The Bishop's Tale

Chapter Five

Cardinal Bishop Beaufort put aside the lastof the correspondence and nodded to his clerk. “Have someonetake them in the morning.”

With a bow, the man gathered the pages up andcarried them away. They would be folded and sealed and givenover to a messenger, but none of that need concern Beaufort now hehad read them over and given his signature. He was deeplycommitted to efficiency, and that included having servants he coulddepend on for minor details.

That nonetheless left a great deal for him todo.

Beaufort had come directly to Thomas from ameeting of the Great Council. Nothing of importance had beendecided, as usual, there being too many factions squabbling forcontrol. Never mind that most of the faction leaders wereunable to manage even their own affairs; each had convinced himselfand his followers that without him the government would fall intochaos.

So, generally, it was necessary that Beaufortmanipulate them with such tact that they failed to realize that hewas – far more than they – governing the direction the kingdomwent. Able to judge more deeply and assess more broadly thanmost men both their needs and weaknesses, he was usuallysuccessful.

He had – fully knew and fully admitted tohimself that he had – a drive to power that had taken him nowalmost to the limit of his ambitions. But the ability toforesee what others would do and the effort to bring them to hiswill was tiring upon occasion.

Eyes shut, Beaufort rubbed his forehead withhis large, beringed hand. What he wanted right now was timefor mourning, and there was none. He had taken on the mainburden of overseeing the funeral arrangements because he could see- couldn’t anyone else? – that Matilda was barely holding in onecoherent piece. Beaufort thought the better of her forit. She was a place-proud, tongue-wagging woman who hadlonged for the honors her husband had refused. Beaufort hadlistened to an amused Thomas’ reasons for rising no higher than anesquire, had accepted them but never understood them. Matildahad neither understood nor accepted.

Though their daughter’s marriage to an earland the prospect of noble grandchildren had soothed her somewhat,she had never let Thomas forget what he (and she) could havebeen.

So her efforts to cope with the funeralburden while keeping silent over her own pain was, in Beaufort’sview, more grace and courage than he had expected from her, and hehad willingly taken as much of the burden from her as he could.

But it was a burden, hurting as he washimself with Chaucer’s loss. With Chaucer gone, Beaufort feltfar lonelier than he had felt since he was a child, when his deeplykind, endlessly loving, greatly beautiful mother had gentlyexplained to him the realities of his life – that nowhere inEngland was there anyone like himself except his two brothers andsister, bastard children of the royal duke of Lancaster, fourth sonof King Edward III. Had his father married her before theirbirth – but he could not – they would have had right to the highestplaces in the realm. As it was, they were barred from anyclaim to anything not given them by someone else’s grace. Agrace they were not assured of.

But out of their father’s love for theirmother, the grace had come. Places in their father’s royalhousehold for his two brothers, eventual marriage to an earl forhis sister, and for himself what he had longed for most – learningand the priesthood. Oxford, and then the Church, with abishopric in his early twenties despite his bastardy.

And then long past the time when anyone wouldhave expected it, and to the wonder of all – not least theirchildren – John, Duke of Lancaster, had married the mother of hisbastard children. And King Richard II had legitimized themwith right goodwill and grace.

But John of Lancaster had died not longthereafter, and his eldest son and legitimate heir, Beaufort’s halfbrother, Henry of Hereford, had set Beaufort a problem that couldhave ruined him. Henry of Hereford, as arrogant a man as hadever lived, had always quarreled with his cousin King Richard overmatters trivial and important. It was not that either was sovery wrong, but that they were two very different men. Theirenmity had become a fight for the crown.

Beaufort had been bound to King Richard bytemperment, gratitude, and deep oaths of service and loyalty. But there was also the tie of blood to his half-brother. And- he would admit in his most private moments – a fellow-feelingwith Henry’s ambition to greatness.

He had gone to Thomas, the one man he couldopen his mind to, if not the depths of his heart. Thomas,safely aside from the quandary, had said with warm sympathy, “Ifyou were a less ambitious prelate, you could retreat to yourbishop’s palace and outwait what they’ll do. But you’ve putyourself too far forward, and you’ll have to choose between them orgive up any hope of either of them favoring you any more, whoeverwins.”

