Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23)

by Michael Jecks

  He had attacked her with every means at his disposal. First, there was the removal of her servants, her chaplains, her physicians. Then her estates were sequestrated, her children taken from her, and now, the final indignity, even her seal was snatched and given to her gaoler, Eleanor, Despenser’s wife.

  Alone, without money, her family taken from her, all the trappings of her wealth removed, she had been able to spend much time considering her situation. It was not pleasant. She had been a royal princess in the House of Capet, and she was used to being treated in a manner suitable to her rank. Not now, though. She was reduced to penury, to the status of a humble petitioner by that gripple miser, her husband. And most recently, she knew, Despenser and Stapledon had attempted to have her marriage annulled by the Pope. Oh yes, she knew of all these little schemes of theirs. Just as she had known that Mabilla was intended to be Despenser’s especial spy. Mabilla was the one who searched through her clothing and writing tools to see how on earth she had managed to get so many messages to her brother.

  But they would not succeed in blocking her channels of communication any more than they would succeed in having her marriage declared void and her children declared bastards.

  Poor Sir Hugh, he had looked so anxious this morning, she thought with a smile. Usually all he exuded was a vicious cruelty when he visited her. Not today. Today, for once, the fear was all on his part, no one else’s.

  It was delicious.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  At about the same time, Simon and Baldwin were returning to the Great Hall again, after taking Blaket’s advice and seeking a small meal to settle their bellies. There they met Bishop Stapledon almost as soon as they entered.

  ‘Baldwin, you look as though you have had a shock. Is it true that the King asked to see you?’

  ‘I fear so, my Lord.’ He studied the Bishop. To his eye, Walter looked even more careworn and weary than he himself felt.

  ‘Why “fear”?’

  ‘The King asked me to stop enquiring about the attempted murder on his wife, and instead commanded me to look into the attempt on Sir Hugh last night. I left him in no doubt as to where I thought my responsibilities should lie.’

  ‘Did he see you alone?’

  The Bishop was peering at him in that short-sighted manner which was so familiar to Baldwin. If they were in his parlour, Walter would by now have reached for his enormous spectacles, and even now would be holding them at the join over his nose, staring at Baldwin with eyes magnified to giant proportions.

  It was a curious question, Baldwin thought, but he shrugged and nodded. ‘There was only a door-guard in the room with us. No one else.’

  ‘He was angry, you would say?’

  ‘Absolutely. He was quivering with rage at the thought that someone could be so bold as to attack his favourite in his own palace yard. I think the audacity of the attack was what affected him so dramatically.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ the Bishop said musingly.

  Baldwin cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. ‘You know more of this than you are telling. Why do you question my view?’

  ‘You are an astute reader of a man’s mind, Sir Baldwin,’ the Bishop acknowledged. Then his face grew more serious even as he dropped his voice. Simon had to lean forward to hear him. ‘Let me put it like this: if a man were to attack your wife in your yard, how would you respond?’

  ‘I would be enraged … I see.’

  ‘But he cares little!’ Simon protested.

  Baldwin shook his head. ‘His affection is given to another, Simon. He is most angry because of the attempt on the life of his beloved.’

  Simon’s mouth fell open in comprehension. Of course: Despenser was the King’s especial lover, if all he had heard and seen was correct.

  ‘That could explain it,’ the Bishop said.

  Shortly afterwards, another Bishop, a man whom Baldwin heard described as Bath and Wells, arrived and engaged Stapledon in conversation. Suddenly his mind was taken back to the Chaplain in the Queen’s chapel. He said he had been installed by Drokensford, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, and Baldwin studied the latter with interest.

  He was a tall, handsome man, with curling grey hair that almost sprayed out from beneath his mitre. Grey it may have been, but it was thick and gleaming. There was no weakness in his face, either. Baldwin saw astute eyes set in a face that gave nothing away, but clearly the man missed little. Even as Baldwin studied him, Drokensford looked across at him and murmured a question to Stapledon. Soon afterwards the Bishops were before Baldwin and Simon, and the two had to kiss another Episcopal ring.

