King's Bishop

Ten

A cock crowed, waking Matthew. He lay there for a time, listening to the wind, listening for rain battering against the grange house. Had the rain stopped? His eyes and mouth were dry from the smoky room. His hair damp from night sweats. Man was not meant to sleep in such a warm room. He rolled over to find his boots, noticed the other men beginning to roll about and stretch. All the others but the one who should lie beside him.

Matthew sat up, rubbed his eyes. He had not been mistaken: Captain Townley was not where he should be. Nor were his cloak, boots or daggers. Think. Think. When did I last see him? What was he about? Where was he? Matthew closed his eyes, moved back to the past night. Abbot Richard had retired, charging Matthew to watch the captain. What had there been to watch? The captain had sat there hugging the brandywine, already bleary-eyed. They murdered my Mary. Over and over again. Matthew had coaxed him into lying down. You have lost much blood, Captain. When bled, one is always told to lie down and let thehumours calm. You must lie down. Captain Townley had lain down. He had seemed to sleep. Reassured, Matthew had gone to sleep beside him.

But the captain was not lying beside Matthew this morning. And his belongings were gone. What would Abbot Richard say? Blessed Mary, Mother of God, let it not be what I fear. Perhaps the captain was getting his horse ready for the day’s ride.

Matthew needed a plan. While he relieved himself he would look about, see whether Captain Townley was just up betimes, getting some air, readying his mount. After much drink, cool air — wet or no — would feel good. Let him be outside, merely clearing his head.

Matthew picked up his cloak and slipped out of the door. The air was chilly and damp, just right after the stuffy house. But his damp hair soon had Matthew shivering. He shook out his cloak and draped it about him as he hurried down into the bushes by the beck. His urine steamed in the cold air. It was too cold to stand out here — so the captain would have hurried to the barn as soon as the chill had penetrated his clothing. Matthew turned to climb the slope back to the barn, stopped with a gasp of dismay.

Abbot Richard stood above, his servant and Brother Augustine behind him. The Abbot’s eyes were fierce, even with his face shadowed by the white cowl. He looked like Death come to collect Matthew.

‘Benedicte, Matthew. Where is your captain?’ The Abbot’s voice was quietly threatening. Matthew’s father had spoken just so before he whipped him.

Death. His father’s whip. This was no time for fear. Matthew must think how he might protect his captain. But if the captain were gone, there was no protecting himself from the Abbot’s wrath. What might Matthew say? ‘The Captain must have slipped out to the barn while I slept, my lord abbot. He always readies himself so he may help the others.’ Which was true.

The Abbot signalled his companions to check the barn. Then he fixed his dark, unfriendly eyes on Matthew.

Sweat ran down Matthew’s neck, down his back. It tickled. He wanted to squirm or reach back to scratch. Sweet Jesu, already I do penance for my lie. But was it a lie? Was the barn not where he had imagined the captain? Was he not always ready before the others?

Brother Augustine hurried from the barn, shaking his head. ‘Pray God protect our poor brother, Don Ambrose. Captain Townley’s mount is gone.’

Abbot Richard seemed to grow another foot beyond his already considerable height. ‘Take Matthew inside and guard him, Brother Augustine.’

Matthew’s legs wanted to collapse under him, not carry him up to where the Abbot stood, but he willed them to carry him to the top. He would not let the Abbot see his fear.

Ned’s lungs burned, but he urged his steed on, faster, faster. His leg throbbed; he felt a wetness spreading from the wound. It had opened when he had fallen in the dark, leading his horse up the rocks, away from the grange house. Foolish to have fled in the dark, but best that he had gone quickly, best to ride through his fury, though it meant he rode his horse and himself to exhaustion. Riding to where? Ah, that was obvious. To nowhere. To forgetfulness, he hoped. To death, more likely. Mary was dead; why should he live?

*

Abbot Richard paced the main room while the men quietly gathered their clothes and prepared to depart.

‘I want four to stay and search for the friar and the Captain,’ the Abbot said.

‘May I?’ Matthew asked.

‘No.’ Without a pause, without considering, so easy to deny him, like swatting a fly. Matthew hated him.

Bardolph stepped forward. ‘Crofter and I were sent along on this mission to watch Captain Townley, my lord abbot. We shall search.’

The Abbot’s eyes narrowed. ‘Sent along to watch him? By whom?’

Bardolph glanced back at Crofter as if seeking permission to answer. The man blinked once, slowly. Matthew saw the exchange. He doubted the Abbot could see it. Bardolph turned back to the Abbot. ‘Sir William of Wyndesore, my lord abbot. Some say the Captain murdered Sir William’s page.’ He shrugged.

Abbot Richard bristled. ‘Then was it not irresponsible to send him on such a mission?’

From the darkness, Crofter said, ‘Mistress Alice Perrers cleared him of the charges, my lord abbot.’

‘Mistress Perrers!’ the Abbot murmured with a disapproving sneer. ‘Come forward. I should see you when you speak.’

Crofter stepped forward. ‘After Mistress Perrers spoke up for Townley, His Grace the King wished him sent away from court until those of our fellows who still believed him guilty had time to calm down.’

‘Do you believe him guilty?’ Abbot Richard asked.

‘No, my lord abbot, I do not.’

The Abbot paced away from Crofter, returned to him. ‘Why were you to watch him?’

Crofter tilted his head and averted his eyes for a moment, as if considering how to reply. ‘In case Mistress Perrers-’ An exasperated sigh as he faced the Abbot once more. ‘In truth, there are those who do not trust her.’

Abbot Richard gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Including your lord?’

‘I took the orders to mean that, aye.’

Matthew closed his eyes and cursed Crofter. He had made a point of connecting Captain Townley with a woman the Abbot was sure to despise. Cunning bastard. The captain had warned him to beware Crofter. That fair face is a mask, Matthew. His eyes are mirrors, not windows. Watch how Bardolph jumps to do his bidding. What was Crofter’s game?

Abbot Richard saw nothing amiss. ‘You two shall indeed stay behind to search for the Captain. Gervase and Henry shall stay with you.’

‘There is no need for you to sacrifice your escort to the search, my lord abbot,’ Crofter said. ‘Bardolph and I gladly take it upon ourselves.’

Abbot Richard indulged in a fleeting smile. ‘You searched once and failed to recover Don Ambrose.’

Bardolph took a step forward. ‘But it was-’

Crofter silenced him with a hand on his arm. ‘We are grateful for the chance to participate in the search, my lord abbot. I did not mean to question your decision.’

‘Good. May God guide the four of you.’

Matthew watched as Bardolph and Crofter backed into the shadows. He was very worried for his captain.

When his horse stumbled at a ford, Ned realised his folly. He had ridden for miles. It was already midday. He gave himself and his deserving mount a rest. Drank deeply, cooled his head. Sobered.

Mary was dead. Her murderers must be found and punished. Fleeing across the moors would not accomplish that. And Ned’s death would leave the matter as it was. He owed it to Mary to stay alive until she was avenged.

Why had Don Ambrose hidden the letter from him? Why had he attacked? What did he know?

After a brief nap, with a few hours of daylight left, Ned turned his horse round. Flight was not the answer.