The King's Bishop Read Online Free PDF Page B

Thoresby had thought he was to see the King alone, a chat between old friends.
    ‘Ah, there you are, John.’ Edward came forward, arms outstretched, stopping short of touching Thoresby. He made a sweeping motion towards the table at which Wykeham sat. ‘Come, sit with us. We have much to discuss.’
    A servant brought wine, which Thoresby accepted but let stand for now. Wine taken too soon after activity would bring on a cold sweat, and he must not appear nervous or even uncomfortable in front of Wykeham.
    The King settled himself in a well-cushioned chair. As soon as he sat, out came the dagger with which he increasingly expressed himself in conversation, stabbing here, jabbing there. It was as if with the stooping of his once mighty shoulders and the clouding of his once piercing eyes Edward had chosen the dagger to instil fear in his people. ‘So. Well met, my counsellors. You have something for me, John?’
    ‘I have indeed, Your Grace. Letters for the abbots of Fountains and Rievaulx.’ Thoresby pulled them from his purse, handed them to the King’s servant, who waited beside the Archbishop’s chair.
    Edward squinted at the documents, then back to Thoresby with raised eyebrows. ‘Already sealed?’
    On second thought, Thoresby had decided that the King would see through his crafty prose and had sealed the letters. The King might yet open them, but he might not. Thoresby creased his brow in an expression of concern. ‘You did not wish me to put the seals of chancellor and archbishop on them, Your Grace? Forgive me, I misunderstood. I thought you wished to impress on them the weight of my opinion.’
    The King said nothing, holding Thoresby’s eyes with his old power. Thoresby regretted the ploy. Wykeham gave a nervous cough that echoed in the lengthening silence. The floorboards creaked as the servant shifted his weight. Thoresby’s own heartbeat thundered in his ears. The King sat with his back to the window, so that the light caught the coarse white hairs on his ears, the seams in the royal neck.
    Oh Edward, Edward, we grow so old. Please, my King, be wise in your last years. Put that she-devil from you and comfort sweet Phillippa
, Thoresby prayed silently.
    The King suddenly smiled. ‘Of course that was the point, John, and you did well to seal them. You are as competent as ever.’
    Now Thoresby yearned for the wine, but he must wait until his heartbeat slowed, else his hands would tremble and give him away.
    Wykeham, however, was not so wise. He grabbed his goblet and took a good, long drink, returning it to the table with a nervous clatter.
    The King grinned unpleasantly at his protégé. ‘What, William? Did my silence make you nervous?’ He sat back, studied Wykeham, who dropped his eyes to the table directly in front of him. ‘Are you easily bullied, William? How then will you stand up to His Holiness?’ Edward turned to Thoresby. ‘Am I making a mistake, John? Is William too gentle to be my bishop?’ Thoresby thought Wykeham’s rising colour could as easily be caused by anger as by fear. But Edward did not wait for a reply; he closed his eyes, shook his head. ‘God will guide me.’ He opened his eyes, leaned forward, pointed the dagger at Thoresby. ‘Captain Archer is standing ready?’
    Thoresby hesitated only a second, accustomed to the shifts in the King’s moods. ‘By now he has received his orders, Your Grace.’
    ‘And the Archdeacon of York?’
    Thoresby bowed towards Edward. ‘And the Archdeacon, Your Grace.’ Calm now, he lifted his cup to his lips, drank deeply.
    ‘So,’ the King continued, ‘we have the letters, the York contingent, all that is still to do is send the letters north, eh?’ He nodded to himself. ‘Townley, Gaunt’s spy, is to lead the party north.’
    Thoresby choked on a second sip of wine, managed to mask it as a cough. John of Gaunt’s spy? Was this Lancaster’s move to foil Wykeham?
    Before Thoresby could think of a comment, Wykeham jumped in with