  ‘I believe you are the knight who was looking into the attempt on the Queen’s life?’

  ‘That is right, my Lord Bishop,’ Baldwin agreed. He was surprised that this great Lord would have any interest in the affair. It appeared to have all the hallmarks of a rather grubby attempt, not the sort of thing that should have appealed to a man in Drokensford’s position. He was intrigued to learn what his interest was.

  ‘I have heard from my Lord Walter that you are not to look into the man who last night made an attempt upon the King’s especial adviser.’

  ‘I take the view that the person of the King’s consort is of more moment than a man who, though he is important, is nonetheless merely a knight,’ Baldwin said firmly.

  Drokensford smiled at the certainty in his voice. ‘Your judgement shows great honour, Sir Baldwin. However, I simply wonder whether there are aspects which may have evaded you?’

  ‘I am scarcely omniscient!’

  ‘Perhaps. I merely wonder whether it could be advantageous to seek the attempted assassin of Sir Hugh, since I should have thought that two assassins in one palace in a week is enough of a coincidence for anyone.’

  ‘I do not think I follow you, my Lord Bishop.’

  ‘Come – I think you follow me perfectly well! We have passed many years without a single assassin appearing. Then within a week we have two. Surely both should merit investigation, in case this unseemly rash of murderers might have a logical explanation behind them.’

  ‘Of course,’ Baldwin nodded.

  ‘I merely leave the thought with you, Sir Baldwin. If you look into one assassin, why not look into both?’

  ‘And if I seek neither?’

  His words took both the Bishops by surprise. Stapledon thrust his chin at Baldwin and scowled with the attempt to see his face, while Drokensford’s mouth fell open for a moment before he realised how unedifying his expression must appear. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Both assassins are dead. The second, it is true, died in his attempt on the life of Sir Hugh. The first, though, was killed without any comment. No one claimed responsibility. That is curious, is it not? If a guard had come across him in the palace in the middle of the night, recognised him as an intruder and killed him, would he not be in front of the King’s steward the very next morning, demanding a reward for his selfless devotion to his duty? And he would have raised the roof that night with elation, for having done a job so well. Have you ever known a guard do the right thing and then conceal it? Have you known any servant hide his behaviour when it only redounds to the benefit of his reputation? Good heaven, Bishop, the more I think about this matter, the more certain I am that the man who killed the assassin was desperate to hide his part in the matter. And he killed the assassin to protect someone – perhaps even to protect his true prey.’

  ‘The assassin killed that lady, Sir Baldwin.’

  ‘No – someone did. And I have to wonder why. It is stretching credulity too far to consider that Mabilla was being sought out by one assassin, a second was seeking another victim, and the two met in the palace with disastrous consequences for the one found dead.’

  ‘I agree. That scarcely holds water.’

  ‘Yet there was an assassin. And he was killed. So somebody in the Palace wished to stop his murderous attempt. I think it is fair to consider that the man who killed Mabilla was almost certainly the same man as he w
ho killed Jack, the assassin.’

  ‘You have his name?’ Drokensford was shocked. ‘I had thought he was a complete stranger to all in the Palace.’

  ‘Oh no. He was commissioned by someone here to go and make his daring assault.’

  ‘Then who could have ordered that?’

  Baldwin felt Stapledon’s eye on him warningly. ‘Somebody who wished for the Queen to be killed,’ he replied. ‘You may have more idea of that than me.’

  The Bishop eyed him doubtfully. ‘I have a feeling that the sooner the poor lady, our Queen, is away from here and back at her home in France, the safer she must be.’

  ‘I cannot argue with that, my Lord Bishop.’

  ‘Are you quite sure that this dead killer was not the man who killed Mabilla?’

