Free The Bishop Must Die by Michael Jecks Page B

wall. Saul had bellowed, ‘Ye auld bugger!’ and punched the beast so hard that it retreated, blinking. It was only later that Saul realised the bull had broken his rib.
    ‘I’ve had my share. I took my billhook up to the muster when the old king wanted men for Wales.’
    ‘What of the men now, Saul? What’s the mood among the villeins?’ Baldwin asked. He beckoned Edgar and passed Saul a large mazer filled with wine.
    Saul was pensive a moment. ‘They’ll fight for you, I reckon. If a man tried to overrun our lands, they’d all fight at your side, Sir Baldwin.’
    ‘You know the rumours.’
    ‘We all do,’ Saul said, his weather-beaten face cracking into a smile. ‘The queen was a good lady, but we follow you.’
    Baldwin watched him leave a few moments later with a frown of concern.
    ‘Sir? Do you want more wine?’ Edgar said.
    ‘No, no. I’ve had enough,’ Baldwin said. He was not so abstemious as once he had been, but he had more work to do. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘Saul is right. The people will fight for their lord, and that is you. Although I would be happier were I at your side.’
    ‘Petronilla wouldn’t, though. And nor would I. I only wish Simon was …’
    Edgar looked at him. ‘You could try to see him.’
    ‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t want to speak with me.’
    ‘Sir Baldwin, you don’t know that.’
    ‘I hurt his feelings badly. I think I was right, but that will have little impact on him. If he had forgiven me, I would have heard from him by now. The fact that we’ve seen nothing of Simon, Meg nor Hugh is significant. And I do not know – perhaps I couldn’t forgive him if he had endangered my Richalda’s life. Even if afterwards he was proved to be correct, how would I respond? Maybe it is better that we do not meet again for a while.’
    ‘You have so many friends you can afford to lose your best?’ Edgar said pointedly, and left.
    Baldwin was about to call after him, but then subsided back into his chair.
    He knew all about losing friends; so many had died over the years – in Acre, in skirmishes against Moslems in Spain, and then in the terror of the inquisition against the Templars. If ever a man should have grown experienced to loss, it was Baldwin.
    Yet in recent times he had been more fortunate. He had been able to settle here, in the little manor in Furnshill, and marry his lovely Jeanne who had given him Richalda and little Baldwin. In his professional life he had been fortunate, too, being granted the post of Keeper of the King’s Peace, and regularly serving as a Justice of Gaol Delivery too. He was busy, and he should have felt fulfilled.
    But he could not. Even now, he remembered the worries that had assailed him during the night.
    Pictures of death and anguish seared his mind.

Exeter
    The bishop rose from his chair as Sir Baldwin walked into the room. ‘Please, Sir Baldwin, take your ease here near the fire. It is hardly inclement for the time of year, but I confess that as I grow older, the chill sits less happily on my bones. This year seems dreadfully cold.’
    Baldwin smiled and took the proffered seat. ‘I admit that the fire looks most welcoming,’ he said.
    The bishop motioned to John de Padington, who brought a large goblet and ladled mulled cider into it, passing it to Baldwin before moving away.
    Baldwin took it, blowing on the surface. ‘That smells divine.’
    ‘Then let us hope that such refreshment will be available to us in the afterlife,’ the bishop said with a thin smile.
    Baldwin had ridden to Exeter to meet with the sheriff, a man whom he cordially despised, and had broken his journey homewards to see his old friend the bishop, but now he looked at the older man with a measuring intensity.
    ‘I have heard it said,’ Bishop Walter said, ‘that you, Sir Baldwin, can perceive a man’s thoughts by studying him. Your eyes are the most feared tools of justice available in the whole of Devon, my friend. Why do you observe me so