The Bishop Must Die

Chapter Thirty-Three

Tower of London

When he heard someone calling him, Simon was at first surprised then confused. It was the voice of a man he knew all too well, but this was not his natural environment.

‘Simon! It is inordinately good to see you. And Sir Baldwin with you?’

‘Sir Peregrine! In God’s name, I hadn’t expected to find you here,’ Simon said.

‘Ah, but like a rotten apple I have a habit of appearing when you least expect me. You select the apple, you clean it, you open your mouth and sink your teeth inside, and as you chew, you see the half of the worm in the rotten hole in the middle, eh? That’s how you look on me!’

‘Not at all, Sir Peregrine,’ Simon chuckled. ‘It is always good to see you. And I hope I find you well this fine day?’

‘I am better than well. I am in the peak of fitness, and I feel delighted to be here in the city again.’

‘You do?’ Simon was surprised. ‘I thought you detested this place, calling it a cesspit and midden. You used to say that London was a reflection of the people who ruled, and you usually had a word or two to put in about Sir Hugh le Despenser.’

‘Yes, but I have had a most fortunate experience since then. I have discovered a lady …’

‘And this poor, misfortunate lady is the focus of your adoration?’

‘I am afraid so.’

‘She surely cannot like you?’

‘Ah, well, on occasion she does. When we journeyed here, my friend, she appeared to lose some affection for me, but when we arrived, I insisted that she come to the Tower as my guest, and gradually I have felt her warm to me. I hope … Perhaps given time, I may, um …’

Simon smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘In that case, Sir Peregrine, may I buy you a pint of wine? If you are as fortunate as you clearly think, I can only wish you all the good luck in the world. The love of a good woman is a marvellous thing.’

‘I think I am lucky. She has been struck with misfortune herself. She has been widowed twice, while I have lost my own loves, as you know. Perhaps we shall find comfort with each other.’

‘I most certainly hope so,’ Simon said, as he led the way to the bar. ‘And what other news do you have?’

‘Little that is good,’ Sir Peregrine sighed. He waved to the bottler and ordered wine for them both, then continued, ‘There are plenty of tales of a fleet forming across the Channel. Over a hundred ships, they say, and a great force of men to fill them.’

‘Will the queen travel with them? Mortimer surely will be aboard to lead the attack, but will she?’ Simon wondered.

‘Mortimer is a strong man. He wouldn’t leave behind his best bargaining counter. No, he will have her with him, as a figurehead and quencher of opposition. Few would dare to raise a hand against the mother of the next king. Nor the wife of the present one,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Queen Isabella covers all those who may ally themselves with the king. She protects Mortimer from all.’

‘What of the people when she lands, though? I have been Keeper of the Port, both at Dartmouth and at Portchester, so I know how many men a ship will carry. Even a hundred and fifty ships would only give them some one and a half thousand men, tightly packed. That cannot be enough to roll over the opposition.’

‘You may be surprised at the opposition,’ Sir Peregrine said sagely. ‘You know how hated Despenser is in the country. How many will seriously raise a hand to defend him?’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ Simon said doubtfully. It was an unpleasant thought, that only a tiny number would bother to try to defend the king, and yet he would not himself. Not because he had a lack of respect for his king, but because he had an overriding detestation for the Despenser. ‘Is there any news from the south coast?’

‘South? No news of any attacks, so far as I know,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘It all appears to be concentrating about Hainault.’

‘So, anyway,’ Simon said. ‘Tell me about your woman …?’

Friday before the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary^*

London

Simon had managed to find the extra men he felt were needed, and had viewed them all with William’s help. He had insisted upon questioning all of them at length, before telling them why they were needed. The process had taken much of the previous afternoon and evening. By the time he returned to his own chamber, Margaret, Perkin and Rob were already asleep, and he had sat up in front of his fire with a large cup of wine which Hugh had brought for him.

‘How’s the brat?’ Simon had asked, nodding towards Rob.

‘Argumentative little prickle,’ was the gloomy response. ‘He’ll not make a servant while he’s got a hole in his arse.’

‘The only time I have seen him obey anyone was when Sir Richard de Welles met him.’

Hugh grunted. He was quiet a moment, then, ‘I think the devil himself would obey if Sir Richard stood over him.’

‘True enough,’ Simon had chuckled.

