The Bishop Must Die

Chapter Nineteen

Montreuil

‘So, Sir Edward, I hope I can serve you well enough?’ Paul de Cockington said nervously.

It was the first time in his life that he had been so close to a member of the royal family, and that knowledge was making his mouth work all on its own, as though there was no need for him to engage his heart or his brain to keep talking. Before he walked in here, he had been sure that he would soon show the lad that he was considerably wiser. How hard could it be, to control a mere boy? But there was something in this fellow’s face that stopped a man from taking liberties.

‘Father, I am sure you will suffice for me,’ the Duke said. He wore a slight smile on his face, as though he understood Paul’s effusiveness, and found it endearing. Like a man who enjoyed a puppy’s tail wagging. ‘I hope your duties will not be too arduous.’

‘I should be delighted to help you,’ Paul said. ‘I would do anything to serve you, my lord.’

‘Then first discover the benefits of silence, eh?’ Duke Edward said. ‘I have a need for some moments of peace.’

They had left the main chamber, and had reached the smaller room above it. The Duke was a little distracted, Paul could see, but he was scarcely interested in the feelings of the Duke, since his own mind was growing so disordered. All he could think of was that he was here, alone, with the heir to the English throne.

‘How long will you need me?’ Paul asked.

‘Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. My last confessor has been forced away, and my tutor and other men from my household have been given other duties. Good Sir Roger Mortimer has persuaded me that they must serve me in Aquitaine. So I have need of more. And those who are in England would be … a little difficult to recruit at this time.’

Paul knew that. There was the small matter of Queen Isabella’s rift with her husband. Whereas before it would have been easy to hire men to serve the Duke, now no man would be allowed to leave England to come and swell the queen’s small host. And any who were, would be viewed as spies sent by the king and therefore rejected by Queen Isabella. However, men who were already exiled from England and who would be glad of a promised pardon in exchange for their service, would be loyal. That was why he and the Folvilles and others had been brought here.

It was not long before there was a knock at the door. When Paul opened it, he found himself gazing into the blue eyes of the queen’s lady-in-waiting. She curtseyed, grinning all the while, and he found his own attention being absorbed by her embonpoint. Noticing the direction of his look, she gave him a mockingly stern shake of the head, before motioning him aside.

Commanded by this imperious little angel, Paul moved from her path, and the lady entered the room. A few paces behind her was the queen. In a few moments, Paul found himself outside the room, staring at the closed door.

‘Come, Father. I would speak with you.’

This was from a tall, strong man. He could have been well past his middle forties, from the look of him, for his face showed the passage of a number of tribulations. There was an immensity of sadness in his eyes, as well as resolution and anger. It was the anger which Paul saw most, and the sight made him pause with some anxiety, until he realised that the rage was not directed at him.

‘Sir?’

‘You are Paul de Cockington, eh? I don’t know nor do I care what brought you here to France, fellow. But know this, you have a sacred duty here to the next king of England. Understand that, and understand that you must help me to serve him by telling me of any danger that shows itself.’

‘Who are you, to tell me what to do?’ Paul said haughtily.

‘Further, if you are to have any possibility of returning to England and winning a pardon for whatever you have done to drive you away, you will keep me informed of all who come to meet the young duke and anything else which pertains to his safety, the security of his person, and the realm which he is to inherit.’

‘I am most sorry, but if you think that I will submit to you in this, you are-’

‘You will do all this, and be richly rewarded. Fail me, little priest, and you will learn that I am not an understanding opponent.’

‘Perhaps you are not, but my duty will be to the duke, and no one else.’

‘Priest, you will be answerable to me alone,’ the man said, leaning forward. ‘For I am going to invade the kingdom, and that boy in there will soon become king. And if anything happens to him and I find you implicated in it, I will personally take great pleasure in dissecting your body.’

