The King's Bishop (12 page)

‘Therefore she stumbled.’

‘Is that what you think?’

‘I am more curious to hear what you think.’

‘Daniel, Sir William of Wyndesore’s page: do you believe his death was an accident?’

Alice’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Their deaths are connected?’

‘What if they were?’

‘That would be a terrible thing, Sir William.’

‘I agree. I would ask you to share with me any thoughts you might have on this possible connection, Mistress Perrers.’

‘Why? What were Mary and Daniel to you?’

‘God’s children.’

‘As are we all, Sir William.’

‘Just so.’ He turned, offered her his arm. ‘Now I must deliver you to your servant else he shall tell His Grace I have chilled you with my chatter.’

Chilled her he had, indeed. But to confide in him was out of the question.

Ned’s company rode from York four days before Owen was to set forth. Archdeacon Jehannes had sketched out the route, but once they climbed up on to the moors the way was not so clear. According to Jehannes, Rievaulx lay in a deep vale surrounded by high moors; but Ned had not expected the track down to the abbey to look so like a ravine, and with no abbey in sight. Surely something of the reportedly magnificent church would be visible from here? In doubt, Ned consulted Don Ambrose, the one member of their party who had been here several times.

Don Ambrose nodded as he edged his steed away from Ned with a scowl. ‘’Tis the track to the abbey.’

A friendlier response was not to be expected. The friar had circled Ned warily since York, as if he expected an attack. It had not been so on the first part of the journey, riding up from Windsor. Ned wondered what had happened in York to change the friar’s behaviour towards him.

‘And horses can descend without harm?’

Ambrose hunched his shoulders sullenly. ‘Aye.’

‘You are certain?’

‘I am not in the habit of lying, Captain.’ He did not meet Ned’s eyes.

Ned shrugged, ordered the men to dismount. ‘Safer to lead our horses down this slope,’ he said. He trusted the friar only so far.

The descent was sudden. Ned was uneasy. If attacked, the company would not move quickly, certainly not surefootedly. It was as if they were being swallowed up by the land. The only comfort was that an enemy would be likewise handicapped.

The vale soon coaxed him into noticing its beauty, thickly wooded and echoing with bird-song. But wild. Could there truly be a community as large as Rievaulx down below? Thinking to ask how far before they should see signs of the community, Ned glanced back at Don Ambrose, who sensed Ned’s gaze and lifted his eyes to meet it. Ned slowed and edged over to the side of the track to let the others pass him. ‘This track is too narrow for carts, Don Ambrose. You stand by your assurance that this is the track to the abbey?’

The eyes were coldly challenging. ‘I do.’

‘But it is not the only way.’

The eyes slipped sideways. ‘I never said it was.’

Ned took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Why have you led us down such a dangerous path?’ He was glad to hear his voice so low, reasonable.

Ambrose looked him in the eye. ‘As God is my witness, I did not lead you, Captain. You paused at the top and asked whether this was the track to the abbey. It is one of them.’

‘You might have corrected me when I passed the safer way. You are meant to be our guide.’

‘The cart road is farther on,’ The ghost of a smile trembled at the corners of the friar’s mouth.

Ned gripped the reins in his hand tightly. ‘Damn it, man, if you have some grudge against me take it out on me, not my men!’

Ambrose glanced down the track at the disappearing backs. ‘All are well so far.’

‘You arrogant b— When shall we glimpse something of the abbey?’

‘Anon.’ Still the eyes challenged.

Ned had never met with such insolence. ‘What is it? Why do you hate me? What happened in York?’

‘I see through your plan, Captain,’ Don Ambrose snarled. ‘You waited until the others were out of sight to ask.’ The pinched mouth spread into a cold grin. ‘You must think me a fool.’ The friar took a step forward.

Ned fought a desire to punch the smile off the friar’s face. What was his sin? He had done nothing to the man. And that sly, knowing grin. Ned grabbed at a branch, snapped it off the tree, broke it in two across his knee.

