The Malice of Unnatural Death: (54 page)

‘This need not happen. If you are honourable in your dealings …’

‘There are honourable men in parliament?’ Baldwin asked scathingly.

‘If there are too few, you could help! Become a member of the government, and do the good you crave!’

‘One man against the rest?’ Baldwin smiled. ‘How refreshing that one can be so influential.’

‘The king needs sensible, level-headed advisers. If you join his parliament you can do much good. Help him make the right
decisions.’

‘By advising him to do whatever he wishes, you mean? His friends the Despensers would soon have my head if I recommended any
action which they deemed against
their
interests.’

‘You must appreciate the danger which surrounds the realm, Sir Baldwin. We are a small nation. The world’s
greatest army is only a few leagues over the sea. The king of France could attempt to invade us at any time, and can you imagine
how well our host would acquit itself against his men? Armoured knights in their thousands. Bowmen from Genoa and Lorraine,
men-at-arms from all over France, Lombardy, you name it, all will flock to his banner to take a piece of the profits of stealing
our king’s inheritance. Do you want to see that?’

‘He has the best ambassador he could wish, yet he holds her prisoner.’

‘The queen’s loyalty is not absolute. Her brother is king of France. Which man should she support?’

‘Her king – but he is the very man who has humiliated her recently. He must make amends.’

‘And it requires men of standing and character to make sure he realises that.’

Baldwin smiled thinly. ‘You think he would listen to a knight from his shires?’

‘If enough in parliament said the same, then yes. He might.’

‘What of you, Bishop? Would you support the queen?’

Stapledon looked away for a moment, but then said quietly, ‘Yes. I would help anyone who could ease our affairs abroad.’ He
looked across at Baldwin and smiled thinly. ‘Does that surprise you?’

To answer a question like that directly was dangerous. ‘It was only a short while ago that you told me you had suggested that
our queen’s household should be dispersed. Then you told me that you thought you were to be asked to administer her estates
in Devon and Cornwall. What is next? Her children to be taken from her?’

Bishop Stapledon nodded slowly. ‘They are heirs to the English crown. They must be protected.’

‘You
would have them removed from their mother?’

‘For their protection – yes.’

That was the moment when Baldwin changed his mind, he realised later. At the time he simply left the bishop without agreeing
or refusing, but later he knew he would have to go. It was while he was sitting in his hall, his daughter Richalda on his
knee, listening to her cooing and singing. The thought that the king could accept the advice of others and have his wife deprived
of her children was so repugnant, it made him feel physically sickened. If the best advice the king was receiving led him
to take his children from their mother, Baldwin could hardly do less good. He could sit back in comfort here in Furnshill
and complain, easing his soul with the reflection that it would do little good for him to lose his own life and thereby lose
his children. Better to be in at the fight.

‘I will go,’ he muttered.

‘What was that, my love?’ his wife asked.

Baldwin looked at her and then he smiled. The decision was made. His fate was sealed. ‘Would you like to travel to London,
wife?’

Simon endured the ride to Tavistock without listening to much of Busse’s talk. So far as he was concerned, the task was complete: Busse had been followed, and he had indeed tried to visit Langatre. It was a shame, especially since Simon was still convinced
that Busse would make the better abbot.

It was a thought that remained with him all the way back, and for his part Busse seemed pensive too. Only Rob was his usual
self, whistling tunelessly, talking and complaining about the length of the journey. ‘Is it far now?’

‘Be
silent!’ Simon snapped after the last plaintive cry. ‘Christ in chains, you whine like a child!’

‘It is very cold, is it not?’ Busse commented, his cloak pulled tight about him.

Simon looked about him wonderingly. There was no snow, no hail, not even a fine mizzle, which was a blessing. ‘It’s not too
bad.’

‘You are not talking to me, Bailiff. Are you so concerned about my misdemeanours that you refuse to speak to me any further?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Busse smiled quietly at that, and was quiet.

