from England. The Bishop of St David’s had died that past May, and there were rumors that the malcontent Earl of Norfolk had died in the Holy Land, where he’d gone to expiate his many sins. The Almighty truly worked in mysterious ways, he observed, for few men deserved such a sanctified death less than Hugh Bigod, but then he made John laugh by saying cheerfully that at least the miscreant earl’s stay in Purgatory would surely last an aeon or two.
“My lord bishop.” One of John’s servants was coming up the garden walkway. “The queen has just arrived, Your Grace, and asks to see you straightaway.”
“By all means. Have her join us here in the gardens, Milo, and see that refreshments are brought out.” As the man retreated, Bishop John glanced toward Salisbury with a smile. “I wonder if a time will ever come when we hear the words ‘the queen’ and do not think of Eleanor.”
Salisbury knew Eleanor, too, although not as well as Poitiers’s bishop. “Not in our lifetimes,” he predicted, watching with alert interest the young woman just entering the gardens.
Noting that Marguerite’s attendants had lagged behind, the two men exchanged thoughtful looks, for that indicated her visit was not a routine social call. “Madame, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Bishop John said, hastening to meet her. “May I introduce an old friend, John, the Bishop-elect of Chartres.”
Marguerite’s eyes flicked uneasily to Salisbury’s cherubic face, then back to Bishop John. “Your Grace, I have an urgent matter to discuss. May I rely upon your utter discretion, and that of your friend?”
“Of course. Whatever you tell us will be kept as secret as anything we’d hear in the confessional.”
Marguerite let them seat her upon a wooden bench. “Do you know Adam de Churchedune, my husband’s vice-chancellor?”
The bishop nodded. “I believe he was a clerk to the prior of Beverley ere joining the young king’s household. What of him, my lady?”
“It seems he has been serving two masters, my husband and his father. He was caught trying to send a confidential message to King Henry in England.” Marguerite dropped her eyes to the hands clenched in her lap. “Adam was concerned that my husband had taken up with what he called ‘highly suspect company.’ He particularly objected to the presence of the de Lusignans and several lords who’d taken part in the last rebellion against King Henry, men whom he suspected of aiding and abetting what he called ‘the current crop of rebels.’ It…it was not a letter that portrayed my husband in a favorable light.”
“Ah…I see. And the young king is irate?”
“More than that, Your Grace. I have never seen him so angry. He says that Adam has betrayed him, and he is set upon punishing him severely for his lack of loyalty. He and his household knights are trying Adam for treason even as we speak, and I greatly fear that he may well do something he’d regret for the rest of his life.”
“Has he forgotten that Adam de Churchedune is a cleric, and not subject to the king’s courts?” Bishop John spoke calmly, although his composure was belied by the sudden taut line of his jaw. “Surely there were men there who dared to remind your husband of that salient fact?”
“Yes, several spoke up, including Baldwin de Bethune and Will Marshal. But my husband is listening to others, to men who are urging him to make an example of Adam. They have made it sound as if my husband’s honor, his very manhood, is at stake…” Marguerite’s voice faded away, and when she looked up at the bishops, tears were brimming in the corners of her eyes. “Your Grace, you were the only one I could think of, the only one who might stop this madness ere it goes too far. When I left, they were clamoring for the death penalty!” Despite the summer sun, she shivered. “I may not know much of political matters, not like Queen Eleanor, but even I know how outraged the Holy Father would be, how angry King Henry would be. I entreat you, my lord bishop, do what you can, for poor Adam’s sake and for my husband’s sake, too.”
As they were admitted to the royal palace, John gave his companion a searching look. “Are you sure you want to accompany me? This could get very ugly.”
Salisbury nodded emphatically. “You know I was a witness to Thomas’s slaying. You may not know that I was amongst those who ran from his killers. The monks and his clerks fled, leaving him alone to face those brutes. Only one man, a monk who did not even know him, dared to come to his aid, and he paid a grievous price for his courage, had his arm all but severed.”
“Thomas would not have wanted others to die with him. Did he not warn the killers that they were not to harm any of his people?”
“He may not have asked it of me, but I asked it of myself, and was found wanting. I swore upon the Rood that it would not happen again.”
“Deus vult,” the other man said quietly, and then turned to a hovering servant. “Take us to the king,” he commanded, in a tone that would brook no refusal. They were led across the courtyard toward the great hall, where a large crowd had gathered under the open windows, jockeying for position, putting the bishops in mind of those eager multitudes who would turn out for a public hanging. Their own attendants cleared a path, aided by shouts of “Make way for the bishop!”
Inside, they were hit by a blast of hot, humid air. So many men had squeezed into the hall that they were trampling on one another’s feet, elbows jabbing into ribs, necks craning toward the dais. Bishop John moved forward with a ruthless will that would not be denied; the much smaller Salisbury slid into the space he created and followed, feeling, with an incongruous flash of humor, like a little skiff bobbing in the wake of a war galley.
Hal was seated on the dais, surrounded by knights and barons of Poitou. He looked very handsome and very regal, his good looks enhanced by his anger, giving him high color and a smoldering intensity that riveted all eyes upon him. Most of the men seemed to share his agitation; they looked either indignant or excited or both. The bishop did find a few somber faces, but not many. He wasted no time scanning the spectators, his gaze searching out the man at the center of this storm, the unfortunate Adam de Churchedune.
Adam had the stunned expression of a man unable to understand what was happening to him, the dazed disbelief of one realizing he was going to drown within reach of shore. “My lord,” he pleaded, “I am truly sorry if I have offended you, for that was never my intent. But you do not want to do this-”
“Yes,” Hal cut in, “I do! Your treachery deserves nothing less. The sentence of death stands.”
“That is a grim jest,” the Bishop of Poitiers said loudly, “but I assume it is a jest, nevertheless, for you cannot pass a death sentence upon this man.”
All heads swiveled in his direction. Adam spun around, stretching out his arms toward the bishop like a man grabbing for a lifeline. “Your Grace, I beg you to help me!”
Hal’s reaction was no less dramatic. He jumped to his feet, stood watching as the bishop moved toward the dais, his head high, his shoulders squared, feet planted apart, every line of his body communicating tension and defiance. “My lord bishop,” he said curtly. “What are you doing here?”
“Apparently stopping you from making a grave mistake, my lord king,” the bishop said, with equal coldness, and as hostile murmurings swept the hall, Salisbury felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why had John taken such a harsh approach? Would they not have been better served by more conciliatory tactics?
“With all due respect, my lord bishop, you do not know what is occurring here, what this man has done. He has betrayed me, has been spying upon me and reporting back to my father! What could be more despicable than treachery like that?”
“I am not here to defend what he has done, my liege,” the bishop said, and Adam seemed to shrink before their eyes as the hope stirred by John’s appearance was snatched away.
Hal was momentarily thrown off balance. “Well,” he said, “I am glad to hear that.”
John had reached the dais by now. “Whether he is guilty of a betrayal is not the issue. It would seem to me that this is a matter best taken up with your lord father, but again, that is beyond my purview. My only concern is with the punishment you are threatening to inflict upon him. As I said, that cannot be.”
Hal began to bluster again. “That is not for you to say!”
“Yes, it is. Adam de Churchedune is not subject to the jurisdiction of your court. He is in minor orders and can be judged only by Holy Church.”
Hal scowled. “He is not a priest, has never taken holy vows!”
“That is irrelevant. The Church’s position has always been quite clear upon this subject. It matters not if a man is in minor orders or if he be one of the Pope’s own cardinals. In either case, he is to be judged by the Church and only the Church.”
The mutterings were becoming louder now, the antagonism needing only a spark to burst into flame.
