‘Oh. I see.’
‘This one is called Temple Bar because it is here. Outside the Temple,’ Baldwin said, and he suddenly turned to face the enormous gates that stood a few yards away.
‘So?’ Rob said.
‘Oh!’ Now Simon understood Baldwin’s distraction.
‘Yes. That was the New Temple, Simon — the main preceptory for the whole country. A magnificent building, with orchards, gardens, stables, and the main halls, of course. It was the heart of my Order in this country.’
Simon wanted to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he knew Baldwin would not appreciate it. The knight was too enwrapped in his memories, for Baldwin had once been a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon — a Knight Templar.
‘I have wished to come here and see the place one last time for many years,’ Baldwin whispered. ‘And now I am here, I feel that it is a mausoleum only. Dreams lie in there, Simon. Dreams of honour and glory. Dreams of the Holy Land being Christian once more. But no King will honour such a dream.’
‘What?’ Rob demanded, staring from one to the other.
Simon grunted to himself. ‘Lad, I need you to return to the Bishop’s palace and keep an eye on our belongings there. Could you do that?’
‘Why? It’ll be safe enough in there, won’t it?’
‘Just go and do it,’ Baldwin grated. Reluctantly, the lad set off back to Bishop Walter’s home in London.
Once he had disappeared from earshot, Simon said softly, ‘I am sorry, old friend.’
‘No, do not be. This is the Festival of the Blessed Virgin. Come, stop me from continuing with my black mood, Simon. You have a duty today, to keep me happy and cheerful. Prevent me from thinking about my Order. Ach! What of it. Come! Let us find Saint Paul’s. It is a wonderful cathedral, Bailiff. Almost as grand as the great one at Canterbury.’
He continued talking as they walked up the road until they reached the bridge over the Fleet River, and there Simon’s eyes opened wide to see the huge wall.
It extended northwards in a straight, unimpeded line, with a vast ditch before it. The wall was beautiful, too. There were strings of red tiles that made a pattern of lines going diagonally across it, and it had beautifully maintained castellations, a rebuke to the tatty condition of the walls at Exeter.
But it was not merely the wall that caught his attention. Beyond was the cathedral, standing clear in the grey morning light on its hill.
‘Saint Paul’s,’ Baldwin said.
They entered the great city by the gate, and were soon making their way up Ludgate Hill, Baldwin speaking about the port which supplied so much of the population’s needs.
For Simon there was an especial thrill in standing before the enormous church. Peering at the two towers, the statues and decorations, he was lost in wonder. When Baldwin interrupted him, he was quite startled.
‘I think we ought to get a move on, Simon. Here comes Bishop Walter and his retinue.’
‘Oh? Oh, yes.’ Simon was excited at the prospect of seeing the interior. It was surely not so vast as Exeter, with its massive length of nave, nor as well decorated as the fabulous cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, but for all that, it was a splendid sight.
Except that for the second time that morning, he gradually became aware that Baldwin was very jumpy: his eyes were roving about the people in the street, watching them carefully.
‘What is it, Baldwin?’ he asked a trifle testily. Only then did he himself grow aware of the terrible tension in the crowds about the Cathedral. There was an almost palpable hatred in the air. As the Bishop’s party approached the Cathedral, the babble had dulled, and now the people were glaring at him with sullen faces.
As Simon registered the mood of the people there, a stone was hurled. It flew high over Simon’s head, and he heard it smack into the flank of one of the men-at-arms’ horses. The mount gave a snort and jerked his head, bouncing up and down. And then there was another missile, this time some ordure from the kennel, and it splattered into the wall of the church not far from the Bishop’s head.
Bishop Walter kept calm, and merely clattered on, but there were shouts now on all sides, and curses and imprecations were thrown at him as he passed towards the hitching posts. A couple of urchins stood there, taking the reins for all those who were attending the service, and they gleefully took the Bishop’s, gazing about in the hope of boys everywhere that they might see some excitement.
When he had given away his mount, he stood and surveyed the crowds. There was more shouting, and Baldwin distinctly heard someone berating Stapledon about the ‘Eyre’.
The Bishop held up his hand and glared about at the people in front of him. Baldwin nudged Simon, and began to walk towards him, pushing through the crowd with an increasing sense of concern. The guards from his party were looking from one side to another with increasing alarm, their hands on their swords. In the whole space before the Cathedral, the only man who appeared calm and collected still was the Bishop. He held up both hands now, in a gesture of mild reproof.
‘Wait, my friends,’ he called. His answer was a small hail of pebbles. It was all Baldwin needed. He saw a young man, probably an apprentice, levering a cobble from the roadway with a metal bar. Before the lad could heft the rock, he was aware of a bright blue blade under his chin.
‘Drop it.’
The lad not only dropped it, he took one look at Baldwin’s face and bolted.
But scaring one man was not sufficient to ensure the Bishop’s safety. Baldwin saw that Simon had grabbed a long staff from someone, and had cracked another man over the wrist with it. The fellow was standing looking daggers at Simon while nursing his forearm. Another had drawn a knife and was eyeing Simon warily, but the Bailiff had seen him, and although he looked relaxed, Baldwin was not for a moment fooled. He knew that Simon was at his most dangerous when he wore that easygoing expression. If the man lunged, he would be unconscious on the ground in a moment.
‘This is Candlemas, and you are threatening the peace of this Church,’ the Bishop spoke out. ‘You have no right to try to draw blood, but if you do so today of all days, the Feast Day of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin, you will be committing a mortal sin. Think of that, all of you! Do you want to be excommunicated? You may escape punishment here on earth, but God watches over all that you do. Do not …’
The rest of his words were drowned out in the shouting. Men were shaking their fists at him, and now more missiles were hurled. For the first time, Baldwin saw that the Bishop was worried. His three men-at-arms appeared less than keen to get between him and the mob, and he could plainly see that the door to the Cathedral was some distance away. If he were to run, it was most unlikely that he could make it without being grabbed by someone more fleet of foot, or be felled by a flying rock.
‘Christ’s ballocks!’ he heard Simon say, and the two looked at each other. Then, with a nod, both took a deep breath and plunged into the crowd to try to reach him.
As though by a miracle, the noise and bellowing suddenly ceased. At first Baldwin thought that the sight of a single knight with his sword drawn, or perhaps a Bailiff with a staff, was enough to bring sense to this unruly throng, and he felt a slight uplifting of his heart. But then he heard the shouted order, the rattle of hooves on cobbles, and the ringing of chains and armour. There was a clatter of steel as men drew their swords, and when he turned, he saw a line of men-at-arms on horseback eyeing the rabble with contempt.
‘Disperse in the name of the King!’
It was Sir Hugh le Despenser. He trotted forwards a short distance, and Baldwin saw disdain in his eyes — a contempt for the churls who dared to stand before him. Baldwin was convinced that this man would willingly ride down all the people in this street. He cared nothing for any of them.