Candace ROBB - The King’s Bishop

Bess nodded. “I saw it coming while you still carried Gwenllian. Remember his silences, the frowns when he thought you did not see him? You thought he was sorry he was to be a father.”

Lucie smiled, remembering. “How wrong I was.” Owen had been worried that a child would be frightened by his scarred face and his patch. “And how wrong he was; Gwenllian adores him.” Lucie sighed. “I had hoped that he might thus see the futility of worry.”

Bess smiled at her friend. Level-headed Lucie expected all mankind to think as she did. “A worrier is a worrier, Lucie. Wait for Owen to change and you will go mad. So, what is this mission?”

“He is to escort Archdeacon Jehannes and a small company to Fountains Abbey. The King wishes to convince the Cistercian abbots to support Sir William of Wykeham as Bishop of Winchester. The Archdeacon will carry letters from the King, from Thoresby as chancellor, and from Wykeham himself, I trust.”

Bess sat forward. “Thoresby is doing this for Wykeham, the man poised to take his place as chancellor? I thought John Thoresby loved his power.”

Lucie reached down, smoothed her daughter’s unruly hair, dark and soft as down. “It is strange. But with the King so keen on Wykeham’s promotion, Thoresby has little choice but to support the effort.”

“So Owen is off to make plans with Jehannes?”

“More likely to complain. I pray God Jehannes has his usual calming effect on my husband.”

“It is passing strange Owen complains so about his work for the Archbishop, yet grows bored when he is too long at home.”

Lucie smiled, though her blue eyes were melancholy. “Owen is a riddle, Bess, one that I doubt I shall ever solve. To him, Captain of Archers was a noble profession. Spying for the old Duke of Lancaster was the least he could do for his lord’s loyalty in keeping him in his service after he lost the sight in his left eye. But his work for the Archbishop of York–” she shook her head. “He thinks a man of God has no business retaining spies. In Owen’s opinion Thoresby is too much the Lord Chancellor and not enough the man of God.”

Bess leaned over and patted Lucie’s arm. “Then if the rumours that Wykeham is to become chancellor prove true, Owen might be a happier man.”

Lucie chuckled. “Trust you to find the bright side of gossip, Bess. But the Archbishop of York is still a powerful political force. Owen will still be called away. And worry all the while.”

“You know, Lucie, if an obsession to protect his family is the only thing you find to fault in your husband, you are a lucky woman.”

“You will not find me denying that.”

Jehannes paced his parlour, hands clasped behind his back. When Owen was shown in, the Archdeacon spun round, hurried forward, arms outstretched, his youthful face brightening. “Bless you for coming so quickly, my friend,” Jehannes said breathlessly, putting an arm round Owen’s shoulders. “Please, sit with me by the fire.” Though outside the day was warm, the stone house had not yet caught the heat, being in a dark street.

Owen settled into the chair, stretched out his long legs, steepled his hands before him. “I am curious about what is not explained in the letter.”

Jehannes sat down stiffly, perched at the edge of his seat. He nodded towards a flagon of wine and two goblets. “Take some refreshment while we talk. We shall eat afterwards.”

Owen leaned over to pour. “And you?”

Jehannes frowned, shook his head. “Not yet.” He looked agitated. Owen had rarely seen him like this. “As I presume His Grace informed you, we are to carry letters to the abbots of Fountains and Rievaulx.” Jehannes tapped the arms of the chair as he spoke.

Owen leaned back with his wine. “That is the mission. But what is behind it?”

Jehannes cleared his throat. “You have heard that the King has named Wykeham to the see of Winchester?”

Owen nodded. “And Pope Urban has refused to approve it. That should please the Archbishop.”

Jehannes flashed a tight smile.

“What is your role in this?”

Jehannes raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I am to add my voice to the arguments in favour of Sir William of Wykeham.”

Considering the Archdeacon’s agitation, Owen doubted it was that simple. He would return to that. Of Wykeham he knew only that the King’s partiality to the man was owing to his architectural talent. Many at court claimed he was a commoner who had finagled his way into the King’s confidence, but Owen imagined they were simply jealous. “I agree with His Holiness that a bishop should be a devout man of God.”

“That is precisely the irony of the situation,” Jehannes said. “Wykeham may be a devoted churchman. But His Holiness sees only the number and value of the benefices Wykeham holds, all gifts from the King, particularly his position as Keeper of the Privy Seal. And, of course, everyone knows that the appointment is the first step towards his promotion to Lord Chancellor.”

“At which time he would no doubt be the King’s man.”

Jehannes nodded. “The King’s bishop. Precisely.”

“I do not believe Archbishop Thoresby sincere in his support of Wykeham.”

Jehannes closed his eyes, pressed his fingers against his lids. “You know His Grace too well. In public he proclaims his support; in private he plots with Lancaster to overturn Wykeham. Echoing the Archbishop’s strategy, I am to find subtle ways to remind the abbots why Wykeham is unsuitable.” He dropped his hands, gave Owen a weary look. “I am not a dissembler, my friend. I shall disappoint His Grace.”

Owen was outraged. “You are put in an impossible position!”

Jehannes rose to pace again. “Impossible indeed.”

“His Grace is the dissembler. Why can he not do this?”

“He is Lord Chancellor and Archbishop of York. He cannot be pulled away from London and court at a time like this.”

Owen watched his friend pace back and forth several times while he absorbed the information. “So what is my part in this?” he asked at last.

Jehannes paused, gave Owen a puzzled look. “Undoubtedly, His Grace recommended you.”

“That I can see. But why? Why the captain of his retainers leading the escort? He expects trouble?”

Jehannes nodded as he grasped Owen’s point. “Oh, yes. Trouble. Yes, I daresay. You must understand that this issue has inspired more than rivalry. It has brought to a head feelings that have divided the Church in this kingdom, one side believing that the Pope has sovereignty over the Church in England, the other that King Edward has sovereignty over all in his kingdom, be they soldiers, farmers, or clergy. A friar has even circulated a paper – anonymously, of course, the coward – declaring that the King has forfeited his right to govern by refusing to pay tribute to the Pope. The King fears that with tempers flaring there might be danger.”

“And His Grace generously suggested me for the job.”

“His words were that he trusted you implicitly.”

Owen grinned. “His Grace has a honeyed tongue when it is to his purpose. What do you mean to say to the abbots?”

Jehannes shook his head, a desperate look in his eyes. “I have no idea. Somehow I must undermine the man while appearing to praise him. I am not in the habit of saying one thing, meaning another. My face and voice will give me away.”

“It sickens me to hear you berate yourself for being an honest man. For pity’s sake, Jehannes, you are a man of God. You must be honest!”

Jehannes smiled at his friend’s indignation. “You note His Grace has not asked you to dissemble.”

“He would not dare!”

They shared a laugh over that.

Then Owen grew serious again. “Do you ever regret serving under Archbishop Thoresby?”