  ‘Quite sure. The man who killed Mabilla was witnessed. He was someone who was dressed quite differently from Jack atte Hedge, and interestingly, Mabilla’s killer wore a mask. I feel sure that Jack felt no need of such a device. He would kill any who saw him; as an assassin he could kill without compunction, after all. While the fellow who killed him, and incidentally Mabilla as well, had his face hidden so that the ladies in our Queen’s party would not recognise him.’

  ‘What reason would this second man have for hurting her, then?’ Stapledon demanded.

  Baldwin was saved answering that by the blaring of trumpets. The King was returned.

  The rest of the afternoon passed as had the morning. Men stood and made their feelings known, while the matter of whether the Queen should be permitted to cross the water and negotiate with her brother exercised all the minds there in the chamber.

  ‘This is pointless,’ Simon muttered to Baldwin. ‘Surely they’re all aware that something must be done, and if they want to send anyone, isn’t the sister to the French King the best possible ambassador?’

  ‘Only for those who are convinced that she will act as a free and fair agent on behalf of the King,’ Baldwin muttered back.

  ‘Who could doubt that?’

  But once more Baldwin was saved from responding to a difficult question by the King, who nudged Sir Hugh in the ribs and pointed to Baldwin.

  Sir Hugh nodded and motioned towards him. ‘Sir Baldwin. The King would hear your opinion.’

  To Simon’s eye the whole room became still as people craned their necks to stare at him and his friend. Colouring quickly, he felt more conspicuous than his friend under their steady contemplation. He wished that the ground would just open up so he could wriggle away through the mud and filth which was where, he reckoned, all these grand men assumed he must live.

  Baldwin was in no way affected in like manner. He bowed to the King. ‘My Liege, I think that there is no possible alternative to your using your greatest asset in these negotiations. You must either go yourself, or send an ambassador, but if you are to send someone, you should use the one to whom the French King is mostly likely to listen. It is clear who this must be.’

  ‘You would send the Queen?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘And what if she were to prove more devoted to her brother than to her husband?’

  Baldwin did not flinch. ‘I am sure that my King would not have given her reason to commit petty treason, any more than I would think her capable of such a betrayal.’

  ‘You may find yourself nailed to a door by those words, Sir Baldwin.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I think it better to behave towards others as a Christian should, and hope in that way that others will also treat me honourably, Sir Hugh,’ he said firmly, and there was a sudden laugh at the rear of the room, quickly stifled.

  The King sat in his chair, unspeaking, but pale as he stared at Baldwin. For his part, Baldwin obeyed etiquette and did not meet his gaze, but instead kept his eyes firmly welded to Sir Hugh. And then the moment of tension passed as Sir Hugh moved over to speak to another man behind Baldwin.

  Drokensford sniffed and glanced at Baldwin. ‘I have to say, Sir Knight, there are not many in here would have tested their balls against that man. You are a bold fellow, sir.’

  ‘No. Just one who senses he has little to lose. Backing down before him in a room full of my peers and superiors would not help me.’

  ‘True enough.’ Drokensford turned away, but as he did so, he rested a hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. He spoke very quietly. ‘You should know that there are many rumours that the woman Mabilla was a spy for Sir Hugh. He didn’t even trust his wife on her own. He had Mabilla watching his own wife as well as the Queen.’

  The debate in the Great Hall moved on, forwards and back. There were many Bishops who demanded that the King do all in his power to prevent war again. He should go to France to prevent the loss of his French assets. Others were vehemently opposed to such a course, pointing out that their King would be entering a den of thieves and criminals, set upon the destruction of the English throne.

  A scowling, black-haired Lord from the North spoke; Baldwin later learned that he was called Leicester, the brother of Lancaster, although he had not been allowed to inherit the title of ‘Earl’ after his brother’s execution by his cousin, the King.

  He agreed with those who counselled against Edward going to France.

