Mabilla – how he missed her. Who on earth could have killed her? It could have been Jack, he supposed, but he didn’t think Jack would have stopped there. If he’d been told to kill the Queen, he’d have gone right on and done it. So it wasn’t Jack, unless he had suddenly decided he didn’t like the idea of killing anyone else. Not very likely.
He couldn’t stay at the palace. It was growing late, and his head was hurting too much to think clearly. His body ached where that fucker Pilk had hit him. He’d return the favour when he had an opportunity. Later. For now, his bed was appealing. Sir Hugh had told him he would be staying here tonight, and there were enough bloody guards set around the place to protect his master. He needed to get his head down for a little. There was a palliasse in the gatehouse where he could rest.
With that decision made, he walked over the court towards the gatehouse, but while doing so, he saw Earl Edmund walking back in.
There was something about the masterful manner of his gait that stopped Ellis in his tracks. Usually the fellow was so pathetic, he could be entirely discounted, but today he was like a man renewed. His head was set high and proud, his back was straight, and he covered the ground like a warrior in a hurry. It was enough to set a warning bell tolling in Ellis’s bruised and battered head. He wasn’t aware of anything that could have made the Earl develop a spine all of a sudden.
As Edmund walked through a couple of waiting men, he pushed them from his path like a dog scattering cattle. The warning bell clamoured again.
And then the Earl looked over and saw him. ‘So, you’re still here, loyal to your master to the end, eh?’ he sneered. ‘Miss Mabilla, do you?’
Ellis set his jaw. How dare this man insult his sister! She was hardly cold yet, and this pathetic churl thought he could …
‘You don’t realise, do you?’ Edmund went on, and gave a bark of laughter. ‘You don’t see what’s in front of you, man. Your sister was exchanged, Ellis. A fair deal. She dies, and the Queen won’t tell her husband that your master dared to try to have her killed. That was the deal, because your sister was a spy in the Queen’s camp. You heard about her leading me on and then dropping me? That was all part of the same game. The Despenser set her on me, and when I responded she grew afraid. But don’t worry. You continue to serve your master as only you know how, my friend. You do that. Don’t worry about avenging your sister. What does she matter?’
Ellis was turned to stone, unable to move. Meanwhile, having said his piece, the Earl had walked on through the gate into the Green Yard and was gone.
‘No.’ It wasn’t possible. The man was tormenting him because he hated Despenser and all his men. It was a lie – an evil lie. There could be nothing in it.
‘Ellis?’ It was a young messenger in the King’s livery. ‘Your master wants you to go to the Bishop of Exeter’s house and fetch something for him. He said to give this to the Bishop’s steward.’
The lad thrust a note into his hand and disappeared.
Ellis stood staring down at the slip, still without moving for a moment or two, and then he turned and made his way to the gatehouse. All he knew was obedience to his master. Without that, there was nothing. Time enough later to learn whether the Earl had been telling the truth.
Earl Edmund did not care about the impact of his words. All he knew was an overwhelming rage that he had been so duped by that worm Piers, and his master the Despenser.
‘Shit!’ he muttered. All the advice given to him by Piers was the result of devious plotting by Despenser, was created solely for his benefit. The Earl’s closest man, the adviser he depended upon most of all was in fact an agent of his enemy, so the line he had taken recently to promote the Queen’s journey to France – that must also have been what Despenser wanted. It wasn’t going to hurt him at all, if Piers had promoted it.
Hell’s teeth! He needed someone to help him. Standing here in the middle of the yard, he stared about him, and all he saw was hostility. Not a friendly face among the multitude.
At least there was no risk of an imminent attempt on him here. After the crossbowman’s near-assassination of Sir Hugh le Despenser, his men had been all over the palace, and even now the Earl could see four of them on the walkway at the north wall and six more at the wall nearer the Thames. The guards were taking no risks, and anyone who so much as showed a bow in the yard would be pierced by a dozen arrows before he could nock his first one.