The noise startled the friar. He lunged into the dried leaves and bracken, missing the track. Ned cried out to warn him, but Ambrose yanked at his horse’s reins and continued. As Ned started down the track after him, the friar quickened his pace and stumbled. His horse stumbled. They both began to slide in the dense mat of old leaves, so thick and unstable on the steep slope that neither man nor beast could find a purchase.

Ned hurried along the path, shouting, ‘Let go the reins, you bloody fool! The horse will crush you!’ He threw the reins of his own steed round a sapling and headed off into the bracken towards Ambrose. But it
was no use with the horse between Ambrose and Ned, and both tumbling slowly, slowly through the leaves.

Two of the men who had gone on ahead came running back up the track, hesitated as they saw the avalanche upon them. ‘Let go of the reins, Don Ambrose!’ one yelled.

Ambrose did so. The horse slid a bit farther, but with its head free it managed to twist itself round and dig in its hooves. With a snort, the horse rose and stood panting, its eyes wild. The men managed to grab Ambrose and pull him back on to the track.

Seeing the immediate danger past, Ned eased down the slope, calmed the friar’s horse, led it back to the track, got his own, led them both down towards Ambrose and his rescuers, who were asking the friar whether he was injured. ‘As long as he can walk, let us continue,’ Ned said. ‘The infirmarian can see to him.’

Ambrose looked up at Ned with an expression of fear and loathing. ‘You almost had me.’

Ned shook his head. ‘You almost had yourself, you bloody fool. I tried to warn you.’

‘Warn me? Coming after me with a switch?’

It was no use. ‘Help him down,’ Ned ordered his men. He went on ahead. Damn the man. He now heard faint sounds of a community echoing from down below, the hammer of a smithy, the lowing of cattle. Praised be the Lord. He rode out from under the canopy of trees and came upon the rest of the company, riding their steeds now as the incline lessened, gazing on a huge complex of honey-coloured stone that rose out of the peaceful valley. They moved forward together, still descending, and suddenly, as they rounded a bend, the church towered to the left, tucked on a slight rise above the rest of the buildings, its roof soaring to compete with the bluff beside it.
The afternoon sun shone on the lead roof, the tall, arched windows. Ned was almost glad he had come upon it this way, such a dramatic approach.

But his pleasure was checked by the fear and hatred in Don Ambrose’s eyes. He must ask Abbot Richard to let the friar stay at the abbey. Someone else could escort the man back to York.

Owen held Gwenllian up, studying her dear face. She laughed and grabbed at his earring. ‘My angel.’ He kissed her, handed her to Lucie. ‘I would remember her just like that.’

Lucie crossed herself. ‘For pity’s sake, Owen, you speak as if you shall not see her again, yet you insist there is no danger on this mission. Have you lied to me?’

He cursed himself for voicing his thoughts. ‘I meant only that I wish to burn Gwenllian’s face into my memory so that I might see her whenever I close my eyes.’

‘You must take care, Owen. We depend on your return.’ Lucie’s clear blue eyes were levelled at his good one, watching for a flinch.

‘I have every intention of returning, my love.’ He put his arms round her. She lifted her chin for a kiss. He sniffed her hair, kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. She slid her fingers up through his hair while her body pressed against his. Sweet Heaven, why must he always be leaving her?

He was still thinking about that kiss as he joined Jehannes and the company he was to lead to Fountains Abbey.

‘You look as if you come to meet your doom, my friend.’ Jehannes grinned, looked round him. ‘I see here no enemies. Do you?’

Owen looked the men over, nodded to Jehannes. ‘Clearly I am mistaken. No enemies here.’

‘It is difficult to leave your family, eh?’

Owen grinned. ‘Nay, foolish. I ask myself how it is I choose a life of constant farewell. Why can I not stay put?’

‘Because you have a questing soul, Owen. And because Lucie loves you the way you are. You know, were she a man I believe she would be much like you.’

Owen laughed. ‘So I fell in love with my own reflection?’

Jehannes grinned. ‘Now I have chased the shadows away. Shall we depart?’