He stared coldly into Paul’s eyes for a few moments, before abruptly turning and striding out. Almost as soon as he had gone, the door reopened and the queen and her lady-in-waiting walked out without speaking to Paul.

In the chamber, the duke stood pensively staring through the window. He heard Paul’s steps and turned quickly. The afternoon sun shone full upon the lad as he caught sight of Paul, and the rector was shocked into immobility at the expression in his eyes.

For the very first time, Paul appreciated that, although this was a powerful man, the son of a king, and a Duke in his own right, in the lad’s eyes, he saw only terror; the terror of a boy who knew that his parents loathed each other, and for whom there could never be peace in his family again.

Third Monday before the Feast of St Paul and St John^*

Bishop’s Clyst, near Exeter

Baldwin trotted up the roadway to the bishop’s great house with an eye open to all dangers.

Only the last day, there had been some acts of hideous treachery committed. To hear of rape and murder was one thing, but to learn that the crimes had been committed on the Sabbath was most shocking, even to a man like Baldwin, who had witnessed so many foul crimes in his long life.

‘I am sorry that your journey was increased,’ William was saying again.

The poor fellow looked quite worn down, Baldwin thought, which was unlike him.

‘I am sure that it is merely a matter of sense,’ he said. ‘The bishop has so many calls upon his time, it is not surprising that he might decide to move away from the palace for a few days. Perhaps it was only to relax a little. He is always such a hard worker.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ William said, but he retained an expression of watchful anxiety as they clattered over the drawbridge and up to the main yard.

There was good need for his concern. As Baldwin looked about him, he saw seven men-at-arms in the court, and up at the hall, he saw two more. That wasn’t counting the men on the walls. This was not a peaceful residence away from the city, it was a fortified manor in preparation for war. A sudden chill settled in his breast at the thought that the long-feared war might even now be at hand. It had not occurred to him that there could have been recent news about the queen and Mortimer. But if there were to be reports of imminent attack, it was natural that the bishop would go and see to the defences of his favourite house outside of Exeter.

So it was with some nervousness of his own that Baldwin dropped from his mount and made his way hurriedly from the court to the hall. Seeing John de Padington, he was reassured to recognise the stolid, unperturbable steward.

‘Sir Baldwin, you are most welcome. I hope you had a good journey? I am sure the good squire will have entertained you on your way.’

‘I wasn’t in the mood for entertaining,’ William said.

Baldwin nodded with mock severity. ‘No. He sought to avoid entertainment entirely, master steward. Rather, he saw fit to distract me from all pleasant contemplation of the roads, the fields, the woods, and ensured that I was engaged all the while in discussion of serious matters.’

‘I only spoke of the coming … oh. You jest!’ William said, with a roll of his eyes.

‘Friend, let’s see what the bishop has to say,’ Baldwin murmured, not unkindly.

‘He has much to tell you,’ John said. ‘There’s been another note.’

Montreuil

The weather was fine. That was the first thought that ran through Paul’s head as he gradually awoke. He could tell it was fine because he had forgotten to draw the shutters the night before, he had been so merry, and now he found that the light was a most unwelcome distraction.

At least he had slept well. His problem had been the drink. Usually he could cope with a quantity of ale, but last night, jealous of a squire with his wench on his arm, Paul had retreated to a small, smoky den at the back of the castle’s yard, near the kitchen, where he had found a small group of men playing at knucklebones for pennies a throw. The merry fellows were keen to welcome him in among their games; later, it was a still more merry bunch of men, while Paul’s mood had risen to elation, only to crash to misery as his gambling flowed and then inevitably ebbed. He had drunk more than he should, especially of the strong local red wine, and when he left that party, he had been almost cleaned out of all money.

Recalling their faces now, he wondered whether he had been fleeced as many gulls in a new town would be. There was something about their looks which had struck him as perhaps a little secretive. One man with a face so bearded he looked like a gorilla, had winked to a companion as soon as Paul entered. That was odd, now he came to think of it: the men had all exchanged glances when he walked in, and the bearded man had been the one who accepted him into their game, but they had none of them asked who he was. After all, he was a stranger in their midst. But perhaps his face was already known to the garrison. He was the confessor to the young duke, after all.

