‘Which at least means it’s less likely to be one of my parish priests,’ the bishop commented sourly.
‘This purse is interesting, though.’
The door from the screens passage opened and William walked in, holding it wide for John, who was carrying a large tray laden with wine, goblets, and meat as well as cheeses.
Bishop Walter nodded to the steward. ‘Very good, John.’
‘We want to hear what the Keeper says,’ John said.
‘I wish for some peace,’ the bishop said firmly.
‘We have to learn all we can if we’re going to protect you,’ William protested. ‘It would be foolish for us to be turned away. What does the last message say?’ he asked.
Baldwin passed the note to him, and the squire stood reading it blankly for a moment. ‘What does it mean? The city wouldn’t exactly rise up to defend a man, no matter who it was.’
‘I agree with the bishop that it was a good idea to come here,’ Baldwin said, studying the first two messages closely. His eyes were not so good as once they had been.
The bishop shook his head. ‘I believe firmly that this is all nonsense, and will soon be shown to be of no consequence.’
‘This purse is most curious,’ Baldwin said. ‘It is too small to be used as a man’s purse. Good, fine leather, but so small. No man would carry something so petite. And this stain …’
Bishop Walter rubbed at the bridge of his nose. ‘Yes, it looks like blood, I know.’
‘Well, Bishop, I believe you if you say you’ve not killed a man,’ Baldwin said with a smile.
The bishop returned it, although his own, he felt, was rather more brittle than the knight’s. ‘I am glad to hear you say that. I would not like to be accused of a simple murder, Sir Baldwin.’
To his annoyance, the knight appeared to pay no attention to his words.
‘No. I don’t think you have killed a man yourself. However, the author of these notes believes that you have. And that means he must have some reason to suspect you. Is it possible that you have a servant who has killed and that you are being held responsible? The only alternative, surely, is that you have, because of negligence or inaction, allowed someone to die. I cannot believe that.’
‘Why, because you don’t think me capable of incompetence or laziness?’ Bishop Walter said pointedly.
Again though, Sir Baldwin did not look across at him. He remained turning the purse over and over in his hands. ‘No, it is merely a matter of commonsense. If you’d allowed someone to die from either cause, you would be aware of the deaths. If it were something which you were completely unaware of, your negligence or inaction would be irrelevant. Unless it was your negligence in following up a death? But this is pointless. It is trying to weave a tapestry to form a picture when we only have one colour of thread. What we need is different colours to tell our tale. So let us consider the next scene, and see if there is more thread there.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ the bishop said heavily.
‘Merely this, my lord Bishop. This purse — consider it carefully. It is so small, no man would use it as his purse, as I said. However, it is a useful size for certain things. I would imagine that many items would fit inside it, wouldn’t you?’
Squire William leaned forward. ‘What sort of thing, do you think?’
Baldwin peered at it very closely, resting his elbows on his knees. He scratched the outside, sniffed at it, studied it with his head on one side, and finally peered into the interior. He sniffed again, and then scratched at the inside, staring with a frown at his fingernail.
‘Well?’ the bishop said.
‘Someone used this to store a seal,’ Baldwin said slowly. He weighed the purse in his hand thoughtfully. ‘It’s very fine leather, good and soft. It would be enough to protect a man’s seal, and there is a residue of red wax on the inner seam.’
‘Great heaven!’ the bishop breathed as he took the purse and gazed inside. ‘I saw that, but didn’t think anything of it. So you consider that this might have been a seal’s purse. But how that can help us, I do not know.’
Baldwin was watching him closely, he noticed. ‘Yes, Sir Baldwin?’
‘May I be frank, Bishop? Before our companions?’
The bishop looked up at Squire William and his steward, then back at Baldwin, and he allowed a hint of steel to enter his voice. ‘I have no secrets from my nephew and the man who has shown himself my most trusted servant over many years, Sir Baldwin.’
‘In that case, bishop, I would ask how many manors you have acquired for yourself in recent years. This is a goodly sized purse for a large seal. That to me indicates that the seal was from a good manor. It is not a legal seal, for they are held in wooden boxes. It is not a regal seal, for they are larger. This is a middling seal for a man who was proud enough to have a leather purse made for his seal. Perhaps a rich squire, or a knight or knight banneret.’
‘I have not murdered anyone.’
‘That may be true. However, I am sure that there will have been occasions when you have worked with Sir Hugh le Despenser. Perhaps on some occasions he has been more … energetic in pursuing your joint ambitions than you would have been on your own.’
‘I am sure that I would have learned of murder, had he committed it.’
‘Do you have a list of the manors which you have acquired with his help?’
‘Oh, this is foolish! There can be nothing in it!’
Baldwin stood. ‘Then clearly there is no need in my remaining. I shall leave you, bishop, and return to my wife. If you change your mind, and wish for me to investigate these messages, then you will be able to find me at my house.’
He stood and bowed, and was about to stride from the room, when the bishop called him back.
‘Sir Baldwin, I am sorry. Yes. I have a list of some of the manors.’
Montreuil
It was late in the afternoon by the time Paul had finished his lesson. Not that there was much he could teach the duke in any case. The young heir to the throne had been well lectured in his time by some of the best tutors in England, and the last one, to judge by the duke’s fulsome praise, had been a paragon of virtue and intelligence.
Not that it was the ability and shrewdness of the duke that caused Paul to feel so unwholesome. As he walked from the duke’s hall and out into the courtyard, all he was aware of was the thundering in his head. If he had been alone, he would have thrust his fingers down his throat to make himself sick on purpose. The acid in his belly was so foul, it would have been better to try to balance his humours by ejecting as much of it as possible, and then lining his stomach with cool milk to soothe it. He was still tempted to try it even now.
The yard was almost empty, but as he stood at the stairs, he heard the duke shouting for gloves and a cloak, and a little while afterwards, he was at Paul’s side.
‘Good tutor, would you care to join me in a ride?’
Paul tried to smile. ‘That would be most pleasant, but I am not your tutor, my son, I am your confessor. And I fear that to do my work as well as I might, I need to-’
‘Father, I would be glad of your company.’
Paul tried one last refusal. ‘But, Duke Edward, I am hardly the-’
‘Good. So, we need a horse for you too.’
‘We cannot go riding alone, surely?’
‘Why not? This is France, and I feel as safe here as anywhere.’
Paul stared around wildly, hoping for inspiration. He felt foul, his mouth was rough, his belly was threatening to explode, and the last thing he wished for was a fast canter across the countryside with this wayward duke. ‘What would your mother say?’ was the only phrase that came to mind.
The prince looked at him with that quiet gaze that was so coldly certain. It was very much as if he could see into Paul’s soul — and Paul did not like the feeling. Not that he had anything to hide. He was the son of a well-to-do knight, and brother to a sheriff. There was nothing for him to be ashamed of. But still, it was a very odd feeling to have this fellow, who was shorter than him, younger than him, less mature than him, stare at him in that peculiarly direct manner.