Although it was plain that Baldwin and the Dean were not amused at the tale or his own outburst, their seriousness only added to Simon’s mirth. He couldn’t help it — the sight of the Dean wriggling like a fish on a hook at having to confess to his chapter’s foolishness was too delightful.
‘Dean, I am deeply sorry. Please excuse my foolishness. I don’t know what caused it,’ he managed after a pause.
‘It is no, ah, laughing matter, bailiff. This goes to the heart of our chapter. It would be seriously embarrassing to the Bishop were this all to come into the open.’
Baldwin cleared his throat. ‘You want our advice?’
‘Please.’
‘Prepare for the worst. They have you, Dean. You have one hothead who has created this problem. You could try to punish him and make an exhibition of him.’
‘Why, for preventing the friars from going ahead with a funeral when they were not entitled to the estate? The fellow could have been innocent. Others have done the same, after all.’
‘So you say,’ Baldwin said.
Simon was confused by one aspect. ‘The Bishop will support you and the canon involved, won’t he? Well, then. Tell the friars to go and …’
‘Just my thought, which was why I considered a little more deeply, bailiff. I believe that they know that this could embarrass our Bishop. If, um, it was to the advantage of someone to harm the Bishop, they might, ah, choose to make the chapter the means of his destruction, might they not? They could, er, think that there was some form of amusing justice in such a plan.’
‘But how could they think to embarrass the Bishop? They’d have to have powerful allies to do that,’ Simon scoffed, but then his humour disappeared. ‘You mean the Despensers?’
‘I prefer not to think of any one person in particular,’ the Dean said precisely, but he lowered his head and peered at the two men from under his brows. ‘But think what a gift it would be to cementing their power if the only man who stood against them in the King’s favour was himself damaged. If he could be dragged back here to help sort out a dispute, that would give unfettered rein to their ambitions.’
Baldwin blew out a long breath. ‘That is a dangerous line of thought, Dean.’
‘You think I don’t realize that?’ the Dean snapped. His brow was furrowed again as he bent his head and twisted his ring about his finger.
Simon shot a look at Baldwin. The knight was clearly upset by this news, and the Dean was gravely concerned. To Simon’s mind the matter was less worrying than they seemed to think. The Bishop was a powerful magnate, twice the Lord High Treasurer to the King. ‘Tell me, wasn’t he an ally of the Despensers, though? I thought that he was made Treasurer in the first place because of his closeness to the Despensers. Wasn’t that right?’
‘I believe so,’ the Dean answered. ‘But, um, he disagreed with the King about allowing them back into the country after they had been exiled. He resigned, you remember? He is back in the King’s favour again now, but it has been a hard struggle for him. Although he’s the Treasurer again, I believe the Despensers haven’t forgotten he wanted them permanently exiled. They have long memories, and are vindictive. If they could, I believe they would crush him.’
‘What do you want us to do about it, Dean?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I want you to discover whether there is a scheme afoot to blacken the Bishop’s name and ours. I want to know whether this nonsense about the body was deliberately concocted. And there is one other thing: a robbery in the chapter. The friars are bruiting abroad the fact that a miserable merchant came to our cathedral, made use of our hospitality, and then accused us of robbing him. A Master Gervase de Brent.’
‘Was he actually robbed here?’
‘I do not know. I shall introduce you to a vicar — Thomas of Chard. He is an old companion of mine, a sound fellow. He has heard that the man Gervase was seen wandering down near the stews with another man the day he reckoned to have lost his money.’
‘And?’ Simon prompted.
The Dean gave a twisted smile. ‘I have heard that a man might easily be robbed in a place like that, Master Bailiff. What do you think? Is it possible?’
Jordan was not a man to let the grass grow under his feet. If action was needed, he would take it. His decisiveness grew as his headache retreated.
The interview with his lover had been unsettling. It wasn’t terribly important. Damn it, if she was a threat, he would destroy her. He’d had some pleasure with her, but that was all in the past now. Soon she must grow to appreciate that Juliana’s fear of him was well founded. And he hadn’t necessarily finished with her, either. Her children were Daniel’s too, and he wasn’t content to leave any survivors who could later come and threaten him. There was no point leaving enemies alive; he had learned long ago that the only safety lay in utter ruthlessness. And he was ruthless.
He was unsettled, yes, but perhaps it was good that he was. It meant he could view the situation rationally. First, he had to assess the threat from Juliana. If he could, he would let her live. There was no point in building up too many corpses. If she appeared willing to forget the accusation that she had made against him and would agree not to denounce him, she could live. And so could her children. And Agnes, come to that — unless she were to persuade Reg to confess to Jordan’s part in the matter: the money paid and fact that it was all Jordan’s idea to murder the sergeant. That would put paid to his defence that he was out gambling and whoring on the night Daniel died. Conspiracy to murder was as bad as actually dealing the lethal blow.
All this trouble was making the noises start again. Not too intrusive yet, but just annoying enough to distract him. It was all this trouble Agnes was putting him to. There was no need for it. Not really. It made his head ache.
He would go to Juliana now and speak with her. It was only right that a man should pay his respects to the widow of Sergeant Daniel. Accordingly, he collected a cotte and hat against the chilly November air, and only when he was at his door did he realize that his bitch of a wife was not back yet. She had gone to speak to that prickle of a physician, he guessed, and should have been back by now. No matter. If she was going to remain out there for an age, that was fine, so long as she made sure that there was food ready on the table when he wanted it, later.
The way over to Juliana’s was easiest down to the high street, then west, and he set off with a swagger, a blackthorn stick in his hand, whistling cheerfully enough.
‘Ho! Master Jordan le Bolle!’
Jordan heard the call and spun immediately. It was ever best to be on one’s guard against thieves — and officers — but it was only the physician. ‘Yes?’
‘I am Ralph of Malmesbury, sir. I am a physician.’
‘Yes. I have seen you,’ Jordan said with a patronizing air. ‘What of it? Do you have to call for business in the street?’
‘No. Enough comes to my door, master. And you seem competent to send it to me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your wife. You beat her extensively, Master Jordan, and I would have you treat her more honourably.’
Jordan’s jaw clenched. He had suffered enough from foolish accusations today. ‘You mean to tell me how to treat my wife?’ he asked coldly. ‘Have you never heard that a man’s relationship with his wife is his own affair?’
‘Within a tithing, even a dispute between husband and wife may become the legitimate interest of the tithing man, master, and when the husband threatens to beat her to death, that makes it a matter of concern to all. I have written a record of your wife’s injuries, and I would have you treat her more reasonably in future, because if you do not, in Christ’s name, I’ll-’
‘What, little man? Steal her from me? Is that it? You want her for yourself?’ Jordan could feel his temper fray. Normally he would dash out the brains of a fool who accosted him in the street like this and he’d be damned if he’d suffer more of it. There was no one in the street looking their way. He hissed, ‘Send her back to me, and I’ll show you what happens to a treacherous bitch who can’t keep her mouth shut when talking to other men about her marriage and her husband.’