the glory of God, even if he would never himself see the finished result. That was a certainty – at the present rate of progress, it could not be completed until halfway through the century at the earliest. Although Walter II was already five-and-sixty, but felt as young as a man in his fortieth year, he knew that it was too much to hope that God would allow him to remain here for another four-and-twenty years. If He did, Walter would no doubt be a drooling, feeble-minded cretin like poor Father Joshua, who could do little more than swallow now when a spoon was held to his mouth.
The bishop was enormously fond of Joshua. When Walter had first arrived here in Exeter and became a canon, it was Father Joshua who had helped introduce him to all the other canons. The rude, the hypocritical, the naive and fawning – each had been described to him beforehand, and Joshua had been a kindly and humorous influence on him from that day onward. It was Joshua who had helped Walter when the Dominicans tried to prevent him from being installed as bishop, Joshua who had assisted with the founding of the school at Ashburton, Joshua who … It was hard to think of any facet of his life in recent years which had
not
been aided by Joshua. The old man had been a friend and ally for longer than the bishop could remember, and the idea that he wasnow so befuddled and feeble was dreadful. The idea of continuing in his post without the support of the old man was appalling.
But continue he would. Bishop Walter was proud of his achievements as a bishop. And the work he had done for the king, of course.
That had all begun a long while ago now. He had been one of the many bishops who had worked to try to maintain the peace when the king first formed an unsuitable relationship, back in the early days of his reign, with that incomparable fool Piers Gaveston. The man was so acquisitive, it was a miracle that the king had a realm of any size left. Gaveston was captured and executed, and afterwards the kingdom fell into a sort of calm. Not true peace, though: it was a period of stagnation and fear, waiting for the next buffets of fate. And within a short space, they had struck.
‘Bishop? My lord?’
The words cut into his thoughts and Stapledon turned quickly to the door, startled. ‘John?’ It was the bane of his life, this accursed feeble eyesight he had developed. At first he had merely been unable to read documents even when quite close, which was why he had invested in the spectacles – but now even objects a short distance away were nearly impossible to discern.
‘Yes, it is me, my lord. I fear that there is ill news. The prisoner, the rector, has gone. And so has the gaoler.’
‘What do you mean, “gone”?’ the bishop asked testily.
‘One of the servants said that he saw them both walking up out of the Close days ago. The gaoler hasn’t been seen since, and no one seems to know where he could have gone.’
The bishop sighed heavily. ‘So that is it, then. The rector was taken to his brother, I suppose, and that means he will have been sent far away. He would scarcely take the risk that I might force my way into the castle and remove him.’
‘I fear so, my lord.’
‘Fetch Alured de Gydie to me. And send a message to the sheriff, demanding to know the whereabouts of his brother, on his oath. I will not be lied to.’
His steward hurried away, the door slamming behind him, and the bishop returned to his contemplation of the recent past.
It was not a pleasant review.
Church of the Holy Trinity, Teigh
As soon as he had seen the clouds of dust disappearing towards the horizon, Richard de Folville had hurried back into the house. In the corner he had a large chest, and he threw it open, pulling aside the vestments and clothing within before finding the scarred leather baldric. Drawing it over his head and shoulders, gripping the sword’s sheath in his left hand, he ran from the cottage.
There was a low, woven fence to mark
The bishop was enormously fond of Joshua. When Walter had first arrived here in Exeter and became a canon, it was Father Joshua who had helped introduce him to all the other canons. The rude, the hypocritical, the naive and fawning – each had been described to him beforehand, and Joshua had been a kindly and humorous influence on him from that day onward. It was Joshua who had helped Walter when the Dominicans tried to prevent him from being installed as bishop, Joshua who had assisted with the founding of the school at Ashburton, Joshua who … It was hard to think of any facet of his life in recent years which had
not
been aided by Joshua. The old man had been a friend and ally for longer than the bishop could remember, and the idea that he wasnow so befuddled and feeble was dreadful. The idea of continuing in his post without the support of the old man was appalling.
But continue he would. Bishop Walter was proud of his achievements as a bishop. And the work he had done for the king, of course.
That had all begun a long while ago now. He had been one of the many bishops who had worked to try to maintain the peace when the king first formed an unsuitable relationship, back in the early days of his reign, with that incomparable fool Piers Gaveston. The man was so acquisitive, it was a miracle that the king had a realm of any size left. Gaveston was captured and executed, and afterwards the kingdom fell into a sort of calm. Not true peace, though: it was a period of stagnation and fear, waiting for the next buffets of fate. And within a short space, they had struck.
‘Bishop? My lord?’
The words cut into his thoughts and Stapledon turned quickly to the door, startled. ‘John?’ It was the bane of his life, this accursed feeble eyesight he had developed. At first he had merely been unable to read documents even when quite close, which was why he had invested in the spectacles – but now even objects a short distance away were nearly impossible to discern.
‘Yes, it is me, my lord. I fear that there is ill news. The prisoner, the rector, has gone. And so has the gaoler.’
‘What do you mean, “gone”?’ the bishop asked testily.
‘One of the servants said that he saw them both walking up out of the Close days ago. The gaoler hasn’t been seen since, and no one seems to know where he could have gone.’
The bishop sighed heavily. ‘So that is it, then. The rector was taken to his brother, I suppose, and that means he will have been sent far away. He would scarcely take the risk that I might force my way into the castle and remove him.’
‘I fear so, my lord.’
‘Fetch Alured de Gydie to me. And send a message to the sheriff, demanding to know the whereabouts of his brother, on his oath. I will not be lied to.’
His steward hurried away, the door slamming behind him, and the bishop returned to his contemplation of the recent past.
It was not a pleasant review.
Church of the Holy Trinity, Teigh
As soon as he had seen the clouds of dust disappearing towards the horizon, Richard de Folville had hurried back into the house. In the corner he had a large chest, and he threw it open, pulling aside the vestments and clothing within before finding the scarred leather baldric. Drawing it over his head and shoulders, gripping the sword’s sheath in his left hand, he ran from the cottage.
There was a low, woven fence to mark