The memory of Hugh’s glum expression made him grin again now, as he walked about the yard outside the bishop’s rooms. There was little enough to make him grin else. The men were all in their allotted places, and the bishop was safe indoors, but in the name of Christ, all it meant was that Simon was the gaoler of the bishop.

At lunchtime, he decided that he would have to get outside the castle to stretch his legs. He had a fancy for some fish, and thought he might surprise Margaret with it, so he arranged for William to take over for a little while, and walked out.

At different times in the last year he had come to London with Baldwin. It was big, rumbustious, garish, in a way that was thrilling and worrying at the same time. He had always felt moderately safe, but not today. He had only walked a few paces before he felt the mood of the city. He should have noticed it when he arrived with Meg, but somehow he hadn’t — probably because they had travelled so far that day, and his thoughts were totally focused on reaching a warm fire and a bowl of food.

But here, on the streets, he couldn’t miss it.

The lanes and roadways were thronging with people. It was the sort of city where a man could become lost in an instant. Men, women, horses, dogs — the press was so thick, Simon often had to shoulder his way through. Tranters and sellers of all types bellowed their wares, and Simon was almost knocked to the ground by a horse which came from behind him as he gaped at a collection of pies in one shopfront. As it was, the thing scraped an iron-shod hoof down the side of his leg, and he had to bite back a curse as he fell. Still, it could have been much worse.

‘Arrogant arsehole!’ one man roared, and bent to help Simon. ‘Master? Are you all right? It’s the pig-swyvers like that one who cause all the trouble here in the city. How can decent fellows live when morons like that ride about like fools and threaten to break your leg for you?’

Simon thanked him and stood. All around, there were others who had seen the incident, and Simon saw a man hawk and spit in the direction of the man on the horse, while a woman clenched her fist and shrieked imprecations after him. Simon glanced about him and was shocked by the angry mood of the crowd.

It was the same wherever he went. The whole city appeared to be on edge. Many blamed the king for all their woes, while more still spoke of Despenser. As for Bishop Walter, he was disparaged loudly and with venom. One man, who was quickly hushed, roared that the sooner the king’s friends were dead, the happier the realm would be. There were many who harboured that sentiment, Simon included.

He hurried to the market at Billingesgate, bought some good white fish, then set off back to the Tower, listening intently to the conversations on all sides. His concern grew at every step.

This was a city preparing to overthrow its king.

Near Rouen, Normandy

Following a poor night’s rest, Baldwin had his riders ready a little after dawn. For the most part they were young fellows with no experience of war. Three were squires, who had at least trained, but the rest were peasants who happened to be able to ride. So be it.

‘Come, Jack,’ he said to the boy, and helped him to his pony. ‘Now, don’t forget, if there is to be a fight, you must hold back with the packhorses. Don’t try to join us — you’ll be trampled in an instant. Better that you stay back with our goods so that we can know our food is safe.’

He had insisted on bringing supplies with them. It was conventional for a force like his to live from the land on a chevauchée, but Baldwin knew it would turn the locals against them, were they to rob a farm. Better by far to slip through unnoticed, ride quickly down to Rouen, take the duke if possible, and hurry back.

It was good country down here, too. The little farms looked prosperous, their fields good and green. The harvest was in, and Baldwin often saw the families about their work in the fields, looking after their animals or working on buildings, preparing them for winter. One little boy waved happily from his pasture where he was supposed to be watching a small flock of sheep. It was a perfect pastoral picture.

They were following the river. A poor track wound about the northern bank, and although it was occasionally muddy and foul, it was better than trying to cut their way through the pastures and hedges that lay beyond. Baldwin urged them all to ever greater efforts, trying to preserve the strength of their mounts, but maintaining a steady pace as far as was possible.

He had guessed that their route would be at least fifty miles, but with the bends in the river, he was sure that they were going much further. Still, when they reached the late afternoon, off in the distance they could see a great yellowish haze, and he knew that this was their first view of the city.

Baldwin called Paul de Cockington forward.

‘That, I think, is Rouen. We need to get to it tomorrow and find the duke. Tell me, what sort of lodging does he usually seek?’

‘A lowly inn — so long as the food is good and they have plenty of wine,’ Paul said sulkily. ‘Why, did you expect him to lie in a brothel?’

Baldwin spoke kindly. ‘If I hear you speak to me in such a manner again, rector, I will break your head and leave you here in the roadway as a message to all arrogant fools who think they can bandy words with a knight. Do you understand me?’ And he smiled with a sweetness that was almost angelic.

