The Bishop Must Die (10 page)

‘Little brother, you look as though you’re worn out after a long night’s swyving a bishop’s slattern.’

Richard nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning, he saw his brother Eustace. ‘What are you doing here, you fool!’ he hissed. ‘Don’t you realise that half the country is looking for you? The men from Kirby Bellers have been here already. They half-kicked me to death, and if they find you, what will happen then?’

‘Calm yourself, little brother. You worry too much. If God wanted us to be caught, He’d have sent us to hell the day we killed Belers. That bastard deserved to die, and God Himself knows it.’

‘He may do, but Ranulf Pestel doesn’t.’

‘Who is he?’

‘A man-at-arms who served Belers. He was here two days after, and he threatened me, trying to find out where you were.’

‘And you didn’t tell him?’

Richard looked at his brother with exasperation. ‘I didn’t know,’ he said, walking with a hobble to the door. Peering out, he could see Eustace’s horse, a few yards away, and two more men on horseback. ‘What will you do?’

‘Oh, I shall keep quiet, and when it’s safer I—’

‘Don’t you understand yet? It’s not just a local squabble! Belers was a king’s official – a baron of the Treasury! His men,
and Despenser’s, are all after us now. There is nowhere to go in the king’s realm. Brother, you will be found and killed!’

‘And if that happens, so be it. Richard, you are the man who is supposed to be telling me of the wonderful life to come. What is the matter with you?’

‘The matter with me is that you should run away. Go abroad, perhaps. To France, or Flanders. There are many nobles who would be happy to have your sword at their side. Don’t stay here and get killed. It would be shameful.’

‘It would be more shameful to run and hide,’ his brother growled.

‘Better to live than die,’ Richard said. ‘Find a ship to take you over the water. You can make a new life.’

‘You are most keen to dispose of me, brother,’ Eustace said.

‘You haven’t seen these men. They have no respect for God’s House; they will kill even a priest for fun.’

‘They were harsh with you, then?’

‘Very. Look at this.’ Richard lifted the hem of his robe.

The bruises stood out lividly against his pale flesh, and suddenly Eustace’s face altered. ‘They did this to you? What were their names?’

‘I only know the leader – Ranulf Pestel. A big man, strong and cruel. I thought that he was going to kill me when he started, but they only knocked me down and kicked me a few times. It could have been much worse.’

‘I will find him. And when I do, I’ll castrate the son of a whore for hurting you, little brother.’

‘Eustace! No! Look, he hurt me, yes – but it was only because he was frustrated in his search for you and the others. If you kill him too, you will have the full might of the king’s men on your backside. You will never be able to escape them. Just leave me and fly the country. Please.’

‘You know who Pestel is, don’t you?’ Eustace said grimly. ‘He’s the king’s man, all right – one of those who lives and breathes his service to his master. If he’s on my path, I had best kill him before he finds me.’

‘How do you know him?’

‘He was in the king’s household at the same time as me. This makes it all more troublesome.’

‘Why?’

‘If he is showing an interest, then who else is involved? It could be the king, but who else would want Belers avenged?’

His tone was thoughtful as he and Richard left the church and walked towards the rector’s modest home. Richard glanced at him. ‘Is there anyone? His widow? A relative?’

‘Or perhaps his colleague …’

‘Who?’

‘Sir Walter Stapledon. The present Treasurer wouldn’t want to think that the sort of man who could kill Belers might still be walking abroad, would he?’

‘No. It cannot be him.’

‘Why not?’

‘The bishop is not here. He must be in Exeter, or in London. Pestel was not sent here at short notice from either city – he was here already, arrived at the church too soon after we killed Belers. No, it can’t be the bishop.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. But I know this, little brother: the man Stapledon is a danger to all. He will steal our money and say it’s fair taxation; he’ll hold an Eyre and say that we don’t have this or that right; he’d sell our souls if he saw profit in it.’

‘That may all be true, but it makes no difference. You must go. There is nothing more for you here, Eustace.’

They had reached his house, and now Richard entered and brought his brother a skin of wine. ‘Take this – but leave now. Don’t delay, and don’t come here again, in Christ’s name! There is only death for you here. Run abroad.’

