‘We have heard about that,’ Baldwin said, and his tone was colder.
Simon was still thinking about the corridor where Mabilla had died. ‘That means it could have been anyone in the Palace guard.’
‘Or someone who bribed a guard to learn where she might be,’ Peter offered helpfully.
‘True,’ Baldwin agreed.
Eleanor put in, ‘It could have been one of my husband’s men, too. I told him all about the Queen’s nocturnal wanderings. Any of his men could have overheard. No doubt Mabilla could have done, too.’
‘What of the assassin himself – the man found murdered, this Jack atte Hedge?’ Baldwin said. ‘Did you know him?’
‘The name is known to me.’
‘There is no need to be wary,’ Simon said bluntly. ‘We found one of your husband’s horses at the inn where Jack was living. The innkeeper told us it was the horse which Jack rode in on.’
She let her head fall a little. ‘Yes, I think Jack atte Hedge was a man whom my husband knew. They would meet occasionally. Only occasionally, though. Not often.’
‘How often would your husband have had need of a murderer?’ Baldwin asked pointedly. ‘This man Jack – do you know whether he was used to kill many people?’
‘That is not the sort of topic my husband would discuss with me,’ Eleanor told him. She trembled. It was hard to lose the conviction that her husband had been attempting to kill her when the figure jumped out at Mabilla that night. Alicia’s words had brought all that home to her.
‘I believe that this Jack was hired to come here to kill the Queen,’ Baldwin said. ‘I think that someone knew he was coming, and was determined to stop him. To do that, he stabbed and murdered the man, hiding him. And then he decided to kill Mabilla too. But my difficulty comes from this: if your husband chose to hire an assassin such as this Jack atte Hedge, I do not think he would be foolish enough to tell many people. He would surely try to prevent anybody from learning about it. And so whoever killed Jack must either have been enormously lucky, and guessed that the man might enter the palace to attempt to murder the Queen … or it was someone very close indeed to your husband who sought to frustrate his plan.’
‘Someone close?’ she repeated.
‘Only a man very close to Sir Hugh would be able to learn his mind, I should say. I only know him slightly, but that much is clear enough.’
‘Yes,’ she said, but her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘There is one aspect that confuses me, though. The man clearly knew that the Queen would pass by that corridor. Would your husband know that?’
‘He knows that the Queen regularly passes by there, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I have told him.’
Yes, since you are her gaoler and spy, Baldwin thought. Still … ‘But the man was not there as you walked to the chapel? Only when you returned? Or could he have been there, but so well concealed …’
‘No. He was not there as we walked to the chapel – we should have seen him.’
‘Strange,’ Baldwin said. ‘That would almost seem to imply that the killer was warned of the right time to be there. He was told beforehand, or heard people’s steps – or perhaps he knew that the Queen walked there most nights and was simply lucky that one evening. But that would mean that Jack atte Hedge and Mabilla’s deaths were simple coincidences that night, and I do not believe in such things.’
‘One of my husband’s men,’ she said again, and then she looked scared.
‘You can think of someone?’ Simon pressed her.
‘There are only two men who could have known and attempted to do something like that: William Pilk and Ellis. But it could not be Ellis. He was Mabilla’s brother. He loved her, and would never have laid a finger on her.’
Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look. Baldwin’s face was carefully devoid of all emotion, but Simon could not dissemble so effectively. On his was a savage delight.
‘William Pilk.’
As they learned his name, William Pilk had other concerns. He was wearing a bruise that was growing nicely under his right eye. His shin was sore, his kidneys felt as though he’d been kicked by a donkey, and his ballocks were swelling – they felt like they’d grown to twice their normal size. He couldn’t remember half of the wounds being inflicted, and he only prayed that Ellis felt as bad as him.
There was a deep-seated sense of resentment as he limped, careful to protect the more tender aspects of his anatomy, from the gate towards the Green Yard. The place was filled as usual, because whenever there was a council meeting or parliament here, all the traders turned up from miles around. They wanted to make as much money as they could while the realm’s magnates were all collected here on this muddy little island by the Tyburn.