With a flash, he remembered that today he was supposed to be aiding the duke with his lessons.

His predecessor as tutor had been a very widely read man, apparently, called Bury. But he had been sent to be Constable of Bordeaux, because Roger Mortimer had said that the town needed a good man at this difficult time. Now the prince seemed to feel the need for more education, almost as a defence against more work.

Rising and washing his face quickly, Paul shivered and made his way to the duke’s chamber.

‘Enter!’

‘My lord, I hope I find you well?’ Paul said as he knelt just inside the doorway.

‘No one has poisoned me today. Not that I know of, anyway,’ Edward replied, somewhat dully.

Paul licked his dry lips. ‘I am sure no one would wish to do that, my lord.’

‘Are you? Then you don’t know the world in which I live, priest,’ Edward said with heat. ‘My mother looks upon me only as a sacrificial groom, to marry to the best family she can find. My father hates me — he thinks I have defied him and am staying here of my free will, with the man whom he detests above all others — Roger Mortimer. He blames me, because I am to be married against his will. He made me promise that I should not allow myself to accept any treaty of marriage while I was here with my mother, but she began negotiating to sell me six months ago. The only man who has no say in it is me!’

Paul was not prepared for such a declaration. His lips felt gummy, his flesh was clammy, and he had an oily churning in his belly. ‘I am sure you would prefer to have some peace, my lord. Look, I’ll leave you this morning. You are feeling out of sorts, and won’t want lessons from a poor instructor like me. You should get some rest, and we can continue tomorrow.’

‘No, stay here. In faith, you are truly my man, aren’t you? You are my confessor, my own private companion?’

‘I hope so, my lord. I have the duty of secrecy.’

‘Then advise me. What should I do? I cannot escape this trap here. I would have to run a long way to outrun the guards set all about me. Yet I ought to return to England. I promised my father that I would do that.’

‘Whether you promised or not, if you are being held against your will, it matters not. It is not your fault if you are prevented from doing your father’s will.’

‘You say that, but I am a duke! I was born to command. From my first weeks, I have been a royal earl in England. I have managed my household, controlled my estates — with a little help, it’s true, but mostly on my own. And yet here I don’t have anyone I can rely upon.’

‘There are some. The men I came here with, they are all determined to serve you.’

‘Oh, really? They are determined more to remain as far as possible from Sir Hugh le Despenser, I have heard. Assassins, felons — outlaws all. They do not fill me with confidence.’

‘They should, my lord. They may appear to be little more than draw-latches, but they are strong, and they have little to lose. It’s true that they’re all enemies of the Despenser, but if they can demonstrate loyalty to you, they may be able to hope for a pardon, if you could speak to the king on their behalf.’

‘You think so?’ The Duke of Aquitaine closed his eyes in despair. ‘You do not know my father, nor the Despenser. The latter is vile. He considers only his own interests. I don’t know how he has inveigled his way into my father’s affections, but there is no doubt that he has done so with enormous skill. My father will do nothing without the approval of Despenser. He will not order his men-at-arms, he won’t command the admirals, he won’t rest or even take a piss, I sometimes think, without gaining the approval of that cursed knight! And if Despenser thought I was a threat to him personally, I would wager heavy odds that my life would be at threat.’

‘No matter. Despenser can’t live for ever. While there is the chance that you may return to England, the men here are your best guarantee of security. They will not throw away the only asset they have: your friendship.’

‘You think so, seriously? You believe that they could prove to be a reliable force to protect me?’

‘Yes, I think so. Look at them: what would they gain by being traitorous to you? The friendship of Despenser — who would trust to that!’

‘My father,’ the duke said bitterly.