Chapter 20: A Recovery, of sorts
The Bishop of Halton was not a patient man. Having served under various members of what was now the Lancaster family, he suffered through their rule mostly be virtue of their treasure. They were excellent moneymen and soldiers and, up till the reign of this new Earl or Duke as he now styled himself, were content to simply protect and fund the Church within their lands. Elfwine however, upstart that he was, rolled back on many ancient privileges, threatened many a new tax and tariff on not merely town churches but the bishoprics themselves! Halton had grown rich enough with the Lancasters, but there was really no such thing as ‘enough’. Now the self-appointed great lord of the land had locked himself away in his hall for over two weeks. Mourning was one thing, but business needed to be done. He could not raise another war tax if there was no new war to be getting on with.
Walking through the inner gates of the family’s hold in Lancaster City, the Bishop glared at servants and guardsmen alike till he was intercepted by the Bailiff. He had no time for interruptions today however and so barged past, leaving the other man shouting after him.
“He ordered not to be disturbed.”
“Oh, he shall be disturbed, and by God’s right too!” Halton fired back, bursting into Elfwine’s chambers where the lord knelt over some prayer for the departed. “For Heaven’s sake man, get up and be about yourself! We were in the middle of planning for further campaigns against the heathen Irish.”
Elfwine rose, glancing over at the Bailiff who stood awkwardly in the open doorway before setting his own glare straight back at the bishop. “Are you suggesting I am remiss in mourning my dead wife?” he said.
“No, but time does not heed her anymore than it heeds you. This realm of yours is held together by force alone. You cannot simply vanish whenever fancy takes you!”
Elfwine stared at him, long enough for Halton to bow his head. “Let us walk,” the Duke said.
The family seat was hardly large, yet the city was already expanding far beyond initial expectations. Still, it did not take long for the pair to stroll down from the high hill, through the streets and onto the wall overlooking the sea. Halton breathed in the fresh air and relaxed a touch, and decided to throw an olive branch at his silent companion. “The air is excellent here. No doubt it has aided you in your sickness?”
Elfwine’s mouth curled upwards, “For the most part, yes. I fear I shall be inconvenienced for but a little while longer.”
“Most excellent news,” Halton said with false cheer. “Perhaps now we might discuss the situation in Ireland, and the funding?” Now, with his desires in the open, the bishop was content for the Duke to plan his attack and, more importantly, his taxes.
“Ireland shall keep. Our steadfast friend Lord Lindsey has sent his condolences wrapped around a gift, a new bride for…I.” Elfwine looked away briefly before continuing, “She is young yet, so who can tell these things but she seems intelligent. And the claimage she brings is considerable.”
Halton huffed. “Oh yes, you still believe you can expand eastwards? Even after all the easy picking elsewhere?”
“York is not elsewhere,” Elfwine said firmly. “Whilst I do not desire it to be my capital, there is no denying that it has been the finest city in the North for many centuries. The Archbishop warms to our cause. The local lords are weak or children. To secure York is to secure the future of my realm in the North. So yes, I
shall be expanding eastwards.”
Halton would not be deterred. “And Ireland?”
Elfwine looked out to sea, and there across from Lancaster lay the land in question. Beautiful, practically untouched by large-scale habitation. It was, he supposed, what the Romans must have found, so long ago when they arrived upon these shores. Here and now, he saw the same possibilities and complications they too must have grasped.
“Two chieftains remain in our concerns, and they are the strongest. We shall begin by defeating the last tribe unaffiliated with either they or us, and then take them down together. Of the two, I am most wary of Meath. They have actual settlements, with walls and fortifications if our spies are to be believed. Flann is by all accounts a cunning and strong warrior. If he can convince his friends and allies to follow him, it may well be a rough fight. I shall win of course, but still he concerns me.”
Halton smiled, “That sounds agreeable to me. I have already taken the liberty of noting down some ideas for funding amongst the city elites. The Church of course shall be of use in quelling these awful riots we seem to be having.”
“No doubt,” Elfwine said, still looking westwards. “Tell me, do you know why the people seem to be so angry with the Church?”
Halton bristled. “This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with their own damn moral failings. In fact,” the Bishop stepped forward, “I happen to find I have been most useful in stopping more outbreaks of this treachery! Why, I have not only doubled the revenue for the realm these past few months but also had several peasant leaders hanged by my authority. The mob understands force better than any other mistress.”
“I see. Surely we are blessed for such patronage as your good self.”
“Indeed, but it is a mere trifle my lord. Of course, some reward for the Church would not go unappreciated by my flock, or by I.”
“Naturally,” Elfwine said, suddenly turning to face the bishop. “I must think on what you could possibly deserve for such triumphs.”
“My lord, I am at your service as ever,” the Bishop bowed. “I shall go now to the local prayer house. The priest there asked me to drop in on him. May I await you further on this week?”
“You may await,” Elfwine said, waving him off. He considered the retreating back of Halton for some time, before the Bailiff ran up to him in a huff. “Yes?”
“The Uprising Sire! They are but two hours march from here!”
Elfwine breathed in deeply, shutting his eyes to the world and sinking into the depths of his mind. Slowly he opened them and smiled toothily at the older soldier.
“
Excellent.”
The sky was black by time of Elfwine’s return to the hall. In the end it had been a fairly decent battle, though the enemy commanders were ill-suited to much more than tavern brawling. It gave good excuse for his men to become bloodied again, and he sent riders to each of the Saxon lands in his thrall, preparing them for the coming adventure into Ireland.
Removing his gloves, he was surprised to find an unexpected visitor at his hearth, sat next to the great body of Secret. The good Bishop of Burton was supposed to be in Leeds, sounding out key locals to the idea of Lancaster rule and illicitly forging documents to prove his right to it.
“Thurfrith? Is all well?” he asked. The man was, outside of his chancellor and pet criminal, a personal friend.
“Oh, my lord,” Burton rose from his seat, “well…yes and no. I am pleased to say that Leeds is rightfully yours and that many officials are quite insistent you take up your place with haste.”
“Why, this is wonderful news,” Elfwine smiled. Secret rumbled and nudged closer towards the fire. “But what is the matter my friend, you seem out of sorts?”
“Something terrible has happened, my lord…it’s Elfweard.”
“The Bishop of Halton? I spoke to him just this morning.”
“He’s dead! Died in his sleep, so the doctor says.”
“Alas,” Elfwine said, moving to stand by the hearth, “he was by all accounts an excellent moneyman. Perhaps the air here took to him wrong.”
“Perhaps,” the Bishop commiserated. “And…dare I ask, how are you? I was sorry to hear of Agnes, and now all this with Halton and the heathens. And your health! Elfwine, you must know things will improve. We shall be better, all of us.”
Elfwine sighed. It had been quite the day. “Do you know,” he said warmly, “I believe we shall be fine.