There were some he recognised, and some who were less familiar, but one face in particular stood out as soon as he saw the man. It was the black-haired fellow who had been in deep discussion with his master Sir Hugh on the night that Jack atte Hedge first appeared at the Temple. Here he was again, sitting on a bench, supping a cup of ale. William was intrigued. If the man was here, he must be someone of more importance than Pilk had realised at the time.
Retaining power in the Despenser’s household was often a question of being more astute than others, more aware of what was happening, and then keeping any information you gleaned from that to yourself. Well, Ellis had plainly succeeded in that, because William knew bugger all about the man.
Without thinking, he bent his legs towards the fellow. He would buy him another ale, he decided, and learn all he could; but even as he limped towards the fellow, the latter rose and began to make his way from the court. As Pilk watched him, disappointed, he saw the dark-haired man glance back towards him. But not directly at him. No, he was staring at someone nearby …
Finishing his drink, Piers de Wrotham rose and set off towards the main gate. He had no more business here today, so far as he knew. He had ostensibly advised his master, Earl Edmund, and then been well rewarded for it by his other, secret master, Sir Hugh. Now, since catching sight of the Earl, he had a strong desire to leave here. Urgently. There was something in the look on Edmund’s face that spoke of danger. Had he seen Piers with Sir Hugh? That would account for it. Perhaps he should make a run for it now. It would be easy enough – he could either just disappear and make his way homewards to Kent, or perhaps return to Despenser and offer his services on a more permanent footing? Sir Hugh was definitely the man to keep friendly with.
The great gates were wide, and he reached them with a sigh of relief. Premature, as it happened, as with an inward groan, he saw the Earl, standing near where he had been before and casting about as though seeking someone. The moment he spied Piers at the gate, he strode up to meet him.
‘I am glad to see you. I need to talk to you,’ he said shortly.
‘Of course, my Lord.’
‘Outside, then. Not in here. Too many ears flapping.’
Piers nodded sagely, and the two made their way out and up King Street, the Earl all the while gazing about him as though the whole area was new to him.
‘How much?’ he demanded.
‘My Lord?’
‘How much did he pay you?’
‘Who, my Lord? I don’t —’
‘I saw you with Sir Hugh just now at the side of the tavern.’
‘You must have thought you saw me.’
Edmund turned, grasped his tunic in his fist, thrusting him up against a wall. ‘You really thought that you could pull the wool over my eyes and gull me while taking Despenser’s money, didn’t you? That offends me, old friend. It really offends me.’
‘Why should I do that, my Lord?’ Piers gasped.
‘Money, of course. It is what makes all transactions happen now, isn’t it? Everybody wants money – nothing else matters. Except I have some men who are more loyal than that. I don’t need to buy them. They are my honoured vassals. I trust them with my life, you know.’
Piers opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out. S
uddenly he was petrified with fear, for in the Earl’s eyes he saw nothing. Not hatred, not anger, just … nothing! It was as though he was already dead: an irrelevance.
The Earl let him go, and Piers almost fell to the ground. He wanted to leap up and flee, but his legs would not move. All he could do was stare up in horror, and then it was too late. There were steps behind him, and he saw the Earl nod once.
‘You know what to do with him.’
‘My Lord!’
‘You are filth.’
‘Let me tell you! I can help you.’
‘And then sell me again?’
‘Sir Hugh le Despenser, he was behind it all. Mabilla was his spy in the Queen’s chamber, and Sir Hugh wanted Mabilla dead so that the Queen wouldn’t tell the King Sir Hugh was plotting her murder. Mabilla was the trade. The Queen would live but the spy in her household would go. That was the arrangement!’
‘You think I care?’
‘But my Lord, you can sell this! It’s information people want! You could —’
But Earl Edmund wanted to hear no more. He did not hesitate or glance over his shoulder as the two men bundled Piers into an alleyway, hurrying him along until they came to a darker doorway.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Simon and Baldwin found William in the yard still. Peter of Oxford had come with them, and he pointed out the Despenser’s man at a table nursing a large horn of ale. He was staring at the gate with a frown of consternation on his battered face.