Eustace gave a lopsided grin. ‘Aye, you were ever the bold one, Richard, weren’t you? Maybe I will, at that. There’s nothing here for a man with balls. The country’s falling apart. Perhaps France would be better. My thanks for the wine.’

‘Godspeed, brother,’ Richard said, and stood at his door to watch the older man stride out to his horse and mount.

Then, with his companions, he waved once, wheeled, and rode off.

Richard was sad to see him go, but glad at the same time. His brother was a potential embarrassment, after all. But then, he thought he caught sight of some smoke. Peering in that direction, he saw a rising cloud of dust. And it approached at speed, before moving off around the vill and hurtling off in pursuit of Eustace.

He couldn’t see the faces of the men in that posse, but the rider in front, he saw, was a large man. Like Pestel.

It was late afternoon when Baldwin finally walked from the bishop’s palace and into the bustling High Street.

He had left Edgar at the market seeking two horses, and had hopes that his servant would have had some luck, but trying to make his way there was sorely trying in this crush. He had to push past many men and women, scowling ferociously all the while, until at last, when he was close to Carfoix, he was ready to bawl at anyone who came too close, let alone shoved him. And it was here that he saw Edith, Simon’s daughter.

She was an easy woman to spot, even in a crowd like this. Tall, slim, fair, she was as beautiful as her mother Meg, but with the freshness of youth about her. Many men stopped to ogle her as she passed, and Baldwin grinned to himself.

‘My lady!’ he called. ‘Mistress Edith? It’s me, Baldwin.’

There was a young man with her. Not her husband, but an ill-favoured servant with a mean look about him. He glared at Baldwin and raised his staff threateningly as though preparing for a fight.

Edith put her hand out to him. ‘Sir Baldwin is a friend,’ she said quickly.

Baldwin was confident that, if the youth had tried to harm him, he would soon have learned the error of his ways. ‘Sorry, friend,’ Baldwin said. ‘I know this lady well.’

‘My master said—’

‘Your lady is now telling you not to be so foolish,’ Baldwin said mildly.

‘How do I know who you are?’

Baldwin’s smile became a little fixed. ‘Friend, I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. If you do not wish to find yourself in gaol, you will now be silent while your mistress and I talk. Edith, you are looking radiant.’

‘Thank you, Sir Baldwin. I am very well.’

‘And your husband?’

‘Oh, Peter is well enough. He is recovered, although—’

‘Look, I don’t—’ The servant stepped forward, as though to push between Baldwin and Edith.

Baldwin said nothing, but as the fellow shoved his staff ahead of him, the knight grasped it in his left hand, yanked it forward, pulling the man off balance, and gripped his throat with his right. ‘
Do not interrupt me again
,’ he said, then pushed the man away.

The servant withdrew, rubbing at his throat, leaving the staff in Baldwin’s hands.

‘I am glad to hear that,’ Baldwin continued. Edith’s husband had recently been arrested on false charges, probably so that the sheriff could try to extort money from his father. Corruption was rife in the kingdom at present. The poor boy, who was only in his early twenties, was utterly broken by the experience. Gaol was a bad enough place for those who knew that they deserved incarceration, but for a man who was entirely innocent, the experience could be devastating, especially when the victim had no idea what his crime was, nor who was accusing him. In cases like his, where the case itself was a fiction, there was not even the certainty of hiring a pleader to fight on a man’s behalf. All was dependent on the cynicism and greed of the man sitting on the judge’s seat.

‘At least we did manage to rescue him from that,’ Baldwin said. He glanced over at her. ‘How are you?’

‘I …’ She licked her lips and gave a short shake of her head. ‘I am well. But would you please pass on a message from me to
Father? Just tell him that I love him very much. And Mother. And I miss them … I miss them very much …’

‘Edith, are you all right?’ Baldwin asked. To his horror, she began to weep quietly, the tears streaming. He put out a hand to her, but she gently removed it.

‘No, sir. Please, just tell them I love them. And now I must go. I am sorry, sir.’

The servant with her was chewing at his lip, his head darting forward and back as he tried to gauge Edith’s mood, anxious that he might be failing in his task of protection, but fearful of upsetting a knight wearing a sword.

