

It was a pity, really, that Wykeham was the King’s man. He would feel the conflicts as Thoresby did, the frustration when a compromise was necessary to please the King, a compromise in morals or justice.

Did Wykeham understand that? Did he see the price of becoming the King’s bishop?

Thoresby paused at his door, shrugged. If he had not been the King’s man, Wykeham would never have risen so high. He could be nothing but the King’s bishop.

Pity. The man would undoubtedly someday regret it. But not now.

Ned spent the days before departure banished to his small room. For your safety , Wyndesore had explained. For his safety. Hah! Sir William meant to torture him. Ned had gone to Brother Michaelo in the hope that Chancellor Thoresby might intercede and recommend his freedom, but the secretary told him it was in his best interest to stay away from Wyndesore’s angry men. In truth, Michaelo’s behaviour towards him had been less than courteous. Everyone condemned Ned despite Mistress Perrers’s testimony that he was with Mary the night of Daniel’s death.

So Ned spent his days practising with his daggers, throwing them at a straw target until his wrists and eyes ached. Or staring out of his small, unglazed window at St George’s Chapel and especially the yard before it, where men bustled about their tasks with the confidence that God was pleased with their industry. As Ned gazed out on the life in the lower ward he thought back over the past few weeks, examining his behaviour towards Mary and Daniel. Gradually he came to see that his misery was his own fault. It was true that time and again he had discovered Daniel sitting with Mary when he’d gone to call, but he had seen no embraces, no fond touching, no meaningful looks. It was not until after he had lost his temper several times that Mary and Daniel had seemed at all uncomfortable about his finding them together.

Ned had to see Mary before he left, to beg her forgiveness, to ask whether there was any hope for him. Twice he sneaked to her quarters, twice she refused to see him. How could she be so cruel? Was not his beloved to stand beside him when all deserted him?

And then, miracle of miracles, Mary appeared at Ned’s door the afternoon before he was to leave.

“Mary! Sweet Heaven, I am glad to see you.” Ned dropped down to his knees, wrapped his arms round her legs before she had time to back away. “Mary, my love, forgive me for my foolish jealousy. It was only that I could not imagine a man looking on you and not wanting you as I do. I should have listened to you. I vow I shall be your obedient servant all the rest of my days.”

Mary smoothed his hair. She had the gentlest touch. “Peace, my love. Peace,” she whispered.

My love ! Ned rose and, cupping her lovely face in his hands, looked deep into Mary’s eyes. “You love me?”

“You know that I do.”

“You turned me away, Mary. Twice! I could never tum you away.”

Her sweet eyes swam with tears. “Oh, Ned, I have been so miserable!” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

Blessed Mary, Mother of God, thank you for hearing my prayers . Ned covered Mary’s face with kisses. Then, holding her close to him, he edged slowly backwards, drawing her into his room.

Breathlessly, she whispered, “I must not stay long. Mistress Alice will miss me.”

“Just a little while, my love,” Ned begged as he closed the door with his foot. He let her go, brought the lamp closer to see her.

Mary pushed back the hood of her cloak, shook out her hair. The dark cloud fell softly round her face, tumbled about her white shoulders, which were partially bared by her low-cut gown – his favourite silk. It whispered at her slightest move and gave off her exquisite scent. “Say but that you shall remain at Windsor and all is forgiven,” she whispered, moving towards him.

Bless her innocent heart that beat so softly under those white, white breasts. Ned had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Sweet Mary, would that I might say yes. Ask me anything else. But I cannot stay; I am ordered north on the King’s business. I must go.” He reached for her hands.

Mary hid them behind her back. Her face was flushed. “Is that truly the only reason you go?”

“What other reason could there be?” Ned could think of none.

“That you fear what Daniel’s friends might do to you.”

Ned’s heart sank. Still she gnawed on that bone between them. “You know that is not so, Mary. I am no saint, but neither am I a coward. I do not run from my troubles. In better times you worried that I was incautious.”

Mary bit her lip, which Ned read as a hopeful sign that she was listening. “I think the King is sending you away to protect you,” she said, “because Mistress Alice told His Grace that you could not have followed Daniel from the hall that night.”

“That may be His Grace’s reason, but not mine.”

“Then stay.” Mary said it with a thrust of her chin, challenging him. “Do not let the King make you act the coward.”

Would that Ned might accept the challenge. He gently pressed Mary’s shoulders. “Please, Mary, let us not argue. I must obey the King; I am in his service.”

Mary retreated from him. “You are in the service of the Duke of Lancaster.”

Ned nodded. “And the Duke left me here at court to learn from and serve the King, his father. Now the King has need of me. The Duke would expect me to obey.”