On this return journey Simon had acquiesced in the monk’s wishes concerning their route, and now they were passing along the
great road to Cornwall, passing through Crediton, then south-west along to the northern tip of the moors before turning southwards. As the sun started to sink in the west, they reached the little village of Bow, a place Simon knew quite well, and he was
looking forward to stopping for the night. There was a windblown and sad-looking furze bush hanging over the door of the large
inn at the centre, and he suggested that they pause for the evening.

Soon they were inside, Simon gripping a large jug of ale, warming it with the poker he had heated in the fire. Busse had a
large mazer of wine in his hand, and he smiled with a sort of sad amiability as Simon tested his ale. ‘You appear to have
lost all confidence in me, Bailiff. Do you think that I will lose the post?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that sort of thing,’ Simon said uncomfortably.

‘But you think that a future abbot should not indulge his whimsy by consulting a man like Langatre?’

Simon
set his jaw, but he was no hypocrite. ‘I do not suppose to understand the use of a man like him.’

Busse’s brows rose. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A necromancer. A man who …’ Simon’s hand lifted, and he wriggled his fingers as he sought for the correct word. ‘Who
conjures demons to do his bidding. I’ll have nothing to do with such things, and I don’t understand why anyone else would. I fear such things too much to …’

‘Simon … oh, Bailif! Do you think I would ask him to produce a black demon to go to Tavistock and carry away my brother
de Courtenay?’ Busse suddenly chuckled aloud. ‘Oh, Bailiff – would that it were that easy! No, all Langatre can do is foretell
a little of the future. Not that accurately, I dare say, but he is a useful man to speak to. It seems to clear any confusion. And I had much before I made this journey. I wanted to think more deeply about whether I wanted to be the abbot. I was not
sure. In my humility, I wondered whether de Courtenay might not be a better man for the job than me. And that made me fear.’

‘And Langatre put your mind at rest?’

Busse nodded, his eyes shining in the firelight. ‘He pointed out to me that a man who was anxious about the awesome responsibilities
of power would perhaps be better for our community than one who was utterly convinced of his fitness for the duty.’

‘So a man who thinks he is right for a job is necessarily the worst man for it, eh?’ Simon ventured.

‘Unless it is a mason taking on a building, or a herdsman asking to look after the cattle!’

Simon nodded to himself. ‘Or,’ he added, ‘a good stannary bailiff who finds himself promoted to a new post in a different
town.’

‘As
I said on the way to Exeter, my friend, if you wish to leave that post and become a bailiff once more, I should be pleased
to confirm it. What did de Courtenay offer you?’

Simon shrugged. ‘What does it matter what he suggested?’

‘Well, if he had asked you to watch me at every moment, and report back to him, then there could be some trouble for me. If
you preferred him to me, that is.’

‘You knew?’

‘From the first moment after we arrived in Exeter when I turned and noticed that excellent servant of yours behind me. His
stern visage is hardly inconspicuous even in a large gathering. So what will you do?’

‘I cannot lie to him,’ Simon said, aiming an idle kick at his snoring servant.

‘No – but if you do not embellish, I will be content.’

Simon eyed him, and gave a slow grin. ‘All right.’

Busse raised his mazer. ‘A toast, then: to brother de Courtenay, and his patience, for I hope to be in post for many long
years to come. And another toast, my friend: to the good stannary bailiff, and long may he endure on the moors with the tinners
he administers!’

Monday, Christmas Eve

And
as they drank into the long night, Will closed the door on his wife’s petulant complaints, hunched his shoulders against the
cold, and set off once more on his nightly route, up the great street from the South Gate, and right along the way to the Palace Gate. He passed down the alley, and when he reached the burned remains of his house he stopped for a long time and
stood, staring, at the place where his children had lain.

His body was found the next morning, huddled in a corner of the path, not far from where Mucheton had been murdered. There
was no sign of pain on his face, and no apparent wound when Coroner Richard had him stripped and rolled over.

‘So what in God’s name was there for him to smile about when he died, then, eh?’ the coroner muttered to himself.

