The King's Bishop (27 page)

A flare of the nostrils. ‘Not at all, Your Grace. I am your devoted servant.’ Michaelo smiled. ‘And, of course, there are the petitioners to consider.’

‘A pox on the petitioners, Michaelo. Adam can tell them to return as well as you. Come along with me.’

‘And what of Brother Florian? According to his letter he might arrive today …’ Michaelo looked down as if bored, brushed some crumbs off the table at which he stood, shrugged. ‘But he will be weary and glad of a chance to rest before he presents himself.’

Thoresby was glad of his secretary’s averted eyes, else he might see his master’s confusion. He had forgotten about Florian’s note of a few days past. The monk had been long in his service, and time and again had proved his skill in finding folk who hoped to disappear into the crowded city of London. Florian had sent word that a Don Paulus had recently arrived at a hospital in the city, and the monk would seek him out the following day, delivering the friar to Windsor if he proved to be the one Thoresby sought.

The very news Thoresby had awaited. He recalled his excitement upon reading it. And then to have forgotten it so completely, as if it were of no consequence. An unpleasant result of age, deeply disturbing to Thoresby, who had always prided himself on his memory. ‘I hardly think Florian will arrive so early in the day, but in the event he does, have Adam escort him out to the vineyard.’

‘With the friar if he has found him?’

Thoresby gave a brusque nod. ‘All the better to speak with him away from the ears of court.’

Michaelo smiled. ‘I doubt you will be the only one enticed into the gardens by the weather.’

Don Paulus was a round barrel of a man, his face ruddy and pleasant. Not at all what Thoresby had expected. ‘You come here willingly? You mean to tell me what you know?’

The friar bowed. ‘God has revealed to me my duty in this, Your Grace.’

More likely the ranks of those seeking him convinced him, but no matter. ‘God bless you, Don Paulus. We are grateful, you may be sure. Are you comfortable walking, or would you return to my chambers?’

The keen eyes glanced down the tidy rows of vines, took in the emptiness. ‘This would seem an ideal setting for the dangerous confidences I am about to impart, Your Grace. We might see any intruders long before they could hear us.’ Paulus tucked his hands up his sleeves, rolled back his shoulders.

Dangerous? Thoresby found it almost amusing to think the round little man might bear dangerous tidings. ‘And you, Brother Florian?’ Thoresby asked the white-haired monk. ‘Do you mind being on your feet in the fresh air?’

‘I am yours to command, Your Grace. But I should like to participate. You know that you may trust me to be silent.’

‘Silence may not be sufficient in this instance,’ Don Paulus said, his tone incongruously pleasant.

‘Do not condescend to me, Don Paulus,’ Florian growled.

‘I meant nothing of the sort, I assure you,’ the friar was quick to reply.

‘Then come, gentlemen, let us walk,’ Thoresby said
with impatience. Yet he set a slow pace, noted the buds on the vines, the rich soil. ‘Beneath here lies chalk, apparently a benefit to vines, though not much else. A fortunate coincidence, eh?’

Don Paulus replied with a brief exposition on the chalky regions of France and the excellent wine produced. ‘Though of course the climate is gentler; for May, this would be a chilly day in Bordeaux.’

‘You are a herbalist who digs in the soil,’ Thoresby said.

‘I rarely have the opportunity, but yes, I enjoy a day in the garden.’ The friar had withdrawn his hands from his sleeves and clasped them behind him, looking thoughtful. ‘But Brother Florian did not seek me out and bring me here to speak of gardens with the Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England. Please, Your Grace. Ask me what you would.’ Paulus smiled down at the mounds of manure beneath some of the vines. ‘An experimenter, the vintner here.’

Thoresby found the man’s calm quite remarkable. ‘Why did you disappear, Don Paulus?’

A shrug. ‘I felt it was dangerous to know what I knew and to have communicated with a man marked for death.’ Don Paulus paused, turned to Thoresby with a serious face. ‘More to the point, and even less to my credit, fear drove me to keep silent about the young woman floating in the Thames. I knew I could not help her, I could see she was dead – I have seen enough of death to know it before me – but her soul might have yet lingered. And I did nothing but sign a blessing over her and pray for her soul.’ Paulus closed his eyes, shook his head.