Baldwin said slowly, ‘Edith, if you truly do not want to confide in me, that is your prerogative and I will understand, but please believe me when I say that if there is something which is upsetting you, I can help. Let me know if you wish for my aid.’

She made no comment, but simply nodded, and then, with her head bowed, she continued on her way.

The servant was about to scurry after her when Baldwin grabbed his arm, and the man squeaked as he was drawn round to face the knight.

‘You will watch over her like the most faithful hound in the world. You will not allow anyone to harm her, understand? And if you learn that someone is hurting her, you will defend her. Because if you do not,’ and Baldwin leaned closer now, ‘I will come to you and your worst nightmares will not prepare you for my wrath, little man!’

The fellow nodded quickly, eyes wide like a terrified child, and then set off after Edith.

‘Boy!’ Baldwin called. He held out the staff to him. Shamefacedly, the servant returned, snatched the staff, and made off after his mistress at a canter.

‘That is a most distressed lady, or I am a Moor,’ Baldwin muttered, and set off to find Edgar.

William Walle was in the yard when he saw the cart being pulled by a wandering horse straight towards the ditch beside the Canon’s Street. With a short cry for help, he sprang over the hillocks of old graves, past two quarrelling workmen, and managed to catch the animal’s bridle just as it was about to step into the mingled water and effluent.

The owner started to remonstrate with him, as though William had been attempting to steal the beast, but a short discussion with one of the Close’s beadles soon had the man apologising and offering a contribution for the rebuilding works. There were advantages to being the nephew of the bishop, William thought, especially here on church lands where the law of the city held no force.

‘Squire William! May I speak with you?’

William smiled on hearing John de Padington. ‘Of course, steward. How may I serve you?’

‘Squire, it is about our conversation – when you spoke of a message, and how anxious you were for your uncle?’

William instantly recalled their discussion. ‘Aha! So there
is
something – I knew it.’

‘It is a commonplace that men will always leap to assumptions,’ John said severely.

‘You are quite right, of course. I am a typical fellow, in that I will rashly form judgements based on careful observation,’ William nodded with mock sincerity.

‘You’re a young fellow, certainly,’ John said sourly. ‘And like most young fellows, you are also mostly wrong.’

‘Have a care, old man! You speak to a squire.’

‘Aye. And were the man any other squire, I would have many a care, sure not for long!’

William laughed aloud at that. ‘All right then, if I cannot scare you with the power of my position, then you may as well tell me what you can.’

Smiling in his turn, the steward leaned nearer to prevent others from listening. ‘I overheard him talking with a friend of his.’

‘Sir Baldwin, was it?’

‘If you’re going to be so clever and guess at my tale, you may tell me what I learned.’

‘No, no. It would be discourteous to an old man. You carry on. But please, be swift. At your age a man is likely to forget
so
quickly.’

‘I can remember my lessons from when I was not yet ten years old, I’ll have you know!’

‘But I wager you have trouble recalling your lunch last Wednesday? Eh?’

‘Enough of this!’ John said, for he couldn’t. ‘Do you want to know or not?’

William made a gracious bow and grinned. ‘If you please.’

‘The king has written to the bishop and told him that all produce from the country must be checked to see that there are no messages hidden within from the queen, nor messages to her that could give her succour. I think that the letter you saw was that instruction from King Edward.’

‘You think he would hide that from me?’ William said doubtfully.

‘Well, it is a secret of great importance. He would not wish it to be bruited about.’

‘And you think my uncle would fear that of me?’ William said mildly.

John said nothing for a moment. William was a genial man, but suggesting that he might be considered untrustworthy was exceedingly insulting. ‘Squire, do you know me well? Yes. And I know you. I have known you these past ten years or more, and I
have seen you grow from a young man into the squire you now are. If you ask, is there any secret I would think I must withhold from you, I will state on the Bible that there is none. Further, I know that the bishop your uncle would trust you with his life. I know these things as plainly as I know that I stand here in the Cathedral Close. But there are times in a man’s life, even in your uncle’s, when things begin to get on top of him. I think that the whole affair of the queen’s betrayal, and the king’s evident displeasure with your uncle, have left him confused and upset.’