The rector gulped, and it was clear that he found Baldwin’s smile more terrifying than his earlier bellows. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then tell me: what sort of inn has he gone to in the past? Expensive, large — those with, as you point out, women? Does he go to the centre of the town or prefer the quieter outskirts? Does he invariably stay within the city walls, does he visit priories, or does he have no set tastes?’

‘I do not know … But hold! There was mention of an inn near the cathedral itself. Sir Richard de Folville spoke of it. It was very close, only a few buildings to the west, I think he said.’

‘Then we may hope to be fortunate,’ Baldwin said. He sighed. ‘Right, we will encamp here, and tomorrow I shall ride into the town with you, Paul. So we should all try to rest as best we may. The coming day will be one of danger for all of us.’

London

Simon had returned with his prize of good fish and asked Hugh to cook it for them all. It was quite delicious when Hugh presented it with a salad of mixed leaves and some good quality bread with which to soak up the juices.

For Simon, however, the evening had lost all lustre. His experiences in the street had heightened his sense of danger, and in the afternoon, when he wandered about the yard outside the bishop’s hall, he spent much of his time looking about him as though expecting at any moment to see the populace clambering over the walls of the Tower to steal the crown and jewels, and slaughter all who lived inside.

If a fortress was supposedly impregnable to attack, it was also liable to be besieged — and in such situations, women and children were commonly evicted. Simon had heard all too many stories from Baldwin of sieges in which the weaker members of the community had been turfed out, only to find themselves blocked by the surrounding armies. Usually their fate was that of starvation, stuck between the warring sides.

Well, his Meg and Perkin wouldn’t suffer that, he decided. No, in preference he would have them both taken to the river and given passage on a boat of some sort. They wouldn’t have to travel far before they were outside the city, and thence could make their way to some place of safety … he hoped. It would be terrible to release them from the Tower only to learn later that they had been caught, or murdered, or …

The possibilities were endless. Meg was still a good-looking woman, and could be ravished in a moment, while Perkin was just an unwanted mouth to feed. He would be killed, thrown in the river. Both gone. It was unbearable.

It was growing dark by now, and he was still musing grimly on the dangers that surrounded them when William Walle came out from the hall.

‘Have you heard the talk in the streets?’ Simon asked.

‘The mob? Ach, they are always belly-aching about something,’ William said dismissively. ‘There is no man in this city who isn’t convinced that he knows better how to rule the nation than the king and his advisers.’

‘There is a lot of discontent,’ Simon said. ‘You only have to walk in the streets for a little while to tell that.’

William shrugged. ‘Yes, but what can people do? There is a king on the throne, and what he wishes is the law. That’s all there is to it.’

‘What of the stories of the queen returning with an army?’

William scoffed at that. ‘The queen? How would she control a host of men? And could she buy enough to come here? I doubt it, because all her wealth has been sequestrated by the king. Her brother won’t aid her, because it was the queen who showed the world that he was being cuckolded. His first wife still resides in gaol, a constant reminder to him of his dear sister’s interference. No, Simon, I don’t think you need worry about that. Besides, if she did try to invade, she would have to cope with the full might of the king’s response. And how many men would wish to go to war to serve a woman, when they knew that their own king, God’s anointed man, was against her? Not many. No, if she were foolish enough to try it, she would find that raising a force is one thing, but then persuading men to fight for a cause which all can see is doomed, is quite a different matter.’

Simon nodded. ‘I see.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about here.’

That conversation had been an age ago. Sleepless, Simon had sat thinking in his chamber for so long that he could hear the guards wandering down to the buttery for a warming ale before returning to their duties.

Feeling restless, Simon rose and walked outside. It was a clear night, with the stars showing like a sprinkle of diamond-dust on a dark silken sheet. Quite beautiful. And although the moon was not full, it was bright enough to show him all the court after a few moments to acclimatise his eyes.

He walked to the door that led up to the bishop’s chambers and tested it. With relief he found it would not yield when he pushed, and he returned to his own chamber feeling reassured.

But even as he pulled off his clothes and settled into the bed beside Margaret, he could not get to sleep. No matter what William said, Simon was convinced that the threat of invasion was real, and the risk of an uprising here in the capital, equally real. England felt like a tinder box. And Simon thought he could hear the flint being struck all about him.