The King's Bishop (30 page)

‘How can I know? I do not know what William intended by sending them north together. But it sounds as if Don Ambrose suspected Ned had been ordered to do away with him and he tried to murder Ned first.’

‘So it was not you who chose Townley for the journey?’

‘Me?’ Alice frowned down into her cup. ‘I confess I was pleased to have him away from Mary, thinking to use the time to find her a more appropriate suitor, but no, I had no say in it.’

‘Did Townley murder Daniel?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Mary swore he was with her, and he was when I returned, but he might have slipped out, or arrived late. We shall never know.’

‘Why would Townley conspire with Wyndesore in this?’

‘I knew him only as Mary’s lover. I do not know what information William might have used to – recruit him.’

‘What of Mary? Who pushed her into the river?’

Alice looked away. ‘I fear I am of no help in these matters. William’s men are very loyal.’

‘Loyal enough to drown a young woman?’

A sharp shake of her head. ‘I do not wish to speak of Mary’s death.’

‘Are any others to die?’

Alice rose, poured herself more wine, brought the flagon to fill Thoresby’s cup. As she poured with a steady hand, she said quietly, ‘We took care to limit the number of people who knew.’

Thoresby sipped, watched her resume her seat. Yet more had learned of it. Himself, Paulus, Florian … ‘You realised any witnesses were in danger?’

Alice tilted her head to one side as if considering his question. ‘One does not climb so high without turning round now and again to study the lie of the land, the armaments of one’s fellow climbers. I did not foresee the nature of the threat, but I was afraid it would exist. And that it would come from William.’

‘But they say you felt some affection for Mary. Why did you include her as a witness?’

A sly smile into the cup. ‘I wished to use either Cecily or Isabeau, preferably both. Pity I did not. But William knew neither of them would have kept the secret beyond the next day. He chose Mary.’

‘And you agreed.’

‘I had no choice. He gave me his word—’ a shake of the head; tears glistened in the amber eyes.

Thoresby hardened himself to her tears. ‘It is a strange way to plan a wedding – by considering the murders which may follow.’

‘Such are the times.’

‘Such are always the times when ambition stifles virtue.’

‘My uncles chose my path in life.’

‘And you would have lived differently? Did you not dream of being leman to the King?’

Alice threw her head back and laughed. ‘Dream of lying with an old man? Surely you do not need to ask that.’

‘But now that you have tasted the power …?’

‘Would I come this way again?’ Alice ran a finger over the pearls on her sleeve. ‘How can I know? I shall never have a day of peace. But the power is a heady concoction that makes me drunk with pleasure.’ She looked up at him through her long lashes. ‘And you, John? Would you work so hard to be in the King’s favour, knowing what it costs?’

Thoresby grunted. ‘As you say, how can I know?’ It grew late, he felt his concentration slipping. He put down his cup, sat forward to attempt one more thrust. ‘Why would Ned Townley have agreed to murder Don Ambrose?’

Alice smoothed her sleeve. ‘He is Lancaster’s man; bound to work against Wykeham. I believe him devious enough to have foreseen the murder would disrupt the King’s mission to the Cistercians, undermine Wykeham. But he stumbled into his own trap. He knew nothing of William’s motives …’

‘You do not believe anyone at court acts with honour, do you? You must find the King’s Order of the Garter quite amusing.’

‘Men have not dealt honourably with me, Your Grace. How am I to feel otherwise?’

How indeed? Thoresby rose. His lower back was stiff, his knees ached, he was weary to the bone. ‘I have much to think about.’

‘Including the danger of knowing my secret.’

‘You will tell Wyndesore?’

‘Not if you will keep me informed.’

Thoresby nodded. ‘I shall.’

Michaelo’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Ride to York? Me?’

‘You know the contents of the letter,’ Thoresby said. ‘Archer must have it as soon as possible. He must know from whom to protect Townley. And the magnitude of the danger.’

