The Bishop Must Die (15 page)

Old Peter eyed him for a few moments, and then shook his head, passing the parchment back to him. ‘This means nothing. The bishop may have been asked by someone else to see to lodging for them. He may have sent the men here on his own business, and they chose to steal from people on their own initiative.’

‘I disagree. I think this means that Bishop Walter of Exeter intended to kill me,’ John said calmly.

He left a short while later, leaving Old Peter kneeling before his little altar, praying that John was wrong. But John knew he
wasn’t. No, this was further proof that the bishop was prepared to use any means to remove him and win the manor.

That
bastard
! The action of Bishop Walter of Exeter was so disgraceful that it quite took his breath away. He would have his revenge on that scheming murderer, if it was the last thing he did in this life. How dare he, a man of God, behave in so feral a manner! He was a disgrace to his cloth.

And yet he was still a powerful man. Perhaps the third most powerful in the whole realm, after only the king and Despenser. His servants were dedicated to his protection, and all were armed.

No matter, John decided, as he climbed the stairs to his hall. He paused at the top, staring out over the landscape.

This was his land. He would not give it up, and if the bishop tried to remove him, he would fight for it.

If necessary, somehow he would kill the bishop himself.

‘So you asked him?’ the steward enquired.

William had lost that amiable expression for which he was so well noted. ‘This was so grave a shock to me – yes, I did.’

John de Padington looked him up and down with a considering expression. ‘I have been called astute in my time, and one is credited with such honours by dint of hard effort and the occasional recourse to strong wines. You look like a man who is in sore need of a potent drink to refresh your mind and your heart.’

He left the little chamber for a few minutes, and William walked to the stool beside the fire, listening to the sounds of crockery clattering. Soon the steward returned, a large jug in one hand, while in the other he carried two of his most prized possessions, a pair of green-glazed drinking horns, which he set on the floor beside him, and carefully poured from the jug.

‘What is that?’ William asked.

‘A good wine from the bishop’s own stores. He opened this a few weeks ago at a feast, and I took the remainder of the barrel. It would have soured if I’d left it,’ he added defensively.

‘This,’ William said, sniffing appreciatively, ‘would have been wasted as vinegar. Your health!’

After both had taken a large swallow, he continued.

‘I held this parchment up to him, and he just shook his head, wouldn’t even look at it. You know how he is. Usually he would scold me for looking at one of his documents; he would rant and roar and put the fear of God into any man whom he thought had been so presumptuous. But when I confronted him with this thing, he just looked abashed. It was as though he had been scared of it, and being shown it again redoubled his fears. He walked from me, keeping his back to me, and said nothing for a long time. I kept asking him, “Why didn’t you tell me? Tell any of us?” and all he would say was, “What good would that do?⁢€™

‘So what exactly did the parchment say?’ John asked. He had pulled up a small bench, and now he sat on it near the fire, opposite the squire, listening intently. ‘You told me it was threatening?’

‘It said
You, who think yourself above the law, you, who have destroyed so much with your avarice and abuse, your reckoning is at hand. Prepare to die.
’

‘What do you think that meant?’

‘Obviously that he has been guilty of offending someone. Perhaps a man he stole from?’

Both of them were quite well aware of the source of the bishop’s wealth. Bishop Walter II was not a violent nor a cruel man by nature, and yet all knew that he had tied his ambition to the king, and the possibilities for enriching himself had been, and still were, legion.

‘I know that the folk of London hate him,’ William added. ‘He was the instigator of the Grand Eyre of five years ago.’

‘Many detest him for that,’ John agreed shortly.

It was true. Londoners were growing more and more confident in their importance during the fourteenth year of King Edward II’s reign, and it was this, as well as the dire conditions of the king’s finances, which led to the Grand Eyre, the public inquisition into all rights, customs, taxes and liberties within the
city. To the administrative mind, it was a means of ensuring that those monies due to the crown were actually accumulated; in the opinion of the over-taxed and burdened population of London it was an unbearable trial, designed to ensure that all those who could not prove quickly with legal documents that they were entitled to their money would be forced to give it up to the king. Bishop Walter was the Lord High Treasurer, so it was he who had instigated this investigation, and thus it was he who was most loathed out of all the king’s advisers. In London he was looked upon as a thief who had stolen the bread from the mouths of all inhabitants.

