So as he rode up the street, he had two thoughts: first, that he must pray not to see Despenser, because he might be unable to restrain himself in the man’s presence; and second, that he could hardly bear to be so close to the rapist and thief who was even now complaining yet again.
‘Shut up, or I’ll kick your arse!’ he said and trotted ahead to avoid the whingeing.
If the fellow had a brain, he would have tried to escape on the way here. Simon and Baldwin had both realised that, which was why Simon had four men from Portchester to aid him. One was a grizzled old sergeant who had served in several wars with the king, and the other three were bright enough fellows, whom Simon had handpicked for the job of guarding their charge. Paul had never once been alone, and without at least one pair of eyes watching his every move.
The city was filled, as usual, with pilgrims. It was many years since the appalling murder of St Thomas at his altar in the church here – a hundred and fifty or more – and yet Christians poured into this wealthy little city from all over the kingdom still.
It was scarcely surprising. For a man to spill blood in a church was truly shocking. Even the felons he had captured and executed, the roughest, most hardened outlaws in the country, would draw the line at that. Steal a cross, yes; take the rings from a woman’s hand, certainly; kill a priest, possibly … but kill a bishop at the altar of his church?
No
.
So every year, more and more people came here to seek the marvellous cures for their bodily ailments, for their misery, for redress against their persecutors. Simon drew his mouth into a moue at that thought. Perhaps he should go to pray that his own private persecutor should be persuaded to leave him alone? But what would be the point? In the last years of the effective rule of Despenser, so many must have begged God to release them from his vile exactions, and none of their prayers had been answered.
God Himself, seemingly, was struck impotent in the face of Despenser’s astonishing avarice.
It was a source of great relief when Simon saw a familiar face among the teeming throng. ‘William? Squire William Walle?’
The man heard his name being called, and turned to peer along the crowded roadway, and when he caught sight of Simon, his face broke into a beaming smile. ‘God love you, my friend! How are you? And what are you doing here?’
Simon could almost feel the waves of horror emanating from the rector behind him as Paul tried to conceal himself behind the guards. ‘Squire, I have urgent news for the king, and it may be best that I speak to the bishop to try to gain an audience.’
‘Really?’ William said, but a look at Simon’s face made his smile fade, and he nodded. ‘Come with me, then. I will take you straight to him.’
Their passage so far had been quiet and uneventful, which was how it should have been. Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple glanced over at the lady beside him on her horse, and felt his heart glow. She was beautiful, wise, accomplished … He was entirely smitten with her.
‘You enjoy the view, Sir Peregrine?’ she asked sweetly.
‘How did you know I was looking at you?’ he protested. ‘You were not watching me, I know.’
‘My dear Sir Peregrine,’ she said, turning and facing him in that strange little manner she had, her head a little lowered, her eyes studying him seriously. It was a fascinating idiosyncrasy, making him feel that she was treating him like a wayward son, but it was also enormously seductive.
‘Yes?’
‘You perhaps do not realise that even a widow can tell when a man is studying every facet of her dress to see where the mud lies. Or that he is searching her face for any new wrinkles.’
‘My lady, you know that is not true! I have only allowed myself to view you in an entirely chaste manner, seeking to remember every aspect of your beauty so that, when I am no longer in your company, I may still be able to bring it to mind.’
‘Oh, in truth, gentle charmer? I think that if you were to seek such magnificence, you would do better to have stayed last night with that delicious young wench at the inn.’
‘Which?’
‘You liked more than one, then?’ she said, mock-chidingly.
‘My lady, please do not torment me!’ he groaned. ‘If you
prefer, I can ride at the rear with the men in the van.’
She allowed a smile at that. ‘You would be happier there?’
‘No. I feel warmed by you as though you were the sun. You fill me with delight. In truth, I do not know how to describe my feelings for you. You are all kindness, all generosity, all beauty …’
‘Enough! You must stay here, and continue to pretend to adore me with your eyes. I cannot believe you are serious, for I am a mean little creature, in truth. No, don’t deny it.’
