stern and prickly a character as one would expect the highest church official in the realm to be.
Nicholas rose.
They eyed each other warily.
Nicholas had youth on him. That was a comfort. He only hoped the stubborn old man’s mind could summon up the memories he needed.
In well-rehearsed words, Nicholas conveyed the King’s respects and the Pope’s request, careful to keep the impatience from his voice. The journey itself was no doubt the most difficult part of this assignment and that was half-done. All he needed now was for the Archbishop’s clerk to find the document so that the man could mutter his blessing over it. Then, the only thing standing between Nicholas and France would be the English Channel.
He finished speaking and waited. The Archbishop’s face did not waver. Nor did he speak.
‘We do this at the request of His Holiness,’ Nicholas said, finally, wondering whether the man had heard him at all.
Now, the lips twisted a bit. ‘The French Pope?’
He blinked, somewhat surprised. Typically, such words were not said aloud. ‘And the request of His Grace the King.’
Islip had not always bowed to the royal will. Despite that, or maybe because of it, the King respected him.
The Archbishop waved a hand. ‘A man grows old. His tongue grows loose.’ Beneath greying brows, his blue eyes took on a distant look. ‘God has taken the bishops of Worcester, London and Ely with the pestilence. How am I to replace such men?’
The Archbishop had his own concerns, as all men did. It was Nicholas’s task to overcome them. ‘The Prince asked that I help you in any way I can. As you can understand, he wants all to be in order when the official dispensation arrives for he is eager to be wed.’
‘A little too eager,’ Islip snapped. ‘Now he expects us to be just as eager.’
Nicholas had the uneasy feeling that the man would have said the same if he had spoken to Prince Edward himself. ‘I believe,’ Nicholas said in as calm a tone as he could muster, ‘that all that must be done is to locate the document, review it and issue a statement. I am sure that is what His Holiness expects.’ His Holiness had barely allowed enough time for them to complete even that simple task.
‘ All that he expects? To locate and examine a document from when?’
‘Fourteen years ago.’ That was when the appeal for the dissolution of Joan’s marriage to Salisbury had gone to the Pope and the legitimacy of her clandestine marriage to Holland had been upheld.
Fourteen years. Before the Death. Before this man was Archbishop. Before Nicholas had been knighted. He tried to remember himself then, at seventeen. Attached to the Prince’s household, yes, but more interested in the newly founded Order of the Garter and more fearful of the impending plague than interested in the marriage, or lack thereof, of the King’s cousin.
The Archbishop dropped his forehead into his hands and rubbed his eyes, as if the years he battled against had suddenly settled upon him. ‘Explain it to me again,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘About the marriage.’
Nicholas could understand the man’s confusion. It had taken several tellings before even he had grasped the complexities.
‘As I understand it,’ he began, ‘the Lady Joan and Thomas Holland conducted a clandestine marriage between them when she was twelve. After that, he went off to war. A few months later, her mother forced her to marry the Earl of Salisbury.’
‘When she was already married?’
‘Exactly.’ It sounded impossible, stated so simply.
‘How could she consent to such a thing? Did she not tell them she was wed in the eyes of God?’
The same questions had nipped at Nicholas, but he had stifled them. ‘I cannot say what the Lady Joan might have said to her mother or to Salisbury.’ Or to the King and Queen, who had taken responsibility for their distant cousin when her father died.
Islip sighed. ‘So this lady, married already, married another man with
Nicholas rose.
They eyed each other warily.
Nicholas had youth on him. That was a comfort. He only hoped the stubborn old man’s mind could summon up the memories he needed.
In well-rehearsed words, Nicholas conveyed the King’s respects and the Pope’s request, careful to keep the impatience from his voice. The journey itself was no doubt the most difficult part of this assignment and that was half-done. All he needed now was for the Archbishop’s clerk to find the document so that the man could mutter his blessing over it. Then, the only thing standing between Nicholas and France would be the English Channel.
He finished speaking and waited. The Archbishop’s face did not waver. Nor did he speak.
‘We do this at the request of His Holiness,’ Nicholas said, finally, wondering whether the man had heard him at all.
Now, the lips twisted a bit. ‘The French Pope?’
He blinked, somewhat surprised. Typically, such words were not said aloud. ‘And the request of His Grace the King.’
Islip had not always bowed to the royal will. Despite that, or maybe because of it, the King respected him.
The Archbishop waved a hand. ‘A man grows old. His tongue grows loose.’ Beneath greying brows, his blue eyes took on a distant look. ‘God has taken the bishops of Worcester, London and Ely with the pestilence. How am I to replace such men?’
The Archbishop had his own concerns, as all men did. It was Nicholas’s task to overcome them. ‘The Prince asked that I help you in any way I can. As you can understand, he wants all to be in order when the official dispensation arrives for he is eager to be wed.’
‘A little too eager,’ Islip snapped. ‘Now he expects us to be just as eager.’
Nicholas had the uneasy feeling that the man would have said the same if he had spoken to Prince Edward himself. ‘I believe,’ Nicholas said in as calm a tone as he could muster, ‘that all that must be done is to locate the document, review it and issue a statement. I am sure that is what His Holiness expects.’ His Holiness had barely allowed enough time for them to complete even that simple task.
‘ All that he expects? To locate and examine a document from when?’
‘Fourteen years ago.’ That was when the appeal for the dissolution of Joan’s marriage to Salisbury had gone to the Pope and the legitimacy of her clandestine marriage to Holland had been upheld.
Fourteen years. Before the Death. Before this man was Archbishop. Before Nicholas had been knighted. He tried to remember himself then, at seventeen. Attached to the Prince’s household, yes, but more interested in the newly founded Order of the Garter and more fearful of the impending plague than interested in the marriage, or lack thereof, of the King’s cousin.
The Archbishop dropped his forehead into his hands and rubbed his eyes, as if the years he battled against had suddenly settled upon him. ‘Explain it to me again,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘About the marriage.’
Nicholas could understand the man’s confusion. It had taken several tellings before even he had grasped the complexities.
‘As I understand it,’ he began, ‘the Lady Joan and Thomas Holland conducted a clandestine marriage between them when she was twelve. After that, he went off to war. A few months later, her mother forced her to marry the Earl of Salisbury.’
‘When she was already married?’
‘Exactly.’ It sounded impossible, stated so simply.
‘How could she consent to such a thing? Did she not tell them she was wed in the eyes of God?’
The same questions had nipped at Nicholas, but he had stifled them. ‘I cannot say what the Lady Joan might have said to her mother or to Salisbury.’ Or to the King and Queen, who had taken responsibility for their distant cousin when her father died.
Islip sighed. ‘So this lady, married already, married another man with
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