It was strange, the way that the Earl had hurried after the black-haired man like that. The Earl had looked really pissed off when he got here and Piers was gone, but then he caught sight of his man in the gateway, and strode after him. It looked as though the two knew each other.
‘Are you William Pilk?’
He glanced up to see the tall Bailiff, and then he recognised the knight behind him. ‘What d’you want?’ he asked, although he was sure enough. Seeing Peter behind Simon, he leaned forward truculently. ‘And what are you grinning about?’
Simon introduced himself, studying the figure in front of him. He looked as though he had just been in a fight, and had probably come off worst. Pilk was the sort of guard who would do well because of his native cunning, but Simon was sure that he was not terribly bright.
‘Well? What do you want?’ Pilk repeated to Baldwin, without showing a shred of respect.
‘First, just to ask you some questions.’
‘I don’t think I want to answer any.’ Pilk stood. ‘I have things to do.’
‘So do we,’ Baldwin said and thrust hard in the middle of Pilk’s chest, forcing him to sit down on the bench again with a gasp of pain as his sore arse hit the wood. ‘If you wish to leave, please do. However, when I report to the King later, I shall tell him you didn’t want to help investigate the murders. You were too busy. I am sure the King will understand.’
Pilk sneered despite the pain he was in. These prickles didn’t understand the first thing about the palace. ‘You do that,’ he said insolently. ‘I am on my Lord Despenser’s business.’
‘And we are on the King’s,’ Baldwin said. As Pilk stood up again, Baldwin grunted with irritation and pushed him down a second time. This time his hand connected with a large bruise over his abdomen, and in a reflex action, Pilk slapped at his hand. Suddenly there was a bright blue blade at his throat.
‘I asked you politely, and now I am telling you to sit down,’ Baldwin stated through gritted teeth.
‘What do you want?’ Pilk demanded, scowling as he sat again.
Baldwin sheathed his sword as Simon beckoned a serving maid. She looked a little reluctant to go to them, for she had seen the sword flash, but when Simon grinned broadly and held up a coin for her to see, her fear dissipated.
When she was gone to fetch their drinks, Baldwin hooked his thumbs in his belt.
‘I think you could be in serious trouble.’
‘I have nothing to fear.’
‘Your master cannot protect you from everything, Pilk.’
William looked up at them and curled his lip. ‘He can from anything you threaten.’
‘Not I, Pilk. The King.’
He shrugged. Edward was hardly a threat. ‘If you say so.’
‘Let me tell you what I think happened,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were with your master, and he decided he had to stop Jack from killing the Queen. But he didn’t know how to do so. What should he do? Ride the streets shouting Jack’s name? No. All he could do was try to intercept Jack in the palace, even though no one knew from which direction, or when, Jack would come. Is that a good guess so far?’
‘I have work to attend to. If all you’re going to do is ask daft questions …’
Baldwin was unimpressed. He continued: ‘So Sir Hugh le Despenser asked you to come here and do it all for him. You came here to the palace, and you stood and waited. You know the place well enough, don’t you? So seeing where the Queen would be was no trouble. Except, would Jack have known where the Queen would be?’
He was struck with a sudden doubt. Would Jack have known about the Queen’s night-time wanderings? Had she already begun to walk about the place at the time when Jack was briefed and commissioned? No matter – he must continue now he had begun.
‘So you entered the palace, you went to the corridor where the Queen would pass you, and you stood there waiting. When Jack arrived, you spoke to him. You knew him, after all, so you were able to calm his doubts. But then, when he turned his back on you, you stabbed him.’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Will said, and spat on to the cobbles. His eye was closing now, and he felt like shit. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. I was back at Sir Hugh’s place – the Temple. I can get plenty of people to tell you that.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you can,’ Baldwin said. There must be dozens of Sir Hugh’s servants who would be keen to demonstrate their loyalty by giving Pilk an alibi. And Baldwin would believe none of them. ‘So who was it who stabbed the man in the back, I wonder?’
