‘You are the mad girl from Exeter?’
This was a large, cheery woman with a red face and perpetual smile. Under her nun’s wimple, her blue eyes twinkled merrily.
‘I am called Jen,’ she admitted.
‘Good! At least you know your name. Come here, child. The bishop has asked us to look after you and try to make your demons leaveyou.’ She spoke as she led Jen into the convent, under a great stone arch, and into a broad courtyard. ‘So that is what wemust do, isn’t it?’
Jen nodded. Since the day she had been exorcised in the cathedral by the bishop himself, she had felt weary, but a littlebetter. The only strange thing, to her, was that she could not understand why her love would allow her to leave Exeter. Surelyhe wouldn’t wish her to be away from him for very long?
She was led along a pathway to a little chamber. ‘This is your home now, child. You are to stay here with us until you arecured or God takes you to His own.’
That was all she knew. Matthew would soon have her out of here.
He loved her.
Wednesday, Vigil of the Feast of St Nicholas11
The Bishop’s Palace
‘Sir Baldwin, I am glad you could visit me one last time.’
The bishop sat at his table, and rose as Baldwin entered, waving to the servant behind him. Soon they were alone.
‘You wished to see me?’
‘Sir Baldwin, the date of the next parliament has been set. It will be early in the New Year.’
‘And you still wish me to go?’
‘Of course. Who else would be so able to serve the interests of our country so well? Others may offer their strong right arms in battle, but some, like you and I, must use our brains.’
‘I do so already. I perform a useful function here, where I feel comfortable, and where I flatter myself I can do some good.’
‘Sir Baldwin, you know already that the country is in turmoil. There are enemies of the king who would have him destroyed. You know this.’
‘My Lord Bishop, I know well that I could be thrown into the turmoil. And I would die. I am a lowly rural knight, not somegreat baron. If I am hurled headlong into politics, it may cost me my life. What then would happen to my wife and children? Would you see them protected? Or would you watch another man take my little manor and deprive my family of their holdings?’
‘This need not happen. If you are honourable in your dealings …’
‘There are honourable men in parliament?’ Baldwin asked scathingly.
‘If there are too few, you could help! Become a member of the government, and do the good you crave!’
‘One man against the rest?’ Baldwin smiled. ‘How refreshing that one can be so influential.’
‘The king needs sensible, level-headed advisers. If you join his parliament you can do much good. Help him make the rightdecisions.’
‘By advising him to do whatever he wishes, you mean? His friends the Despensers would soon have my head if I recommended anyaction which they deemed against their interests.’
‘You must appreciate the danger which surrounds the realm, Sir Baldwin. We are a small nation. The world’s greatest army is only a few leagues over the sea. The king of France could attempt to invade us at any time, and can you imaginehow well our host would acquit itself against his men? Armoured knights in their thousands. Bowmen from Genoa and Lorraine,men-at-arms from all over France, Lombardy, you name it, all will flock to his banner to take a piece of the profits of stealingour king’s inheritance. Do you want to see that?’
‘He has the best ambassador he could wish, yet he holds her prisoner.’
‘The queen’s loyalty is not absolute. Her brother is king of France. Which man should she support?’
‘Her king — but he is the very man who has humiliated her recently. He must make amends.’
‘And it requires men of standing and character to make sure he realises that.’
Baldwin smiled thinly. ‘You think he would listen to a knight from his shires?’
‘If enough in parliament said the same, then yes. He might.’
‘What of you, Bishop? Would you support the queen?’
Stapledon looked away for a moment, but then said quietly, ‘Yes. I would help anyone who could ease our affairs abroad.’ Helooked across at Baldwin and smiled thinly. ‘Does that surprise you?’
To answer a question like that directly was dangerous. ‘It was only a short while ago that you told me you had suggested thatour queen’s household should be dispersed. Then you told me that you thought you were to be asked to administer her estatesin Devon and Cornwall. What is next? Her children to be taken from her?’
Bishop Stapledon nodded slowly. ‘They are heirs to the English crown. They must be protected.’
‘You would have them removed from their mother?’
‘For their protection — yes.’
That was the moment when Baldwin changed his mind, he realised later. At the time he simply left the bishop without agreeingor refusing, but later he knew he would have to go. It was while he was sitting in his hall, his daughter Richalda on hisknee, listening to her cooing and singing. The thought that the king could accept the advice of others and have his wife deprivedof her children was so repugnant, it made him feel physically sickened. If the best advice the king was receiving led himto take his children from their mother, Baldwin could hardly do less good. He could sit back in comfort here in Furnshilland complain, easing his soul with the reflection that it would do little good for him to lose his own life and thereby losehis children. Better to be in at the fight.
‘I will go,’ he muttered.
‘What was that, my love?’ his wife asked.
Baldwin looked at her and then he smiled. The decision was made. His fate was sealed. ‘Would you like to travel to London,wife?’
The road to Tavistock
Simon endured the ride to Tavistock without listening to much of Busse’s talk. So far as he was concerned, the task was complete: Busse had been followed, and he had indeed tried to visit Langatre. It was a shame, especially since Simon was still convincedthat Busse would make the better abbot.
It was a thought that remained with him all the way back, and for his part Busse seemed pensive too. Only Rob was his usualself, whistling tunelessly, talking and complaining about the length of the journey. ‘Is it far now?’
‘Be silent!’ Simon snapped after the last plaintive cry. ‘Christ in chains, you whine like a child!’
‘It is very cold, is it not?’ Busse commented, his cloak pulled tight about him.
Simon looked about him wonderingly. There was no snow, no hail, not even a fine mizzle, which was a blessing. ‘It’s not toobad.’
‘You are not talking to me, Bailiff. Are you so concerned about my misdemeanours that you refuse to speak to me any further?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Busse smiled quietly at that, and was quiet.
On this return journey Simon had acquiesced in the monk’s wishes concerning their route, and now they were passing along thegreat road to Cornwall, passing through Crediton, then south-west along to the northern tip of the moors before turning southwards. As the sun started to sink in the west, they reached the little village of Bow, a place Simon knew quite well, and he waslooking forward to stopping for the night. There was a windblown and sad-looking furze bush hanging over the door of the largeinn at the centre, and he suggested that they pause for the evening.
Soon they were inside, Simon gripping a large jug of ale, warming it with the poker he had heated in the fire. Busse had alarge mazer of wine in his hand, and he smiled with a sort of sad amiability as Simon tested his ale. ‘You appear to havelost all confidence in me, Bailiff. Do you think that I will lose the post?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that sort of thing,’ Simon said uncomfortably.