The Malice of Unnatural Death: (Knights Templar 22) by Michael Jecks

Author:Michael Jecks [Jecks, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472219831
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2014-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

The Bishop’s Palace

Robert Busse had completed the business he had with Bishop Stapledon, and was glad to be able to take his leave.

It had been an excellent idea to come here, he thought with satisfaction as he walked from the palace into the close. That dunghill rat John de Courtenay would find it hard, very hard, now that Busse had already won the bishop’s ear.

His rival was a fool, that was the thing. He never understood the simplest point of organisation, he couldn’t manage an account to save his life, and his sole interests were his damned hunting animals and his clothing. Had to follow every damned fashion – as soon as the court altered the length of their hosen, so did he. Under him, the abbey would collapse. Busse was convinced of it.

Still, the good thing was, Busse was ahead of him now. There could be no doubt in the mind of any of the brothers that the better was going to win the throne, and it wouldn’t be de Courtenay. And one of the first instructions that Busse would give, when he had the abbacy, would be to command that all brothers adhered to the rule’s commands, and all hounds, raches, alaunts, whatever the blasted slobbering mutts were, would have to go. If de Courtenay wanted, he could send them all back where they came from, his father’s household. Personally Busse had nothing against them; it was only that de Courtenay was flaunting his wealth for no reason. And when that God-cursed monster had come into the refectory last month and taken the food from Busse’s very bowl, Busse had known, absolutely for certain, that he would rather die than see the poor abbey fall into that man’s hands.

There had been many things to be done, of course. Busse had managed to deal with many of the other brothers long before poor Abbot Robert, God save his soul, had died. He’d already won the agreement of Richard de Wylle (he would become prior under Busse); Roger de Pountyngdon (who would become sacristan); William de la Wille (almoner); Alexander . . . the list was endless. All had agreed, though, to vote for him at the election, rather than for de Courtenay.

But now he had just one last little task to ensure that all was done. He’d already checked with Langatre, and now he wanted to make sure once more. Just to see that his future was as secure as he thought it should be. Langatre was competent enough to read the signs for him. Not that it was necessary, of course. But it would make him a teeny bit more comfortable . . . John de Courtenay was a powerful man, after all. His father was a baron . . .

The roads were clearing now in the gathering dusk, and he could smell the delicious odour of cooking pies and meats as women prepared their last meals of the day. During the summer months, they would do so at this hour, and he somehow much preferred the summertime, and smelling the cooking in daylight.

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