‘But why me, Your Grace?’ Michaelo was using the querulous voice that usually so irritated Thoresby that he would send him away. The secretary had been drowsing in a chair by the fire when Thoresby had returned from town. His eyes were heavy lidded after an hour spent writing the letter Thoresby had dictated. ‘And tonight? I have not slept.’

‘You have slept more than I. I must trust the messenger, Michaelo, trust his loyalty and his cunning. Who better? And I have made it clear why you must leave tonight.’

‘You need me here.’

‘Suggest another so appropriate.’

‘Brother Florian.’

Thoresby shook his head. ‘Too old to ride so quickly.’

Michaelo’s delicate brows pressed together. ‘You might be sending me to my death.’

‘To stay here might be more dangerous.’ A puzzled frown. ‘You are now in possession of information men have died for.’ Understanding widened Michaelo’s sleepy eyes. ‘Ride out as soon as you can. I have told the watch that you are escorting Don Paulus back to London and seeing to critical business for me.’

‘Don Paulus, Your Grace?’

‘You shall deposit him at Bishopthorpe. Tell the servants he is there to oversee the roof repairs.’

‘I must ride north with that noxious friar?’

‘Offer it up as penance, Michaelo.’

‘I may yet go to Heaven, Your Grace.’

Thoresby smiled. ‘Thank you for cheering me at the end of a very disturbing day, Michaelo.’

Michaelo looked genuinely puzzled. ‘Do I also return with Don Paulus?’

‘No. My hope is that you will return with Captain Archer. I need him here.’

‘Why do you not ride with me? You are in more peril than I, Your Grace.’

Thoresby shook his head. ‘I have duties. My absence would be noticed. Stay close to Archer, assist him as you can so he can hasten to Windsor.’

I
n a chill, grey dawn Thoresby knelt in St George’s chapel and listened to the chanting of the office. Sleep escaped him. His mind would not rest; he fidgeted, wanting action. He envied Michaelo, out on the road, headed north – though he did not envy him his companion. Thoresby’s opinion of Don Paulus had not been tempered with the proof of his story.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, I must leave this court
. The kingdom was ruled by a lecherous old man who sought the counsel not of his chancellor, trained in law, but of his young, scheming mistress. Was it possible that the King was now too old to rule wisely? Forty years ago they had set Edward on the throne while his father was yet alive, and he had shortly proven himself a worthy successor. But of late he had squandered the wealth of England in his futile attempts to win the crown of France, antagonised most of his councillors with his preference for Wykeham, and insulted the Queen with the presence of Alice Perrers.

There had been several Austin friars, Giles of Rome the first, William of Cremona the latest, who had preached that the authority of a lord was null and void unless he was in a state of grace. Was Edward in such a state? Thoresby thought not. Though it was perhaps a matter of power rather than Edward’s particular weaknesses. Could a man hold power and maintain innocence? Thoresby had long ago decided that was impossible.

He did not consider himself in a state of grace, a situation that bothered him now that he felt his age so keenly, so constantly. Archer had been disillusioned by Thoresby’s ability to bend with the wind; particularly because he had chosen to serve Thoresby rather than Lancaster, expecting an archbishop to be a godly man. He had not found Thoresby so, nor had he accepted Thoresby’s explanation that as Archbishop of York he must weigh matters in light of the good of all his flock, and thus justice became more complex.

But of late Thoresby wondered whether as Archbishop he should look first to spiritual matters. Was that not what Pope Urban actually wished to bring about? Not a petty victory over Edward, but a reformed Church guided by saintly men dedicated to the cure of souls. That was what His Holiness sought. That was why he distrusted Wykeham, a man who owed everything to his secular lord. That was why the Cistercian abbots distrusted Wykeham.

Which was rather hypocritical, as the abbots were tainted themselves; they were powerful men in the kingdom, clever businessmen not above questionable financial practices. In the reign of the King’s grandfather the abbots of Fountains had speculated in future wool yields, almost ruining the abbey’s treasury.