They were well on the road when Jehannes mentioned Don Ambrose. ‘I pity Ned Townley, riding with the secretive friar.’

‘Secretive?’

‘He came to me the day before he was to depart, begged to be relieved of the task.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘He would not say. The King’s orders and he would not say why he wished to remain in York.’ Jehannes shook his head.

Owen felt a prickling under his eye patch. ‘He said nothing more?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Austins have no love for worldly clerics. But why were they so slow to protest supporting Wykeham?’

‘I thought perhaps to delay us,’ Jehannes said.

Owen turned his head to study Jehannes. ‘You do not believe that.’

‘Why did he wait so long to come to me? I had enough to do without bowing to his whim.’ Jehannes winced under the piercing gaze of his one-eyed friend. ‘In truth, I sensed a private devil somewhere within
him. It made me uneasy. But with no explanation …’ The Archdeacon’s voice trailed off. ‘I was indulging in righteous indignation.’

‘You chose a poor time to indulge yourself. A man with a private devil, asking to be relieved of the mission – why in God’s name did you not tell me of this before they rode out?’

Jehannes looked surprised. ‘You are angry?’

‘Ned Townley has enough trouble without the friar’s private devil. But Ned’s as much to blame. He said nothing to me.’

‘I did not tell him.’

Owen reined in his horse. ‘For the love of God, why not?’ he shouted.

Jehannes glanced back, turned his horse round to face his angry captain. ‘King Edward wished the friar to be in the company. Why should I poison him to his captain?’

‘You warn a captain of trouble in his ranks, Jehannes. You warn him!’

‘He might have refused to ride with him. You soldiers have no patience with cowards.’

Owen bit back a curse. ‘What does it matter to the King whether Ambrose accompanies us or not?’

‘He had a reason for choosing him.’

‘And we had a damned good reason to leave him behind.’

They rode on in an uncomfortable silence, Jehannes feeling unjustly criticised, Owen wondering what bedevilled the friar.

I
t was late afternoon when the breeze stiffened and a scent of salt air brought Abbot Richard’s head up sharp. He turned to Ned, who rode beside him. ‘I feel a storm coming.’

Ned had noticed the change, and from the look in the Abbot’s eyes it must be a storm and not just rain approaching. ‘Will it overtake us before we reach tonight’s resting place?’ They were a day’s ride from Fountains Abbey.

The Abbot paused, studied the sky all round. ‘I fear it will, though our goal is a grange house belonging to Fountains, not Rievaulx, so I am not certain of the distance. I think it close enough to reach by sunset, but not before the storm. May God protect us.’

‘By sunset is good enough,’ Ned said. The company had departed Rievaulx Abbey the previous afternoon and had spent the past night in one of Rievaulx’s grange houses along the way. The shepherds had been out with the lambing ewes, and were thus absent hosts. But they had left wood for a fire, fresh water, salted meats and hard bread. Ned had thought it quite
comfortable. ‘If we get wet, a fire will soon dry our clothes.’

Abbot Richard nodded. ‘There is no mistaking you for anything other than a soldier.’

Ned was unsure whether that was praise or criticism, so he kept his peace. As the wind picked up and whipped his cloak round him, he rode through the company warning the men of the coming storm, softening it with the Abbot’s reassurance that they would reach shelter before the light faded.

Don Ambrose received the news with a look and posture that blamed the bearer for any mishap. Ned wearied of the man. ‘I shall be glad to part company with you, to be sure,’ Ned muttered as he rode on, feeling the friar’s hostile eyes upon him.

When Ned had asked Abbot Richard’s permission to leave Don Ambrose at Rievaulx, to be sent back to York with the next messenger headed that way, the abbot had replied with questions: ‘What happened as you rode into the vale, my son? What is the trouble between you?’

Ned had been taken aback; it was clear that the Abbot thought them both at fault. ‘In my mind, we have no quarrel,’ Ned had replied. ‘Ask my men. From Windsor to York, the friar was – in faith I would not call him friendly, but cordial. Since York he has acted as if I were an enemy. What befell him in York I know not.’