‘But I do! Fervently! I have been so happy to escort you these last days, and would prefer that you wished to travel to France, or to the Holy Roman Empire, so that our time together was not to end so soon. I … I wish we could spend more time together, madam.’
‘Oh, I am sure you would grow to dislike my pettiness, my many faults.’
‘How could a man grow to dislike the stars? How could he dislike the beauty of the sun? No man could look upon you once and fail to be utterly possessed by you.’
‘Really? And do I possess your heart, then?’ she smiled, and in an instant the smile was blotted out, and she put her hand up. ‘Nay, do not answer, I beg you.’
‘I cannot hope that you may one day reciprocate my feelings?’
She looked at him again, with that serious consideration he was growing to recognise so well. ‘I think that I do already, my friend. But that is one thing: to bind ourselves at this time is another. I do not wish to hurt you.’
‘How can you?’
‘By dying. By being taken from you. You have lost so much already. You have told me of your other women.’
That much was perfectly true. He had been so unfortunate with his loves, and he was left, at each loss, with an ever-increasing sense of his own loneliness. ‘You too have known tragedy,’ he sighed.
‘Yes. I fear that together, you and I would be a great source of danger,’ she said lightly. ‘I have two dead husbands, and you have
three women you have loved. What, would I die first, before we could wed, or would you expire shortly after our wedding?’
‘Or would we both live, enjoying our time together, nourishing each other, and living to a happy, contented old age?’
He could hear the hope in his voice as he tried to show her how easy this would be, and for a moment, he thought he had succeeded. She turned to him again, and there was a gleam in her eyes. But then the light faded, and her face took on a sad, faraway look that he didn’t understand. He wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, because even as he saw her expression change, and she turned away from him to face the road once more, he realised that he had lost her. She would not be his.
There was nothing more he could say. He rode on with poison in his heart.
The sight of Simon arriving was enough to make the bishop rise from his chair. ‘Simon, you are a sight to gladden the heart of the most jaded bishop. Enter, please! Tell me all that has happened since I left Sir Baldwin in Portchester. I would have news of—’ His voice was cut off as sharply as though a knife had severed his throat.
Simon had to grin. ‘My lord bishop, you know this disreputable knave, I believe.’
‘William – fetch a guard. I want that dishonourable churl in gaol here before he pollutes the floor of my chamber.’
Paul hurriedly fell to his knees. ‘Listen, please, my lord! I have terrible news from France that must be taken to the king. Perhaps my indiscretion in Exeter was merely God making use of me as He saw fit, in His divine perfection. He took the least deserving vessel and sent me—’
‘Shut up, fool! You mean to deride God Himself?’
‘I think you ought to hear him,’ Simon said.
‘I will listen, then, until I decide he is lying. What do you mean “terrible news”? Speak out, man!’
With many a sidelong glance at Simon, Paul told his story,
finishing with the ambition of the duke to travel to Rouen. ‘It should be easy to find him and capture him there.’
‘You say so? You have had experience of fighting and battles, have you?’
‘I only mean to—’
‘Don’t! Simon, what do you think?’
‘If this fellow’s telling the truth, it would be hazardous not to inform the king. If he lies, let the king discover it and punish this git. Better that he does than we soil our hands.’
‘You think so? Even after what this evil cretin did to poor Agatha de Gydie?’ The bishop stared down at Paul with an expression of intense disgust. ‘You make me want to vomit, rector. Rise, and remove yourself from my sight – and William? Go with him. Do not let him near anything that he could steal, eat or drink. He is to wait on a bench in the hall until I call for him.’
He waited until they had left the chamber, and then lifted an eyebrow to Simon. ‘Well, I suppose I shall have to take this unwelcome news to the king. I don’t know what to make of it.’
‘The clear suggestion he made was that the Despenser had paid silver to have the duke murdered,’ Simon said. ‘I would suggest that you leave that side of matters to the rector to bring up. You do not wish to be the man who stands between the king and Despenser.’
‘True enough. Not that he has much time for affairs of any kind just now,’ the bishop said.
‘How do you mean, my lord?’
