Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) Read Online Free PDF Page B

enemy, in fact, and Despenser was unsure about him. What, for example, was the meaning behind this latest suggestion? That the King should go to Paris? How could that benefit Bishop John, he wondered. Not that he was too concerned. He was sure he could persuade King Edward to ignore that sort of suggestion.
    He tried a tone of hurt shock. ‘You expect your King to go to Paris? You really want him to suffer another humiliation at the hands of the man who confiscated all his French territories last year? When all his enemies are there, living openly and under the protection of the French court?’
    ‘Yes – you expect me to abase myself before that thief?’ King Edward raged suddenly. ‘Had you heard that traitors are there? You want them to have a chance to assassinate me?’
    ‘My Lord King, I say no such—’
    ‘But you want me to go to Paris, don’t you?’
    ‘Perhaps the good Bishop is not aware of the risks involved,’ Despenser muttered.
    ‘The risks?’
    ‘Yes!’ the King shouted. ‘The
risks
, my good Lord Bishop! Don’t you know that the realm’s greatest traitor, that duplicitous bastard Mortimer, is there at the French court? Eh? And he’s not alone, is he? No! There are enough other men in that court who would want to do me damage!’
    As he ranted, Hugh le Despenser nodded sagely. It had not been difficult to plant concerns about the King’s safety were he to go to France. His obsessional paranoia since the last wars was in fact entirely rational. Edward had killed his own cousin, Earl Thomas of Lancaster, and then embarked on a campaign of reprisals against all those who had attacked him and his authority. That was over two years ago, but rotting limbs of the knights and lords who had been executed were still dangling above the gates to all the major cities in the land, while their heads adorned spikes. Some had managed to slip away without capture, and most of them had gone to the French court, where the King liked to bite his thumb at his English brother-in-law. Now they lived there, more or less openly, at the expense of the French.
    ‘I will not submit to this! I want my host! Send my men-at-arms to France – I will crush this bastard!’
    Despenser saw how quickly the Bishop’s eye dropped to hide his amusement, and he curbed the smile that threatened his own mouth. To openly deride the King’s martial expertise would be dangerous even for him.
    ‘My Lord,’ Stratford said quietly, ‘you have no host. The French King has right upon his side. You are a vassal for the Guyenne. And do not forget that the Pope wishes for peace, and he begs that you do homage for the lands you hold from King Charles IV.’
    ‘Sir Hugh?’
    Despenser made a show of raising his hands and shaking his head. ‘My Lord King, I suppose any obfuscation must result in losing Guyenne. My Lord Bishop is quite right to say that homage must be paid.’
    ‘I will
not
go there. Must I accept the demands of this upstart who has stolen my lands from me? No! I would sooner give up my Crown! And I do not have to.’ He span on his heel and pointed at the clerk sitting in the corner. ‘I will send a delegation to Castile. We will offer my son in marriage to the Castilian woman, this … this … Sir Hugh, what was her name?’
    ‘Leonor, my Lord,’ Despenser said.
    ‘Yes. We will send ambassadors to them there. Demand three thousand men to help protect our provinces from this French King. Then we can …’
    Despenser saw Stratford fiddling with the parchment in front of him. His unease was all too plain. The King was taking actions that could infuriate the French, who had the most powerful host in all Europe. Despenser shivered, and tried to cover it by lifting his arms over his head and stretching. But there was no concealing thedangers and threats from himself. He had to remain on the alert all the time.
    Especially, he thought as he caught another sideways look from the Bishop, from men like this. Stratford knew