‘What did he say?’ John asked more quietly.

‘You know him.’ William restlessly stretched a leg, and sat staring at the flames while he chewed his lower lip. ‘He said at first that he was not going to be made fearful by some anonymous threats; that the person who wrote that message was clearly lunatic, and not someone to be feared.’

‘And yet he has allowed himself to become fretful because of it,’ John noted.

‘Aye. He denies it, but it’s the truth. We both know that. He did declare that he had no idea who on earth could have sent it.’

‘Where did he find it?’

‘On his table. Someone had come in and put it there.’

‘Who?’

‘How can we find out? It was so long ago now, and my uncle didn’t bother to question anyone. He didn’t want people to think he was fearful of such threats, I think. His mind appears to have been set on other things at that time. He said that he didn’t readily understand the import of the message.’

‘So someone has said that they will see that he gets his reckoning,’ John repeated, nodding pensively to himself. ‘Well, you and I will have to be most vigilant. We will have to be at his side to protect him at all times.’

‘When we’re out here in the city, you mean.’

John turned his gaze on William. ‘No, Squire William. I mean at all times. Whoever had that message delivered here knew how
to get to the bishop, and also knew how to make him feel anxious. Anyone who is familiar with this city will know where the bishop lives, and what his habits are. It is not like the days when he was Lord High Treasurer and would disappear for weeks at a time. He was more or less safe in those days, for no one would be able to tell exactly where he might be at any time. And no one would ever try to attack the bishop in the king’s palace. He would suffer the most hideous death the king could devise! No, my master is in more danger here than he has been for many a long year. We must stay with him. He must never be alone.’

‘He will refuse to allow us to do that,’ William said gloomily.

John looked at him. ‘My dear squire, when you have been a servant as long as I have, you soon learn how to achieve what you want, no matter what the wishes of the master. He will not refuse
me
!’

It was disquieting in the extreme, to consider that the sheriff could have freed his brother from the bishop’s gaol.

‘Call him here to answer to me immediately! He cannot escape my fury with a blithe statement that he knows not where his brother is,’ Bishop Walter said with cold rage after reading the sheriff’s reply.

Alone again, he clenched his fists. There had been a time, when he was considerably younger, when he would not have taken such an insult without immediate retaliation.

Some while later there came a knock, and the bishop fitted a cold stern gaze to his face. ‘Yes?’

‘Bishop. I am so glad to see you,’ the sheriff said, entering with a show of respect, bowing low, walking to the bishop’s side, kneeling and kissing the episcopal ring. ‘How may I serve you?’

‘You can tell me where your brother is.’

‘You installed him in your gaol, I had heard.’ James de Cockington assumed a mildly enquiring expression.

‘Which is why you saw fit to bribe my gaoler and have him released. Your brother will not escape my vengeance, you realise? I will have him hunted down and brought back here, and held until I deem his crime has been paid for. Until he has submitted to my judgement, he will remain outcast.’

‘Bishop, I am not concerned with that. For now, I need to speak about other matters. The king has sent to demand that the counties all begin to plan for defence. It would appear that his wife the queen is definitely preparing to attack the realm, and as
you can imagine, that will leave me with much to do. I should be glad for some advice.’

‘There was a time when a fellow like you would have quaked to think of the divine retribution that would be brought upon his head for flagrantly flouting the law,’ Bishop Walter said with a glower as he tried to discern the man’s expression.