‘He is so entangled in the webs he has woven for himself, he can find little pleasure in anything just now,’ the bishop said, motioning to John to bring wine. ‘He is terrified, I think, that Mortimer will arrive at our shores with an army. He is under no illusions as to his popularity in the realm, while Mortimer has the queen and the young duke with him. The mother of the heir and the heir himself, and arrayed against them are the king and Despenser.’
‘The country will rally to the king,’ Simon said scornfully. ‘Would you, Simon?’ the bishop shot out.
It was so sudden and unexpected that Simon could not respond instantly with the answer he would have intended: ‘Of course!’ Instead he reflected briefly, and as he opened his mouth to answer, the bishop was already smiling cynically and shaking his head.
‘My son, do not lie to yourself, nor to me. You have been most shamefully treated by the Despenser, and if you were suddenly called upon in the heat of battle, would you really be able to defend the man who defends your enemy? I know what Despenser has done to you, to your family, to your daughter. So do not answer, but make sure that you behave with honour and integrity. That will be enough.’
‘But I have an especial reason to hate the man.’
‘So do many others, Simon. So do many others. He has treated almost all entirely shamefully, and the idea that they might soon be freed of the shackles of fear with which Despenser has bound so many of the good people of the realm, fills him with dread. As well it might. The English are an unmannerly lot. When they feel that their rulers have treated them poorly, they respond. All too often with extreme and swift brutality.’
‘Does he really suffer so much?’ Simon said.
‘Simon, it would do your heart good to see how much he suffers,’ the bishop said. He added, ‘It does my own heart good to see how drawn and anxious he looks.’
Simon smiled. ‘You will take the message to the king, then? Tell him about his son and the fact that he may be at Rouen?’
‘I will. And then I will pray that God will give us all the judgement to decide on the proper course of action.
‘I feel a sense of doom. The kingdom is on a knife’s edge, and I cannot see upon which side it will fall.’
The countryside was flat here, and Sir Richard de Folville could not help but notice how rich the lands looked. ‘Much like my own homelands,’ he noted.
Duke Edward heard him and glanced back with a grin. ‘Makes
you wonder what on earth William the Bastard and his men were doing travelling to England when they could have enjoyed a quiet life here, eh?’
‘But a quiet life would not suit them so well as a life dedicated to war,’ Roger Crok joked.
John Biset agreed, but with a hint of regret in his voice. ‘Just think of a life of rest and tranquillity. How tedious!’
The duke chuckled. ‘He probably bethought himself that this land would be easy enough to take back, were he to lose it. And in any case, I cannot complain about his action, can I? Would I have a crown to claim when my father dies, were it not for Duke William conquering my kingdom for me? No, I do not think so. My people are too quarrelsome, and if they hadn’t been conquered, God knows what might have become of the country.’
Richard nodded, but he was thinking of other matters. He had no money, and like all of the duke’s bodyguards, was dependent on the youth’s largesse. It occurred to Richard that it would be an easy task to knock the duke on the head and take his purse … Easy, but dangerous. Perhaps he could form an alliance with another man, and then kill him later to take all the profits? It was a thought. Biset seemed quite malleable. That Crok wasn’t – he was too quick witted to be trusted.
While his mind meandered on along this line, he frowned quickly. ‘Where is that priest?’
The duke did not turn to look at him. Not yet fourteen years old, he had the confidence of a king already. ‘He has fled.’
Roger Crok was surprised. ‘He was keen enough to be here with us at first, Your Highness.’
‘He certainly wasn’t happy when we were attacked near Montreuil, was he? Sat on his beast like a dumbstruck peasant, the poor fool. And as for his tutoring, I won’t miss that at all. He has little idea of anything. It was too easy to twist him in his own tortuous reasoning. Besides, I got the impression that he was more fearful of Roger Mortimer than he was of the king. So I would not be surprised if even now he is trying to find a ship to take him home.’
‘He cannot do that,’ Richard de Folville said. ‘If he was safe in England, he would not have been here. Only those with natural fears of Despenser or others in the king’s pay would have come here, because allies of the Despenser and his comrades would not be welcome here.’