so, he might have to plan differently, for that
could well mean that the queen and the traitor were already so far advanced in their plots that they didn’t care whether the
bishop, and therefore the king, were to learn of them. Although there was the other possibility: that the queen had never
expected or intended that the bishop should return safely to England. If that was so, then perhaps her devious little mind
had been unsettled from its smooth road, and the result could be that the whole of her carefully laid scheme might be thrown
into disarray. Although Sir Hugh had no idea how to effect that desirable outcome.
But it might not be her plan at all. Perhaps it was all conceived by Mortimer and the French king. Neither of them was a friend
to Sir Hugh, of course, but if a man was being stalked by enemies, it was best to know which adversary was nearest. Was it
possible that the bishop himself was also allying himself to the queen? If all the others in France had moved to support her,
perhaps the bishop too had …
No. That was impossible. The haughty little bitch would never consider him as a friend. The bishop had seen to it that she
had lost all power and influence at court, removing from her all her estates and revenues as soon as war with the French began
last year. The result had been a shameful curtailing of her life and freedom, even the removal of her children so that she
might not pollute their minds withnonsense about the French. She would only ever plot to see Bishop Walter destroyed, never
with
him.
Not that the others with the bishop were similarly free of suspicion. The Keeper of the King’s Peace he had loathed for some
time, as he had Simon Puttock, and the other knight, the sometime coroner Sir Richard de Welles, was an unknown quantity but
appeared to be quite friendly with the other two.
Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, he knew, had been moderately well regarded by the queen before her embassy to France. It would be
hardly a surprise if he and she had further cemented their friendship while together in Paris. And Sir Baldwin had been a
thorn in Sir Hugh’s side for at least a year.
Puttock was a lesser threat. He was only a peasant, when all was said and done. He was owned by Sir Hugh de Courtenay, Baron
of Devon, and could easily be neutralised. In fact he might well already have been – Despenser’s men had bullied him earlier
this year. If he tried to do anything to harm Sir Hugh, he would find that there were other problems a wealthy man could bring
to bear on him. Still, a fellow with family and no money could be turned into a useful asset.
After all, this Puttock was a known element. Perhaps Sir Hugh should have him brought here to discuss French affairs in private.
Abbeyford Woods, south of Jacobstowe
Bill Lark bent his head and rested on his staff as the verdicts were announced.
Much more of this and he’d be falling asleep while standing, he reckoned. The coroner had been as quick as he could be, admittedly,
but the number of bodies to be gathered, studied, stripped naked and rolled over and over before the jury were so many that
the matter had taken the best part of the day. And now that the inquest was done, there was the additional work of loading
all the bodies on a cart to take them to the little graveyard, where they could be given a decent burial; seeing to the vigil
while they were held before the altar; and of course collecting of the money the coroner had imposed as fines on the community
for the infringement of the King’s Peace.
‘Bailiff, I am sorry that the vill has to suffer this,’ the coroner said quietly, walking up to join Bill. ‘I had no choice.’
‘I understand.’ And he did. The deodand was a fine imposed to thevalue of the murder weapon, and in a case like this, where many weapons had been used, each must be separately accounted for
the injuries done to each person. Although the coroner had managed to