‘And you come forward now?’

‘Come forward?’ Paulus chuckled. ‘In truth, it took much effort on Brother Florian’s part to ferret me out.
But then I was perversely relieved to see him. I felt unclean. And I feared that once such cowardice is permitted, it will shortly become habit. I prayed that would not be so, but I feared it was the inevitable outcome. Once soiled, never truly clean. The memory of the stain is in the fabric.’

Thoresby began to suspect the pleasant face masked a dissembler. ‘Come now, Don Paulus, was it not reassuring to discover
I
had sent Florian? That someone of my stature was concerned about this?’

Don Paulus shrugged. ‘As I said, once soiled …’

Thoresby glanced at Brother Florian, who gave him a sidewise look that promised a good story when they were alone. Thoresby resumed walking. ‘How did you and Don Ambrose meet?’

The hands returned to the sleeves. ‘We studied together at Oxford.’ Paulus now walked with great concentration on his sandalled feet.

‘You were good friends?’

Don Paulus sighed. ‘It is difficult in our order to develop lasting friendships. We move about …’

Irritated, Thoresby cleared his throat.

‘No, Your Grace. We were not good friends.’

‘How did he come to confide in you?’

‘I was at the leper house nearby. He came to me, remembering my knowledge of herbs. He wondered whether I knew of a way to detect poison in food or drink.’

Poison? ‘And why did he seek this information?’

‘At first he told me that he was to join the household of Don William of Wykeham, a man who had many enemies.’

‘Wykeham? Enemies who would poison him? I hardly think so.’

Paulus nodded. ‘I told him that any enemies bold
enough to poison the King’s favourite would be paying gold coin that would afford subtle poisons, undetectable by a layman. Or myself, even.’

‘Would they indeed?’

‘Well, I should think so, Your Grace. But it is only a theory. In any case, Ambrose returned a few days later. “What if the victim were not so lofty a person? What if he were one of us?” God forgive me, but that made me curious, for it was clear Ambrose feared for himself. He was a chaplain at Windsor Castle. I considered how easily such a chaplain might be drawn into trouble. So I asked him whom he feared.’ Paulus now glanced round, noted a gardener working in the next row. ‘Perhaps we might continue at the far end?’

They crossed the vineyard in silence.

‘Continue, Don Paulus,’ Thoresby commanded when the friar stood with his hands behind his back, staring, apparently enthralled, at the unfinished wall of the castle, showing no sign of speaking.

The friar started, shrugged, smiled ingenuously. ‘Forgive me, Your Grace. The aspect of the castle is so lovely …’

‘Tell me whom Ambrose feared before I have you dumped into the wall as fill,’ Thoresby growled.

Paulus brought his hands forward, clasped before him, and nodded. ‘He feared Sir William of Wyndesore and Mistress Alice Perrers, Your Grace.’

Thoresby recalled the time he had come upon Alice arguing with a man in the courtyard at Windsor Castle. It might have been Wyndesore. He also remembered Alice’s blush when she replied,
I know him
. ‘An interesting pair. Why did he fear them?’

‘Because, Your Grace, he had married them. In a secret ceremony.’ The friar smiled smugly.

Thoresby was stunned. ‘Impossible.’

Don Paulus threw up his hands. ‘It would seem so, yet Don Ambrose swore it, and he predicted the death of Perrers’s maid after that of Wyndesore’s page. They were the witnesses.’

That gave Thoresby’s stomach a twist. A logical connection, priest and witnesses. But so cold-blooded. ‘Then there is no record of such a marriage?’

‘A written record, Your Grace, which can be silenced more reliably than people.’

‘When Ambrose came to you with this story, neither witness had died?’

‘Only the lad.’

‘Ambrose had feared poisoning. When he learned he was to ride north for the King, did he still fear poisoning?’

A shrug. ‘How can I know everything that was in his mind? He asked that I send a message to our house in York if I heard aught of Mary; he knew she was frightened. She had come to him several times to confess her sins, fearing death was near.’