  ‘It is a ridiculous suggestion! You want the King to throw himself upon the mercy of a household of traitors, felons and murderers? The French court is little better than the house of a mercenary knight. In God’s name, if you send our Lord there, you may be sending him to his doom, and I for one oppose it with all my strength.’

  It was at this point that Earl Edmund pushed himself forward. He had been talking with a slender, short fellow in a corner, Baldwin had noticed, and now he held up a hand and spoke loudly and clearly. ‘My Liege, my Lords, there is surely an easier option. Rather than disputing whether the King should himself go or not, why should we not seek the easier option? Another who could pay homage in his place?’

  ‘Whom do you suggest? You want to visit the French King again?’ someone jeered from the rear of the room, and Edmund’s face worked a moment.

  ‘Since you ask, Stratford, no. I do not propose to return there to be insulted by the man who broke my army while I waited for reinforcements which did not come. No, I suggest that if my Lord the King cannot go to Paris, as indeed he cannot, why do we not perhaps send his wife to negotiate the arrival of another.’

  ‘We’ve already agreed to send the Queen to discuss your peace treaty,’ Despenser said with an unkind chuckle.

  ‘Yes. And would it not make sense for her to negotiate the arrival of the man who holds the Duchy of Guyenne?’

  ‘The King will not go!’ Despenser spat.

  It was interesting, Baldwin thought, that the man was growing so agitated about this. Clearly he was determined that Edward, his protector, should not leave the country. He must appreciate his own danger, were he to let the King away from his side. And no number of safe passages would convince him that it would be safe for him in France, whether with the King or not. Some years before, he had been forced into exile from the King’s side, and he had turned pirate, robbing several French ships. Ever since, he had been a wanted man by powerful French mercantile interests.

  ‘No,’ Edmund agreed. He turned to glare at Despenser. ‘If you would listen to your betters, you might gain some understanding of my proposal, sir! I say, my Lord King, that you allow your good lady Queen to travel to France so that she may negotiate the arrival of her son – your son – whom you shall elevate as Duke of Guyenne. In that capacity, he can give homage to the French King. The French will not harm him, for he is King Charles’s own nephew and has no dispute with him. The Queen will herself aid and protect her son – your son. And when it is time, they can travel homewards together. What more elegant and simple solution to our problems could there be?’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It was an enormous relief when the King stood, a short while later. All those in the chamber bowed, facing him, and waited while the King’s footsteps passed throug
h their midst and out to the main doors at the rear of the hall. Then, and only then, did the room begin to empty. Suddenly there was a lessening of tension, the occasional chuckle or muttered joke to relieve the mood.

  Baldwin was still musing over Bishop Drokensford’s final words about the Despenser having his own wife watched, as Simon and he made their way through the screens passage and out into the light of the Green Yard.

  ‘Ach, standing in that place made my head ache,’ Simon groused. ‘Sweet Jesus, but the smell of other men in there was overwhelming.’

  ‘Did you hear what the Bishop of Bath and Wells said to me?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘No. Why?’

  Baldwin quickly told him what the Bishop had said about Mabilla being a spy for Sir Hugh.

  ‘You recall what the Earl told us about her?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Of course. That she drew him on, and when he showed her some interest, she fled.’

  ‘But if she was a spy for Despenser, that could all have been an act intended to entice him. But she wasn’t expecting him to be quite so enthusiastic in his response.’

  ‘Perhaps. But that would still mean that the Earl could have had a wish to kill her, as could many of the women in the Queen’s entourage.’

  ‘And the Queen, Baldwin. Don’t forget her.’

  ‘How could I? But of all the people who wanted her dead, most would have had to hire proxies. The women would have known, surely, if it was one of their group who attacked Mabilla. That would be too obvious.’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said. The two men were walking further from the crowds now, voices low. ‘So whoever it was who stabbed her, it must have been another paid assassin, or perhaps a man who was known to a woman who serves in the Queen’s household.’