Earl Edmund did study a few of the men from beneath his brows, but it seemed that Despenser had not ordered his death yet. There was no apparent interest in him, and he didn’t feel endangered as he saw armed men gazing down into the crowds. No, it was just good to see that there were men who were keen to stop any more nonsense. Three deaths in only – what? – four days? First Mabilla and the murderer, and then the second assassin with the crossbow last evening. It was becoming almost embarrassing, that the King’s palace should have so many men expiring.
And now there was a fourth dead man, of course. Mustn’t forget him, Edmund told himself.
No, that dog’s turd. Piers was the most deserving of the lot of them.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There was a time, Pilk reckoned, when life had been easier. When he was a lad, for example. Those days, he’d never worried too much about anything, except where his next ale was coming from. Now his head was throbbing, and he was unpleasantly certain that Ellis was going to want to cut out his bowels and strangle him with them. It was the sort of thing he’d enjoy.
Slowly, he walked through the crowds beginning to pack up their wares and leave for their lodgings or homes. When he spotted Ellis among them, he quickly turned – God, he couldn’t take any more punishment today – but the man didn’t see him, was hurrying through the gates, as if he couldn’t get away from the palace fast enough.
Everyone was running about today, William reflected. Not him, though. He just wasn’t up to it. The bastard Ellis could go and swyve a mule. If he tried anything with William again, he wouldn’t hesitate – not this time. No, he’d grab a knife and gut the bastard. As long as it wasn’t today.
It had been a dreadful day. Not only because of the fight with Ellis, but also because of the questioning: those two appearing and accusing him of killing the girl and perhaps Jack too. Christ, that had been unsettling. Even now, his bowels felt as if a rock was stuck in them, a heavy ball that wouldn’t move, no matter what. That was how fear always affected him.
With any luck, Pilk thought wearily, he’d be able to see the back of Ellis for good soon. That’d make his day.
‘I really should not be doing this.’
‘No, Chaplain. You oughtn’t,’ Simon said with happy agreement. He poked his head around a doorway and beckoned the other two.
They had entered the palace from a doorway beneath the Lesser Chamber, which had led them to a small corridor going southwards through a small range of storage chambers. The other side of them, Peter explained, was the King’s cloister, and that itself met with the Queen’s. This passage would end there, and there was a small gate to allow them inside. A guard would be stationed there, of course, but Peter had learned that the guards were not aware of all the entrances. For example, he knew of a stair that led to the second floor just before the Queen’s cloister.
‘If we go up there, we can easily get into the upper corridors, and thence to the place where Mabilla died.’
‘That is good,’ Baldwin said. ‘Even better would be to get inside the connecting passage from the King’s to the Queen’s chambers. What I wish to do is look to see whether there is any evidence of murder having happened in the King’s chamber or near it.’
‘Why? I don’t understand.’
‘Because someone,’ Simon said, ‘killed this man Jack atte Hedge. Whoever it was killed him somewhere else, and then carried him through to the Great Hall. There wasn’t enough blood where he was found for him to have died there.’
‘So you say he died somewhere else and was carried there? Wh
y?’
‘That, as they say, is the interesting question,’ Baldwin said. ‘If he was found in the King’s chamber, perhaps that would have made for embarrassment.’
‘Especially with his tarse in his mouth,’ Simon grunted.
‘That is the reason why I feel that the King’s chamber is not so likely,’ Baldwin said. ‘Whoever killed him left that mark upon him as a symbol of contempt for Despenser, I am sure.’
‘So you don’t want to go there?’
‘The Queen’s chamber first would perhaps be more sensible,’ Baldwin said.
‘Apart from the fact that if the man was killed in her chamber, or near her, the killer would have had to carry his corpse all the way along the corridors to the Great Hall where he was found,’ Simon pointed out. ‘How could someone do that and hope to escape without being detected?’
‘Maybe he bribed the guards,’ Peter offered. ‘Or he was simply an enormously bold, courageous fellow.’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin agreed. They had reached a staircase. ‘This is it?’
‘Let me go first and make sure all is safe,’ Peter said. He walked up the stairs and opened a heavy little door at the top. ‘It’s fine.’
Baldwin and Simon followed him and stood at the top. Baldwin thrust his head through the gap and found himself in a narrow passageway that led off towards the river and met up with an upper storey in the old palace building. Soon he was up and standing beside Peter, Simon clambering after them.