‘Poor child,’ Brother Florian said, crossing himself.

Ah yes, the difference in rank; Brother Florian had the leisure for pity. Thoresby had to try to absorb all he heard and ask the right questions. Time later for pity. He wished to finish with Paulus, send this horrid little man away. ‘You say Ambrose feared Wyndesore and Perrers? They told him to keep silent?’

‘Which he vowed he would.’

‘And yet he told you.’

‘As I have told you, he came to me about detecting poisons.’

‘Who did he fear would carry out his poisoning?’

‘He did not know. He told me how Townley had quickly been declared innocent by Mistress Perrers
after the page was found dead – too quickly, perhaps? So Ambrose was frightened when he heard that Townley was to ride north with him, if he was indeed involved with Mistress Perrers in some way. To make matters worse, two of Wyndesore’s men were in the company.’

Wyndesore. That name kept coming up. ‘After he received your letter in York Ambrose focused his fear on Townley. Perhaps he should have remained fearful of the others.’

‘I think not. One of my order in York tells me the commander of the company from York was a Captain Archer, not only a spy and Townley’s friend but the spouse of an apothecary with access to poisons. No doubt Don Ambrose learned this.’

‘Don Ambrose was not poisoned.’

A momentary hesitation. ‘No?’

Thoresby shook his head. ‘And what of Mary’s death? Surely you do not think Townley had his leman murdered?’

‘How sincere was his love, I wonder? Don Ambrose told me Townley was Lancaster’s man. The Duke’s disapproval of Don William is known in our order; we count him a friend. It seems plausible Townley allowed himself to be caught up in a plot to thwart Wykeham’s ambitions by ruining the mission.’

‘With murder? Townley would not be so cold-blooded.’

Don Paulus shrugged. ‘I came but to tell you what I know, Your Grace, not to argue for it.’

‘Indeed. Let us walk while I consider what you have told me. I may have more questions for you.’ Thoresby must put aside his disbelief and consider the friar’s story. If it was possible, if Alice Perrers had married without the King’s permission – for why else would it
be kept secret – then where did the friar’s story dissatisfy? Perhaps in the drawn-out plot against Ambrose. The others had been dispatched quickly and within easy reach. ‘Why send Ambrose north? Why risk his escape?’

‘I am afraid no one thought to tell me, Your Grace.’ A smirk.

Thoresby realised his hands were clenched. He relaxed them at his sides. ‘Any thoughts on the matter?’

‘Ambrose was of higher station than the maid or page. His death might have warranted an investigation.’

‘But it still does.’

‘Perhaps three deaths at Windsor would cause too much gossip?’ Paulus shrugged.

Why did even that slight gesture make Thoresby bristle? What did he despise so in the man standing before him? When this conversation had begun Thoresby had thought Don Paulus much pleasanter than he had earlier imagined him to be, much calmer. He was an actor, but he was useful. They had forced him from his hiding, but he had then co-operated as if he’d meant to all along. And he seemed to be enjoying himself. Brother Florian had expressed pity for the maid he had never seen; this man … Ah. There was a mystery.

‘Don Paulus, how were you able to recognise Perrers’s maid in the river? When had you met her?’

Paulus held up a finger. ‘The very question I expected. I had seen her with her mistress, in the town. I grew curious about Mistress Perrers after hearing Ambrose’s story, and desired to learn more about her. Powerful young woman.’ He shook his head. ‘But who am I to judge? I discovered she had a
house in town, near the river. I sold some herbs to her cook, dallied long enough to see the King’s leman. And her maid. The maid was fair. I was heartsick to see her floating in the river, her midnight tresses a graceful cloud round her.’

With every word Thoresby disliked the friar more. ‘You shall stay here at the castle until I release you, Don Paulus. In case I have more questions.’

The friar frowned at Florian. ‘But you said …’

‘Spend your time in penance, Don Paulus. To leave a young woman in the river like that …’ Florian shook his head.

‘See me after you have the friar settled,’ Thoresby called to Florian over his shoulder as he headed back to his apartment. He had an irrational desire to wash his hands.