Still, the tale he had given the old fool had been inspired. When Geoffrey had confronted him out there in the chamber beneath the bishop’s private room, he had thought his bowels would empty. The idea that he had gone through that terrifying experience up there, and was almost free and safe, only to hear that stentorian voice behind him, had frozen the blood in his veins. But then he had thought of the ingenious story – that there were threatening messages being left for the bishop, and he had personally been given the task of checking on the chamber in order to catch the man red-handed.
It had persuaded Geoffrey. More, it had been obvious that this man, who was a warrior by trade, and who detested spies and subtle strategems with every fibre of his being, would not divulge the tale to anyone unless he was convinced that they were safe. It would probably take the bishop himself to persuade Geoffrey to give the truth. No doubt they would go to that extreme.
Which was sad, because it meant that he would have to devise another means of continuing the campaign. He had to see more messages being delivered to the bishop, and then, with luck, he would at last have his chance. He would be able to draw a sword or knife and end the bishop’s foul life, once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Exeter
Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was marching towards the house which had grown to be his favourite residence in the city. Knocking, he had to wait only a very short time before he was allowed entry, and then he strode through to the little parlour and waited fretfully, taking his hat off, then resetting it on his head. He did so several times while waiting.
‘Sir Peregrine, I am pleased to see you, sir.’
‘And I, you. You look magnificent, lady,’ he said with sincerity.
She wore a tight-fitting tunic, much in the latest fashion, with a high bodice and soft silken shawl about her shoulders, for the day was not the warmest. Hearing his tone, she arched her eyebrows slightly and smiled. ‘Your compliments are always welcome, but to what do I owe this visit? You were here only yesterday.’
‘Yesterday I did not have my news. I fear I am to leave the city soon,’ he said brokenly. ‘The king has commanded me to depart with all haste. I should have gone some days ago, but you have brought me so much joy, I could not bear to leave. However, now I have a definite order, and I may not refuse him.’
‘Then of course you must go,’ she said. ‘Where will you travel? To his side?’
‘No. The king is at the coast, helping to organise defences, I think. I am ordered to ride to London, where I am to serve in the Tower. The walls are strong, but they need men to guard them. I have to collect the knights who owe me their service, and some men-at-arms and archers, and hurry there.’
‘You have been to London?’
‘A few times, but it is not the sort of city I would wish to return to. Especially now I have met you.’
‘It is a good city. I have been there on legal matters often enough. But you are right to say that it is not the place to stay for long. I wouldn’t wish to either. I am happier with the country.’
‘I regret the moments I am away from you. I would prefer to remain here at your side.’
She smiled at that. ‘You are gallant and chivalrous, Sir Peregrine. But please, there is no need for so much effort. We are very comfortable in each other’s company, are we not?’
‘I am happy with you, my lady.’
‘Well, then. Perhaps this is not so unfortunate after all. How would it be if I were to join you? I would prefer to ride with you to London than stay here alone. This city of Exeter is lovely, but without a friend, it is a poor place.’
‘But of course, my lady,’ he beamed. ‘I would be delighted to protect you on your journey.’
‘Then that is settled. I shall leave for London too. What could be more perfect?’
Much later, as Sir Peregrine considered their discussion and the decision that she would ride with him and his men, he would recall that odd expression in her eyes as she spoke, and he would realise why she had been so keen to escape the city with him; however, at the time, all he knew was the overwhelming glee that she felt an affection for him to equal his for her.
Exeter
She knew that her husband would be some while, so Lady Jeanne decided to spend as much time as possible looking round the market, to see if there was anything else she should buy, some little item that would be indispensable to a man about to set off on a long journey.
It was so tempting to demand to go with him. Simon Puttock, their friend, had gone to Portchester only a few weeks ago, and he had taken his wife with him. It was not unknown for a man to take his wife with him, even for warriors to take wives and children with them on campaign, but she knew that Baldwin was less keen than many to have women on such journeys. He was always worried that Jeanne might fall prey to thieves or killers, and while the realm was so unstable, she could not fault his reasoning. The land was falling into madness, with gangs of clubmen walking the streets as boldly as the king’s officers, with knights and even barons turning to outlawry to supplement their income, and hundreds of the men dispossessed of their property after the Battle at Boroughbridge trying their hands at theft just to stay alive. No, it was not a good time for a woman to travel. And at least her home was … defensible.
She was sad to think that they would be separated again. It had been that way all through the previous year, when Baldwin had been sent to France at different times on the king’s business. She had been forced to remain at home, waiting and hoping that he would return safely. And she had been very lonely.
However, she was a woman born to a certain position in life, and she knew that tribulations of this kind were natural for the wife of a knight. He must go and serve his lord or king, and she must protect the home and their children.
She was walking with Edgar along an alley, when she saw a man’s face which she recognised. It made her frown at first, because she had not seen this face in this environment. Or perhaps it was less the environment, more that the clothing or something was wrong … And then she saw a young woman come along, and instantly knew it to be Edith, Simon’s daughter. ‘Edgar – look!’ she said excitedly, and darted through the crowds, not heeding her servant’s hisses to stop.
