The Cross Legged Knight by Candace Robb

I cannot think how you can welcome the bishop into your house.’
    ‘My dear Emma, sit down, calm yourself.’
    She chose to pace, her silk skirts rustling as she turned and turned again. She had dressed in her finest for the funeral. Her husband was a prosperous merchant, but not so wealthy that his wife commonly dressed in silk. Even her hair beneath the thin veil had been elaborately coiffed for the occasion, held in place by jewelled combs. Today she had gathered all her wealth and will around her to give her strength.
    ‘I imagine he did not wish to disturb his new tenant,’ said Emma. ‘A member of parliament for the shire – the bishop has cause to stay in the good graces of such a man. Our opinion, on the other hand, is of little consequence to him.’
    ‘Godwin Fitzbaldric was a member for Kingston-upon-Hull, Emma. He will not enjoy such prominence in York until he rises through the ranks. The bishop knows that.’
    She was shaking her head. ‘Two years,’ she cried. ‘Two years the Bishop of Winchester was in negotiations while my father wasted away in prison. And he could not even reclaim Father’s body.’ Tears slipped down her flushed cheeks.
    Oh, sweet child, I heed well your frustration. I feel the same. Sir Ranulf was my dear friend. But the Bishop of Winchester must not be brought down by this . ‘Your father understood the risk in what he did.’
    ‘His king abandoned him.’
    The king is inconstant in his affections, yes, I know . ‘If the king admitted to having such men as your father established in French court circles, many more woulddie. The king needs to move with caution.’
    She had been walking away from him, but turned, looking at him with an expression of disbelief.
    ‘I know they sound like empty words,’ he said. ‘They do to me as well. But it is true, the king must move cautiously in France.’
    ‘My father was your friend.’
    ‘He was. And I mourn his passing. But he would agree with me. He did not wish the king to risk the safety of others to save him. That is why he refused to name any other spies.’ Thoresby nodded towards the wine the servant had left. ‘Sit down and warm yourself with some brandywine.’ As Archbishop of York he must support the Church, particularly now. ‘Wykeham has of late suffered for the king’s cause, also.’
    ‘There are many say parliament was right in their judgement of Wykeham,’ said Emma, ‘that he does not have the talent of diplomacy, much needed in a chancellor. Father suffered for no fault of his own.’
    The opinion of a fond daughter. Thoresby did not share it. But it was not his purpose to disillusion Emma.
    His silence, however, caught her attention. She had stopped her pacing and, after studying his face for a long moment, sank down on a chair and bowed her head. ‘I have nightmares of Judgement Day.’ Her voice was now but a whisper. ‘Father lies in a pit, watching all the bones round him gather and rise, becoming whole. But he cannot lift his head, nor his arms, his legs will not move. He tries to cry out, but he has no voice.’
    Thoresby crossed himself. ‘It cannot be so, Emma. All the saints would suffer likewise.’ It was what he used to comfort himself.
    ‘The bishop is a coward! He could not even keep track of my father’s ransom money.’
    It was true. Someone had altered the documents passed between the family and Wykeham to record a lesser amount offered by the Pagnells. Wykeham had not discovered it until he returned the ransom to the family and they declared it short a considerable sum. ‘Wykeham has made recompense, has he not?’
    ‘If you mean did he return the entire amount after being convinced of his error, you know that he did. But he can never make recompense for my father’s life.’ Emma pressed a gloved hand to her mouth and with the other hand pressed her heart. ‘And now he insults us with charges of trying to harm him.’
    ‘Did he behave as if he believed that when he greeted you?