‘Peace, Coroner,’ Baldwin said. ‘Just peace.’

Maurice found a shelter as he walked down past Scorhill. For a man used to constructing little shelters, it was always
easy to find a place. Always look for a fallen tree, look away from the wind, and imagine how someone else would make a refuge. This one was hardly the picture of comfort, and some of the covering had blown away, but it took little time to gather up
more fallen leaves from about the place and replenish the roof of the little shelter, and for one man there was space to spread
out inside.

This was not the direction the sheriff would have expected him to go, and he was moderately certain that he was safe here
for a while if he wanted. After a few days he could leave and make his way to the coast, pick up a ride with a sailor there. There were no fishermen or traders who had much respect for the king. They deprecated his customs and tolls on all their efforts.

Soon he would be able to escape and make his way to France. And once there, he would find Lord Roger Mortimer and join his
force.

There was nothing left for this country but war and death. And to the victor there would be a great spoil: England.

Maurice broke twigs and gave a hawkish smile. Yes. He would like to be with Mortimer when the lord returned. The rewards would
be great.

But his levity was short-lived. The last weeks in Exeter had been sad. To have to say farewell to his sister had wrenched
at his heart – and then there were all the strange events and the murders.

He was glad that the girl had been safe, although it had shocked him to see that the man who went to the hayloft to rescue
her had been the same man who had killed the fellow in the undercroft that day. As old Will had lifted the latch on the hay
loft, Maurice had grabbed his sword-hilt, ready to go and protect the child, but then he saw how kindly the old
fellow had helped her down, and passed her his own old cloak, a dreadful, worn and threadbare one compared with the newer,
but bloody one he had discarded in the alley after the killing, and Maurice had felt easier in his mind.

Trailing after the two, he was still bitter that the girl had been left in the loft all night. He’d returned to the place
early in the morning to make sure that she had been released, and when he saw that the doors were still locked, he’d almost
gone to open them and see whether she had escaped, but Will’s appearance had saved him the effort. Typical, he thought, that
a priest should leave the poor girl up there all night – but then she was probably warm enough, and safe enough from most
dangers.

There would be more danger to come. He hoped she would be safe … and that his sister too would be safe from the risks
of the war which was surely coming now.

He had taken his leave of her two days ago. At the time she had said that her husband was well enough protected because of
his alliances with the king’s advisors. And it was that which worried him most, because if she depended on Despenser, Maurice
was sure that her husband would be viewed as an enemy by those who would come to seek Despenser’s destruction. Like these
madmen who proposed to remove him by means of mommets made of wax.

Fools! The only secure way to remove a man like Despenser was with a steel blade in the ribs, not some nonsense with a little
lead or horn pin.

Still, provided he could return here to protect his sister before anything went wrong, the coming war should give him a chance
to renew his fortune.

War could not come soon enough.

He shivered uncontrollably now. His unkempt beard was alive with creatures that bit and scuttled, making him scratch and rub
until sores formed. After so long in gaols, he had the prisoner’s contant cough, the bowed back and anxious, fretful expression,
knowing that any day could be his last.

When he first came here, he tried to keep a tally of the days by scratching into the stonework of the walls with a rock, but
that had soon failed him when winter arrived and day followed night without light. It was impossible to tell what was happening
outside, and soon all seemed irrelevant. What was the point of reflecting on the world outside when all that mattered was
in here?

It was four or five years now since Robert le Mareschal had been first arrested. At the time it had seemed to him that he
would probably soon be rewarded, but although he had waited long for the news, nothing had happened. In those days, of course,
he had still been away at Coventry. That was when he had stood up in court and made his prosecution.

Perhaps it was foolish to expect many of them to break down and confess, but how was he to know? He was unused to the ways
of the king’s courts. All he knew was, he had to stand and make his accusation. That was what Croyser had said, anyway, and
the sheriff had appeared to be on his side. He’d been almost as nervous as Robert as they waited for the jury to arrive. It
seemed that way to Robert, anyway.