‘Edith!’ she called, and then she had a sudden lurch in her belly as she recognised the other face. Of course – how could she have been so stupid! It was Edith’s husband, Peter. Jeanne had only met him once or twice, and that briefly. Even at the wedding, she had not seen him above a minute or two. It was not possible to see much at the church itself, and afterwards Jeanne had been involved in keeping her husband’s new cowman, Wat, away from the ale and wine. The fellow had drunk himself into a stupor at Baldwin and Jeanne’s own wedding, and she didn’t want him to act the brute at Edith’s too.
The young man looked terrible. She could see how fear had etched deep lines across his forehead. His eyes were anxious too, flickering towards her and then away, as though expecting to be struck down and robbed at any moment.
‘Master Peter,’ she said with a gushing enthusiasm she hardly felt. ‘It is so good to see you again. Do you remember me? Madam Jeanne de Furnshill, wife to Sir Baldwin, who was always such a good friend of your father-in-law. I haven’t seen you since your wedding, although I know my husband did visit you, didn’t he? Late last year, I think? And how are you both? My, Edith, you are looking well!’
‘I apologise, madam, but we have much to do,’ Peter said with a sad attempt at a smile. ‘Come, Edith.’
‘Edith, I hope you are well?’ Jeanne said.
‘I thank you, yes. I am fine, Madam Jeanne. I hope you will give my kind thoughts to your husband, and …’ Her voice petered out before she could mention her father and mother, and instead she looked down at the ground, and Jeanne saw that there were tears in her eyes.
And it was only then that Jeanne remembered that Edith had been pregnant last October. ‘Your baby?’
‘He is fine, a strapping fello
w, born two months ago,’ Peter said, catching hold of his wife’s arm. ‘And now, madam, we must be gone. A good day to you, my lady.’
Jeanne nodded briefly, hardly hearing his words. Her attention was fixed upon Edith, the pale, frail-looking young woman, who turned and walked away on hearing her husband’s sharp call. In her mind’s eye she could see a young Edith, long legged and gawky, and the elegant, beautiful woman she had become, and somehow neither fitted with this exhausted-looking person.
Now that she was married, and had borne her own child, she struck Jeanne as being more of a child than before.
Exeter
‘There is no doubt whatsoever,’ Baldwin said.
Together with William Walle he had made his way here into the bishop’s little chamber as soon as they had finished interviewing the corrodian.
‘This man was a servant here?’ Bishop Walter said.
‘I can easily understand how distressing this must be for you,’ Baldwin said, and it was true. To have caught the person who had been leaving those foul messages would have been extraordinarily gratifying for Bishop Walter, removing fear and anxiety and restoring him to his old confident self.
‘So it wasn’t him? He appeared so obvious,’ the bishop said sadly.
When Baldwin had first stepped into the bishop’s private room here, he had found the man transformed. He stood straighter, walked purposefully, and generally looked as though he had returned to his usual equilibrium. His world was restored.
Now, in the space of a few moments, Baldwin had destroyed it all. ‘How could we have made such a simple error?’ the bishop wanted to know.
‘He was slightly deranged, and he reacted oddly when asked about what he saw that day.’
‘Slightly deranged? He was completely insane! To draw a knife on my nephew William …’ The bishop tutted.
‘This young servant, Paul of Taunton, who was the real culprit – Geoffrey caught him, and Paul then spun him a line, which the old fellow believed.’
When Baldwin had asked William how they had come to conclude that Geoffrey was the guilty party, he heard of the servant sweeping up the charnel chapel, and immediately set off to see if he was still about. But no one had seen Paul for days. Even now, men had been sent to the city and to the sheriff to ask that he be captured if found.
‘It seems clear enough that this fellow was the one responsible,’ Baldwin said. ‘I am sure that you will be safe now, Bishop. You were at most danger while he remained in here, in the Close, with you. Worse, he could wander in here to your palace with impunity, since he was known as a servant and lay-brother.’
‘But why though? I don’t know this Paul of Taunton,’ the bishop muttered. He was distracted, and John poured him a little wine to soothe his spirits.
‘The only thing I can suggest is, that you have a man go to Taunton to see what he may learn. Someone may remember him,’ Baldwin said. ‘How did he arrive here?’
The steward shrugged his shoulders. ‘There are many hundreds of men in the cathedral. Especially now with the rebuilding continuing. It is impossible to keep track of all of them.’
‘This man was not with the builders, John, he was in the cathedral, working as a servant in the buildings,’ Baldwin reminded him.
‘Yes, but there are so many. Do not forget, we have at least three and seventy clergy, and all have their own servants. The canons have entire households, and then there are the other men who work in the bakery, the kitchens, the cemetery and chapel. All told, we must have another hundred and fifty men who work in the cathedral and all about. This man Paul may have been hired by one of my servants, or he may have come from a canon’s household.’
‘You mean to tell me you don’t know who said he could work here?’ Baldwin demanded with surprise.
‘If he was here, working, he would have been accepted. Who would question whether he was permitted to be here, if he was performing useful work?’ John asked reasonably. ‘He was just another man to help with the cleaning.’