‘Maybe you should talk to Ellis,’ Pilk suggested, and sniggered to himself. ‘He may know something. He has investigated how the assassin got in. Perhaps he knows more than he’s let on.’
‘This is Mabilla’s brother?’ Simon confirmed.
‘You know him?’
‘If he’s the henchman who looks like a mastiff with his brain removed,’ Simon put in, ‘then, yes.’
‘Perhaps he found this man wandering about and killed him,’ Pilk said. ‘There are enough died around here just recently. If it wasn’t for me, Sir Hugh himself would be dead.’
Despite himself, Baldwin was intrigued. He had learned nothing of the attack on Despenser from his own choice, but his interest was piqued. ‘You were there?’
‘No. Here,’ he said with emphasis. ‘My master was coming out from the gate to the Green Yard, and I was up there, just a ways ahead of him when I saw the flash of the bolt up there.’
Baldwin looked away. ‘I can’t see where you mean from here – the man was behind the stables?’
‘No! He was beside the alehouse, beyond the midden there.’
‘And you saw him cocking his weapon?’ Simon asked, peering up by the alehouse.
‘He must have done that earlier. It was ready.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘So you saw him aiming his bow?’
‘I suppose so. I was in front, so he probably moved to aim around me.’
Simon frowned. Baldwin had plenty of experience with horses and lances, but the Bailiff’s knowledge of bows and shooting was more extensive.
Noticing his friend’s expression, Sir Baldwin set his head to one side enquiringly. ‘What is it, Simon?’
‘Just that if this fellow here was out in front, there’d be no need for the archer to aim around him. He would already be out of the point of aim. Look at the ground there. The gate from the Green Yard is out near the Abbey’s wall, and the main gate is a little in front. A man aiming from the alehouse would only have to lean
out a short way to cover the whole area. Certainly this fellow wouldn’t impede his aim.’
‘Then why’d he do it, then?’ Pilk demanded truculently. ‘I definitely saw him lean out to aim around me.’
‘So Despenser was near the wall?’ Baldwin asked.
‘No. He was off to the left as I looked back at him. Away from the wall. It was Ellis who was nearest the wall.’
Simon shook his head. ‘That makes no sense. Perhaps there was a cart or something in front of you? Or at least in front of Sir Hugh?’
‘Aw, I don’t care. This is so much ballocks! You have no right to keep me here, do you? I think I ought to report you to my master for wasting my time.’ He stood this time, grimacing from the pain all over his body, and barged between Simon and Baldwin.
‘Baldwin, I don’t like that man,’ Simon said.
‘Nor do I. I rather think that this matter of the bowman attacking his master has upset him, although I have no idea why.’
Simon drew a triangle in the ground. ‘It makes little sense for the bowman to have had to lean out to attack Despenser, not if he was out in the open and this idiot was heading straight for the gate.’
‘He probably made a mistake. Still, do you think that Pilk could have killed Jack.’
‘Yes, he could have. But if so, where did he do it? Wherever Jack died, there must have been plenty of blood. We’ve still not found it yet.’
Baldwin sighed and spoke quietly. ‘Simon, we have looked fairly carefully about the palace, haven’t we? There are only two areas which we haven’t considered.’
‘You aren’t serious, are you?’ Simon breathed. ‘The two royal chambers?’
‘Yes. It must have been either in the King’s or the Queen’s chambers. There is nowhere else.’
‘And how can we check them?’ Simon asked.
‘I think we need someone who can get us into the palace again,’ Baldwin said, and turned to look over Simon’s shoulder.
Simon followed his gaze, and gradually a smile spread over his face.
‘Yes? What are you two smiling at?’ Peter asked, suddenly nervous.
Ellis was tired, and the back of his head, where Coroner John’s cudgel had whacked it, hurt like buggery. He was in torment. The loss of his sister was one thing, but the lack of any evidence to show who was responsible was worse. He was her brother, it was his duty to find the guilty man and make him pay, but instead he had almost seen his master killed by a bolt, and had had his own position weakened by that donkey’s arse Pilk.
Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) Page 32