Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page A

glad, then, that there is no parliament yet. By the time it is called, I hope you will be able to join me. A journey to London or York would be a fine way to bring the colour back to your cheeks.’
    She smiled at him, but shook her head. ‘I cannot even dream of such a journey, Baldwin. I am so weary, so weary. The child is strong, though. He thinks nothing of waking two or three times in the middle of the night to suck my pap.’
    ‘He will be strong,’ Baldwin assured her, peering down into the cradle where his son lay.
    ‘You should leave, not stand goggle-eyed at the sight of your son.’
    ‘Woman, I am gazing down at my firstborn son and marvelling at his perfection. Which is in truth a proof of the sire’s beauty.’
    ‘And nothing to do with the dam’s, I suppose?’
    ‘Madam, you merely own my heart,’ he swore, his hand on his breast.
    ‘Then stop letting your eyes slide to him, then,’ she laughed weakly. ‘Go!’
    His horse was already waiting, and he was able to make the journey in good time, even with the hazardous roads. In less than a half-day, he was cautiously trotting over the icy wooden drawbridge to the Bishop’s well-protected manor. Soon afterwards he was in the Bishop’s hall, cupping his hands about a mazer of warmed and heavily spiced cider.
    Bishop Walter II was a tall, stooped man in his sixties. His eyesight, never good, must now be supplemented with strong spectacles, which he was forced to hold overhis nose with one hand while poring over documents. Still, he was a strong man, and although Baldwin knew he suffered dreadfully from piles, he had few other ailments to show how old he had grown.
    ‘I am glad you were able to come, Sir Baldwin,’ he said. For a moment or two he peered at Baldwin through his glass lenses, his eyes enormous and staring, and Baldwin was reminded of a man gazing in terror, until suddenly the Bishop threw the bone spectacles down with a petulant gesture.
    ‘My Lord Bishop? Is there something I can do to help you?’
    ‘Only one thing: I would have you travel with me to see the King. Sir Baldwin, there are matters which are being discussed, and I have been called to give my advice, such as I may. I should like you to join me. There is a need for sound heads. Dear God, yes.’

Bishop’s Palace, Exeter
    Simon Puttock rode into the city of Exeter with that tormented feeling of being wrenched from his family again, although this time it was ameliorated by the knowledge that he was at least safe from the politicking of the monks at Tavistock. That was, it was true, some relief.
    ‘How much further is it to London?’
    Simon grunted. He had intended to leave this lad behind. Rob had been his servant for a while in Dartmouth, and he had become a form of fixture in Simon’s life, no matter what Simon did or said to deter him. When Simon left Dartmouth for (as he hoped) the last time, he had intended to leave Rob as well, but the lad appeared to have developed a highly undesirable devotion to Simon. First he had trailed along with Simon to Tavistock, then to Exeter, which had tested the fellow’s commitment significantly, and now he insisted uponjoining Simon in this, his longest trip overland. All the way to London, in God’s name!
    ‘I mean, are we halfway yet?’
    ‘Halfway? All we have done is a matter of a few leagues, boy. We are going to Westminster, which is at least seventy more.’
    ‘Oh.’ Rob was quiet a moment, his face scowling with concentration. ‘So we’ll be a few more days, then?’
    Simon groaned. All the way from Dartmouth to Exeter the last time they had travelled together, Rob had kept up a constant demand to know whether they were ‘nearly there’ yet. Simon foresaw days stretching ahead during which he must suffer the same queries. He could almost feel nostalgic for the old days when he had wandered about the country with his truculent, monosyllabic servant Hugh. But he’d had to leave Hugh at home to protect the place. The