‘You do realise that if you allow just anyone to enter and remain here, working all day, then any man could walk in from the Broadgate and pretend to be a servant? What then of your lord’s security?’
‘Sir Baldwin, you are a man of experience and sense. Please, advise us,’ the bishop murmured. ‘What should we do to ensure that these threats may not be carried out?’
Baldwin frowned down at his boots. It was infuriating to be here, worrying about all this when there was so much else to take up his time. ‘My lord bishop, you know full well that I would do all in my power to protect you myself. You have been a good friend to me and to Simon in the last years. I would propose that you bring in more men to guard your person here, but that will hardly do. There are too many men about Exeter for you ever to be fully safe. I think that the best and most safe route may be for you to go away, to some other part of the diocese. You could go on visitation, perhaps.’
‘At this time of national peril, that hardly seems a suitable course of action,’ the bishop smiled. He looked exhausted, and rubbed at the gap between his eyebrows with a thumb. ‘I should be better served by joining with the king.’
‘Where is he?’ Baldwin demanded. The worst place, he knew, for the bishop to go would be London, where so many citizens already loathed him and would seek his murder since the Eyre which was forever associated with him.
‘He is still about Dover, I think. There were some papal legates who came to see him last month,’ the bishop said.
Baldwin gave a nod of relief. The bishop could go there and remain within the circle of the King’s household, away from strangers, and it would be more difficult for any man to travel after him to pursue a vendetta.
‘That is good,’ he said after considering. ‘Do you then go to the king and see whether there is aught you may do for him. He will be grateful for a friendly face at this troubling time. Meanwhile, have men search for this Paul of Taunton, if that is his real name, and have him apprehended. Are you sure you know nothing of him? You did not know a man from there who could have been his father?’
‘No. No one.’
‘In that case, perhaps it is an assumed name. Have you had any luck seeking the ones I found in your books?’
‘Only one: the man Biset.’
‘William told me. He is in France.’
‘Yes. The fellow Hamo in London is dead, I’ve heard. So it is possible that Roger Crok was the man here.’
‘You did not know him?’
‘I may have seen his face, but when you have stood in front of a congregation like me, you soon tend to lose all memory for faces. There are some I can recall, but not many. Only close acquaintances.’
‘It probably does not matter,’ Baldwin considered. ‘The fellow who was here was unlikely to be him. Those such as Biset and Crok come from positions of wealth, and they would be unlikely to demean themselves by taking up a servant’s post. If they were to attempt to kill you, surely they would do so in the open, attacking you with a sword.’
‘Perhaps,’ the bishop said, ‘but have you not heard of some of the surprising deaths in the Church recently? Poison has become a popular means of removing obstacles.’ He sighed and drained his wine. ‘So you would advise me to leave here and join the king. I suppose you are right, but it does give me a sense of shame to run thus.’
‘It would give you more pain to feel a dagger in your breast,’ Baldwin said.
‘I had heard you were to go to Portchester yourself?’
‘Yes. The king has asked me to go there as Commissioner of Array for him.’
‘Good. Then perhaps we could travel together? That would at least comfort me a little.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Exeter
Edith hardly noted the journey home. Her thoughts were on her father, and his best friend.
‘That woman Jeanne! She had a man with her, and I have seen him somewhere,’ Peter was grumbling as he went.
‘Yes, my love,’ Edith
said automatically.
Much of her life seemed to pass by automatically now. It was all a haze, ever since that terrible day last year when her father-in-law had told her that either she must renounce her own father and agree not to communicate with him or see him ever again, or she must accept that she was no longer welcome in her husband’s home, and must leave him to go back to her parents. To have told her that, when she was only married a matter of months, when she was feeling the new life growing in her womb, was the height of cruelty. She could scarcely believe her ears, let alone understand the utter irreversibility of her decision, once taken.
Before, she might have gone home to her parents, and then there could have been a reconciliation with her husband at some time in the future, when he had remembered his deep affection for her. Her absence might have brought him back to her. It must have done! But she had left it too long, and now it was quite impossible for her to change her mind, for although she would like to return to her real home, as she now thought of it, to do so would involve leaving behind her most precious possession: her baby son Henry.
‘You’re quiet. Do you feel unwell again?’ Peter asked.
She was able to respond with a calm enough smile, but she did indeed feel unwell. There was a queasiness in her belly that wouldn’t go away. She had thought to cure it with a letting of her blood, but it only left her with a pain in her forearm and a strange lassitude.
In the past she had never known such a tiredness. It was like a woman she once saw who was ill with some affliction that made her take to her bed and by degrees, she died. Just faded away and died. And that was how Edith felt now. On some days, the feeling of complete despair, coupled with the exhaustion that came from rising in the night to see to her child, was wearing her away. It felt as though there was no life left which was her own – all was given to her husband and her child. And the loss of her parents meant that she could not even call on her mother to come and help. Her mother-in-law was a good woman, but it was not the same, relying on someone whom she did not know so well.
The Bishop Must Die: (Knights Templar 28) Page 25
