‘Perkin’ to him now.
The little boy heard, but deliberately ignored him. He continued running about with the chickens. And then a great dog appeared. It ambled over towards him with its head on one side, and for a short moment Simon was shocked, for it was massive, and his thoughts of the last minutes made him see only the brute’s size and the potential danger it posed to Perkin. But then it lowered its enormous head and shook, before trotting to Perkin and nudging him, rubbing his head all over the boy, and Simon recognised it.
When Simon looked over to the east, along the road that led here from Sandford, he saw Baldwin sitting on his horse, his arm resting on his saddle’s bow, smiling a little nervously, as though fearing to be rejected.
Bishop’s Palace, Exeter
The last of the accounts dealt with, Bishop Walter leaned back in his seat and motioned to the bottler as the clerks packed up their inkhorns and reeds and bowed their way from his presence.
There were times when being a prelate involved such profound disappointment that he wished he could give it up. He was surethat his father, William, had never had such doubts. He and Mabel, Walter’s mother, lived quiet, unassuming lives near Cookbury, in the Hundred of Black Torrington, where they achieved much, but remained unimportant and obscure. Not for them the glories of fame, of knighthood or mercantile success. William Stapledon was comfortably off, with enough income to bring up their seven children, four sons and three daughters, without straining his resources. And he lived to see those children achieve some influence.
Richard, the next eldest in the family, was already a noted knight. He had been returned as knight of the shire in parliaments from York to Westminster, and had worked with Walter to create the magnificent Stapledon Hall at Oxford University. Robert and Thomas had both gone into the Church and had good livings from their positions, while the daughters, Douce, Joan and Mabel, were all fortunate to marry well.
Yes. William Stapledon had deserved his long life and peaceful death. Walter only wished he might have the same good fortune.
There was a knock at his door, and John de Padington, his nephew, peered around. ‘Your clerks said you wanted to speak with me?’
‘Yes. Can you go and see the gaoler and fetch to me the rector he is holding? It is time I spoke with the God-cursed idiot about his kidnap and rape. He should be pliant enough by now, but ask the gaoler to walk here with you.’
When the steward had gone, Walter looked down at his hands and sighed. Yes, he had done his best all through his life. No one could deny that he was one of the most hardworking diocesans Exeter had ever seen; in truth, he was notable amongst bishops throughout the realm. It was likely that no other bishop in Devon and Cornwall had managed to visit all the parishes, meet with all the priests, nuns and monks, and assess each and every one in such a large diocese.
He had not been satisfied with merely visiting, either. Only too aware of the huge benefits which had accrued to him as a resultof his own education, and because he had seen too many rural priests who were more or less incapable of their duties, too old, too deaf, too steeped in wine, to be able to provide properly for the cure of the souls in their parishes, he was dedicated to improving the quality of all the men of the cloth in his diocese. For that he sedulously studied all the young boys he met in houses up and down his area. Those who showed a precocious intelligence, he would discuss with their parents, and the ones who appeared most promising, he would bring back to Exeter or Ashburton, where he had created a small school, and see them properly educated. With luck, some of them would later make their way up to Oxford, to study at the college he had founded.
In the cathedral, he would be remembered as a patron. He had provided much of the money to ensure that the works continued to
The little boy heard, but deliberately ignored him. He continued running about with the chickens. And then a great dog appeared. It ambled over towards him with its head on one side, and for a short moment Simon was shocked, for it was massive, and his thoughts of the last minutes made him see only the brute’s size and the potential danger it posed to Perkin. But then it lowered its enormous head and shook, before trotting to Perkin and nudging him, rubbing his head all over the boy, and Simon recognised it.
When Simon looked over to the east, along the road that led here from Sandford, he saw Baldwin sitting on his horse, his arm resting on his saddle’s bow, smiling a little nervously, as though fearing to be rejected.
Bishop’s Palace, Exeter
The last of the accounts dealt with, Bishop Walter leaned back in his seat and motioned to the bottler as the clerks packed up their inkhorns and reeds and bowed their way from his presence.
There were times when being a prelate involved such profound disappointment that he wished he could give it up. He was surethat his father, William, had never had such doubts. He and Mabel, Walter’s mother, lived quiet, unassuming lives near Cookbury, in the Hundred of Black Torrington, where they achieved much, but remained unimportant and obscure. Not for them the glories of fame, of knighthood or mercantile success. William Stapledon was comfortably off, with enough income to bring up their seven children, four sons and three daughters, without straining his resources. And he lived to see those children achieve some influence.
Richard, the next eldest in the family, was already a noted knight. He had been returned as knight of the shire in parliaments from York to Westminster, and had worked with Walter to create the magnificent Stapledon Hall at Oxford University. Robert and Thomas had both gone into the Church and had good livings from their positions, while the daughters, Douce, Joan and Mabel, were all fortunate to marry well.
Yes. William Stapledon had deserved his long life and peaceful death. Walter only wished he might have the same good fortune.
There was a knock at his door, and John de Padington, his nephew, peered around. ‘Your clerks said you wanted to speak with me?’
‘Yes. Can you go and see the gaoler and fetch to me the rector he is holding? It is time I spoke with the God-cursed idiot about his kidnap and rape. He should be pliant enough by now, but ask the gaoler to walk here with you.’
When the steward had gone, Walter looked down at his hands and sighed. Yes, he had done his best all through his life. No one could deny that he was one of the most hardworking diocesans Exeter had ever seen; in truth, he was notable amongst bishops throughout the realm. It was likely that no other bishop in Devon and Cornwall had managed to visit all the parishes, meet with all the priests, nuns and monks, and assess each and every one in such a large diocese.
He had not been satisfied with merely visiting, either. Only too aware of the huge benefits which had accrued to him as a resultof his own education, and because he had seen too many rural priests who were more or less incapable of their duties, too old, too deaf, too steeped in wine, to be able to provide properly for the cure of the souls in their parishes, he was dedicated to improving the quality of all the men of the cloth in his diocese. For that he sedulously studied all the young boys he met in houses up and down his area. Those who showed a precocious intelligence, he would discuss with their parents, and the ones who appeared most promising, he would bring back to Exeter or Ashburton, where he had created a small school, and see them properly educated. With luck, some of them would later make their way up to Oxford, to study at the college he had founded.
In the cathedral, he would be remembered as a patron. He had provided much of the money to ensure that the works continued to
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