‘Bishop, I shall be entirely candid,’ the sheriff said. He hesitated, but then spoke a little more quietly. ‘When I heard you had arrested my brother, I was shocked. He is not some peasant who can be held, after all. He was my father’s son. And I confess, I thought that the fact that my own brother could be restrained might well damage my standing in the city. It was not just that Paul is weak and would not suffer imprisonment well, but the fact of the damage that your actions might do to me, to my office, and thus to the government of the whole shire.’

‘What damage is this?’ Bishop Walter scoffed.

‘Simply this: the shire is no more nor less stable than the rest of the kingdom. We must have strong leadership at this time. And who will be able to give it? The king, through the system of sheriffs. We receive our orders, and we execute them. No matter what the command is, we enforce it. If the king demands that I seek out all the Frenchmen in the city, I will do so. I am his representative here in Devon. And if he desires me to raise a force to obstruct an invader’s might, I must do so.’

‘Of course.’

‘Yes. But if I am looked upon as someone with little authority, a man who can see his own brother captured and held in a prison, a man who is associated with gaoled criminals, some of the peasants may begin to believe that I am in fact no more to be trusted than a felon myself. They may consider that my own commands, legally issued in the king’s name, can be easily ignored. They may come to believe that they can ignore me, ignore the king, ignore the dire circumstances in which we find ourselves.’

‘This is twaddle, sheriff! The people here need a strong hand to guide them, it is true, but that does not mean that they would
look down upon you, were your brother to be held here. No, it would more likely make them look up to you as a man of honour. Instead, you have set yourself apart from them. You have made it look as though you consider the law matters nothing when it is pointing at you or your family. You have brought your shrievalty into disrepute, and it will remain a shameful mark on your reputation for all time.’

‘You think it is all imagined, then? I have orders here. We must provide officers to the ports to test all goods coming into the country or leaving, to see whether there are any messages secreted amidst them. That is how serious the king considers the peril to be, which faces the realm. But you know better than him, I suppose. I would have asked you to provide some potential names for these duties. I believe a bailiff of Dartmoor once was the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth under Abbot Champeaux? He is the sort of man we need. Well, if you can think of any others, I would be grateful.’

He stood, rudely forbearing from bowing to the bishop again, but at the door he paused.

‘Bishop, I do not condone what my younger brother did to that poor woman. But I believe I did the right thing in removing him. I believe it was better for all concerned. Please, do me the honour of trusting me when I say this.’

The door closed firmly behind him, leaving the bishop feeling angry, but also anxious. He sighed and offered a short prayer for Simon’s protection. ‘Dear God, Sir Baldwin was right. Simon has lost so much in the last year – don’t make me have to send him to the coast now!’

It was late in the morning by the time they had finished their discussions, and the mood of both men, Margaret could see, was greatly improved. Indeed, she could hardly have believed that such a transformation was possible, had she not seen it for herself.

The genuine affection which she saw in Baldwin’s eyes was enough to convince her that their old companion had never lost
his friendship for them. How the two men could have grown so estranged was astonishing to her, for she had known them always to be so close. Yet it was true that the previous year, only three short months ago, the two men had fallen out, and Simon in particular had seemed entirely unwilling to forget the cause of their dispute. And it was not to be wondered at, for she knew that her husband was so entirely devoted to their daughter that he would kill to protect her; and because he was convinced that Baldwin’s actions had placed Edith’s life at risk, he felt he might never trust the knight again.

But with the fact of Edith’s near-gaoling by her father-in-law, and because she was prevented from contacting her parents, Simon’s antipathy to Baldwin was leavened by his urgent need for a friend in this troubling time. And Baldwin’s arrival with a message from Edith, as well as his proposal for maintaining a communication with her, had been enough to return Simon to his earlier state of comradeship with his old friend.

Watching Baldwin ride away at about noon, she gently linked her arm with her husband’s. ‘It is good to see you so happy again, my love.’

‘Happy? Aye, well, it is encouraging to know that he has ideas for keeping in contact with our maid. If ever a man could wheedle his way into a wench’s affections, it was Edgar. The fellow has the luck of a devil when it comes to enticing women.’