Free Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) by Michael Jecks Page B

said mildly.
    ‘There were problems with sending and receiving messages, it is true, but he should have acted on his own initiative.’
    ‘I thought he did.’
    ‘Perhaps. If so, his best was not good enough. His initiative may well have cost us Guyenne.’
    ‘So we are agreed, then,’ the Bishop said. ‘At all costs this rift between the two Crowns must be healed.’
    ‘Exactly. We cannot afford to see relations damaged further.’
    ‘So we must send more ambassadors.’
    Despenser leaned forward. ‘Who, though? You know what they have offered. They want us to send them either the King to make his peace with Charles, or to send his son to make homage. But either could be enormously dangerous. We cannot afford to put them into the hands of this French King.’
    ‘He would give safe conduct, surely?’
    ‘What would that be worth? In God’s name, Bishop, how much would you trust that Frenchman? He has Roger Mortimer of Wigmore still in his household, so they say. The worst traitor who ever threatened an English King, and the French give him a home!’
    ‘Perhaps you think you should go yourself?’
    Despenser looked at him coolly. ‘There is no love between me and the French King. If I were to go, I should be slain, and the cause of peace would not be helped.’
    ‘Then who?’
    ‘There is one: the Queen herself.’
    Drokensford peered at him. The temptation to gape was almost overwhelming, but he refrained. ‘I had thought that you and she did not agree on many matters?’
    ‘To be blunt, I do not like the woman, but she is the sister to the French King, and we must use any lever we may. She could, perhaps, exert some beneficial influence on her brother and save the realm from losing a vast territory.’
    ‘It would surely be a grave humiliation for you?’
    ‘Perhaps, a little. But better that, than a war or the simple loss of so much of our Lord the King’s lands. It must be immensely worrying for him to have this matter drag on so.’
    ‘So what do you ask of me?’
    ‘Two things: that you let your friends know that I would seek to let Queen Isabella go to Paris and negotiate with her brother; and that you support me in parliament when it comes to a debate on the matter. Could you do that?’
    ‘I shall have to consider, but … yes, I am sure I can support you in this.’
    ‘Good! Good. That is what I hoped to hear.’
    He stood, bowed, and strode from the room.
    Picking up his reed again, Drokensford sat for a long while, staring at the door with a mild frown on his face.
    ‘So, my Queen, I hope this shall prove satisfactory for you. I wonder what you intend next, eh, my Lord Despenser?’ he said aloud, quietly, and then he glanced down at his hand. It was trembling like a drunkard’s after missing his morning whet, and as he watched, a gobbet ofink fell from the tip and smudged the parchment beneath. ‘Christ save me from that spawn of the devil,’ he muttered, and crossed himself.

Salisbury
    Roger Martival, Bishop of Salisbury, could have been a brother to Walter Stapledon of Exeter. Both had the same slight stoop, the same slender frames, and the same intensity of intellect. The key difference between them was in age – where Stapledon was some sixty years old, Martival was only some five-and-thirty, in Simon’s estimation.
    Still, he proved to be a cheerful host, and within a short time of arriving, the whole cavalcade was within the Cathedral’s close, the horses being groomed by a small army of ostlers, the guards taken to a small tavern near the main gatehouse together with Rob, while Baldwin, Simon and the Bishop were escorted to the Bishop’s palace for a meal with their host.
    ‘Only fish, I fear, my friends, but I hope that your appetites may be tempted by the skill of my cook.’
    It was after their meal that the two Bishops chatted for a while, and then Baldwin and Simon were given to understand that there were matters of some delicacy which the two must discuss. Nothing