And Beaufort, as nearly always, had seenwhich way the matter must go early enough that he had thrown hissupport to his half-brother without seeming to hesitate. Hehad won that gamble; his half-brother had become King HenryIV. Only Thomas had known how hard that decision hadbeen.

And even Thomas had not known how deeplyBeaufort had grieved for King Richard’s death when it was overwith.

But that had not affected his service to thenew House of Lancaster on the throne. He had served hishalf-brother to the height of his abilities, and his son King HenryV after him, and now his grandson King Henry VI, Beaufort’s owngreat-nephew, in an upward spiral of prominence and power.

It had not been easy, of course. Therehad been setbacks, enemies made, repeated frustrations. Through it all, whatever had gone wrong or right, Thomas had beenthere, nearer to him in mind and abilities than anyone else, theone person left since his mother’s death to whom he dared grieveand complain, and receive back sometimes sympathy, sometimes humor,sometimes rebuke, always understanding.

Leaning back in his chair, his elbow on itsarm, his hand over his eyes, fingers pressing on his achingeyelids, Beaufort was aware of his servants moving softly aroundthe chamber behind him. Someone would shortly need hisdecision about something, and he had better be gathering up hiswits to give it. And there was supper to go to. Tonightthe family would dine in the parlor again, and he must be kind butfirm and never in any way disrespect his position.

Then tomorrow there was the funeral and thefuneral feast, where he must be even more a pillar of the familyand an honor to both the Crown and the Church, whose representativehe was. He said a prayer for both his own endurance andMatilda’s.

Someone had come to stand silently in frontof him, waiting to be noticed. Beaufort drew a deep breathand brought his mind back to the problems of the moment, thendropped his hand into his lap and lifted his head.

It was a relief to see Sire Philip there, whowas inclined to talk only when he had something needful to say, andwas to-the-point and sensible when he did.

“Yes?” Beaufort asked.

Sire Philip bowed deeply. “I regret theneed to trouble your grace, but thought you might want to be warnedaforetime that Sir Clement Sharpe has come.”

“And is in his usual humor?”

“Very much so.”

“You’ve spoken with him, then.”

“Been insulted by him and turned the othercheek so he could insult it, too, would be a more accuratedescription.”

Beaufort’s mouth quirked withappreciation. “I dare say so. I’ll take what steps Ican to limit his… activities. And Sire Philip-”

The priest paused in his bow ofleave-taking. “My lord?”

“There has been and there will be littlechance to talk through these few days, so I may as well ask youhere while we have the chance. What are your plans now thatMaster Chaucer is dead?”

Two years ago Thomas, at the death of hishousehold priest, had asked Beaufort to recommend someone toreplace him. Beaufort had recommended Sire Philip, a minormember of his own household then, both because of the man’s clearintelligence and because of what he had made of his initiallylimited chances in life.

Priest to a wealthy household was a positiona man might comfortably have for life. Thomas had beenpleased with him, and so far as Beaufort had been able to learn, sowas the rest of the household, to the point where it appeared hecould look forward to being priest to the earl of Suffolknow. One of several priests, of course, since the largehousehold of an earl required more spiritual sustaining or morechurchly show than a single priest could provide.

Sire Philip tilted his head as if he foundthe question puzzling and unexpected. “Your will is mine inthis, my lord. Of course.”

“You have no preference?”

“Only to trust to your judgment regardingwhere I can best serve.”

The answer was impeccable, as everything SirePhilip did seemed to be. But it showed nothing of the man’sreal desires. With a nod and a small gesture, Beaufortdismissed him. Sire Philip bowed and withdrew, going pastBeaufort’s shoulder and out of sight toward the door.

Beaufort brooded at the air in front of himfor the length of a long-drawn breath, then roused with a shake ofhis head and a grunt at his own unspecific dissatisfaction, and sethimself to the duties of the evening.