Say what they might, Wykeham, though unarguably the greatest pluralist in the kingdom, was not the greatest sinner.

Was Alice Perrers? She claimed her uncles had set her on her path. Thoresby knew that to be true. He knew of the merchant family who had raised her until her uncles reclaimed her and educated her for court. And so she had made the best of her circumstances. Was that not true of most intelligent, ambitious folk? Had Thoresby not done the same as a second son? He might have been a better man had he followed a cloistered path. But how did one so young develop such cunning as Alice Perrers? Had she now tripped with this marriage? Had her precocious talent proved temporary?

Raising his head to silence, Thoresby realised prime had ended and the chapel was emptying. As he slowly rose, his joints sore from kneeling so long, he noted a tall, familiar figure gliding past. Quietly, Thoresby followed Wykeham from the church. He wished to learn more about the soldier, William of Wyndesore.

Wykeham greeted Thoresby with a puzzled smile, his hands in his sleeves, his nose red in the damp early morning chill, looking as if he had just awakened rather than attended the service. He had not bothered to fuss with his attire, wearing a dark clerical gown with a patched elbow. ‘’Tis early to be about, Your Grace.’

‘I have not slept, so it is late for me, not early.’

‘Not slept, Your Grace? What keeps you wakeful?’

‘In faith, something I would speak of with you. But not here. In your chambers.’

Wykeham smiled. ‘You wish to pass your wakefulness on to me?’

‘Whether or not I wish to, I soon shall.’

‘For those of us who slept, it is far too early for clever speech.’

‘I promise you that what I wish to speak of is not clever.’

Wykeham bowed. ‘Then come along. We shall break our fast together.’

Before Wykeham’s servant, Peter, opened the door, Thoresby warned the councillor that their discussion must not be overheard. Wykeham told Peter to serve them and depart, he might entertain himself as he liked for the next hour. Peter looked disappointed, but did as he was told, leaving them in possession of a fire and ample food.

Without more ado, Thoresby came to the first point of his visit. ‘What do you know of Sir William of Wyndesore?’

Sniffing the cheese set before them, Wykeham nodded to himself and cut a piece, tore off some bread. ‘Why do you ask about Wyndesore?’ He took a bite of the cheese, the bread, chewed with an eye on Thoresby.

‘He has entered into a liaison with Mistress Alice Perrers. I wish to know more of this schemer.’ Close enough to the truth for now.

Wykeham swallowed, washed the dry food down with ale, thought for a moment. ‘Unremarkable family. Good soldier. Nothing brought him to notice until he turned on the Duke of Clarence after the Irish troubles.’

‘Tell me about that.’

A frown. ‘Surely you know about that.’

‘I know the King was furious with the Duke of Clarence, said he was no son of his, antagonising the Irish as he’d done, wasting the treasury. But what was Wyndesore’s role?’

Wykeham considered his cheese. ‘I have no doubt he profited from the war treasury, as did the Duke. They both returned to court better dressed, better horsed. But when the King questioned Wyndesore about the Irish troubles, he blamed them all on the Duke and his bullheadedness, his self-conceit.’ Wykeham nodded at Thoresby’s frown. ‘Oh yes, a delightful man, Wyndesore, as I have said before. How appropriate for him to befriend Alice Perrers.’

‘Why would the King take Wyndesore’s word over his son’s?’

Wykeham shook his head. ‘When Wyndesore first accused Clarence, the King was furious. And then suddenly I heard the King had not only forgiven him, but had pardoned Wyndesore his debts and made him a joint Warden of the West Marches towards Scotland. Had the King discovered evidence of Clarence’s guilt? Had he in some other way come to appreciate Wyndesore?’ Wykeham shrugged his bony shoulders.

Thoresby sat with his cup of ale halfway to his mouth, thinking how tidily it all fitted together. It would seem that Perrers was right, that Wyndesore had convinced the King that this foolhardy marriage might be useful if kept hidden until needed.

‘I have said something that satisfies you?’ Wykeham asked.