‘It is usually safe here. That is why it’s sometimes popular.’
Simon tilted his head. ‘With whom?’
‘Lovers. They use this route when they want secrecy. I’ve seen some few.’
‘Such as?’
He looked at Simon with a smile. ‘I mentioned Alicia and the guard before. They have been along here, when Alicia should have remained in the Queen’s quarters and Richard Blaket should have been in the guardroom. But lovers cannot be kept apart, eh?’
This new corridor ended in a small chamber, in the next wall of which was another small door. Peter again went ahead and peered through. He jerked his head at them, and they walked along the flagged way after him. Periodically, on their right, were a series of tall, narrow windows which gave out over the Queen’s cloister. At this time of the evening no one was there. They would be eating, Baldwin thought, from the odours that rose to his nostrils.
Peter led them to a door set into the wall at the end. Here he looked at them seriously, then drew a key from a chain about his neck, and put it in the lock. The door opened easily and silently, and Simon and Baldwin found themselves in the chapel once more, this time in the upper storey.
‘Here you are.’
‘The Queen will be eating? I suppose that means we cannot enter her chamber,’ Baldwin mused.
‘No, she’s dining with the King in the old palace just now.’
‘Why?’
‘They are putting on a show of matrimonial normality,’ Peter said cynically. ‘There are too many who would like to portray them as loathing each other, so they sometimes put on a little display to frustrate all of them.’
‘Then let us see her chamber.’
Peter chewed at his lip. ‘What will you do if there is blood in there?’ he asked without moving. ‘You mean to accuse the Queen of murder?’
‘No. There is no doubt that the man who died was an assassin. We have had him confirmed in his profession,’ Baldwin said. ‘My interest is to learn about Mabilla and who actually killed her.’
Peter led the way slowly out through the rear of the chapel and along another corridor. ‘But if you find blood in her chamber …’ he said again, still anxious.
‘It will simply mean that someone killed the assassin in order to protect her.’
‘Ah. Good point. That man should be rewarded,’ the Chaplain smiled. He threw open a door. ‘Here it is.’
They were in a long chamber that looked out over the Thames. The walls were decorated with a pattern of tiles, the floor comprised good broad elm boards, and there were decorative tapestries and hangings to stop the draughts. Baldwin glanced about him once, and was then off along the chamber, his eyes to the ground, walking from side to side like a questing hound.
‘Is he always like this?’ Peter asked.
Simon, who was finding it hard to drag his eyes from the hangings, from the gilded carvings at the ceiling, from the fabulous tableware and the gleaming plates and bowls of silver, could only nod.
‘Stop! In the name of the King!’
Peter winced and threw a look at Simon.
‘Oh! Hello, Master Blaket,’ Simon said, and attempted a sickly smile as the long pike’s spear-point came to a halt at his breastbone.
Sir Hugh le Despenser watched as the two men were pushed in, the Chaplain apologising profusely behind them, all of them bowing low as they came into the King’s presence.
King Edward could have been unaware of their arrival. He was sitting at his comfortable seat and eating, making no comment, but Sir Hugh knew that studied disinterest of old: it was a certain indication of his extreme anger.
Studying them himself, Sir Hugh saw that the Chaplain had every appearance of fear. Good. So he should! He’d been found leading these two in among the corridors to the Queen’s quarters when they’d been told to leave the place alone. If nothing else, he’d lose his comfortable little posting here. No matter that he had ‘benefit of clergy,’ his crime was one that would undoubtedly lead to a punishment. That was a sly little game for clerics who were guilty of fondling some matron’s titties, but it wouldn’t serve for a man considered a traitor to the King. And leading strangers into the Queen’s accommodation was surely a treacherous act.
These two rural officers! Look at them! One a country-knight with barely enough money to keep himself in equipment and horses, while the other was a mere peasant. Pathetic! Yet they had challenged his authority and now they sought to embarrass the King himself. Good God – what a pair of cretins!
The Bailiff was worried. It was there in his quickening breath, the narrowed eyes, the slight flushing at his cheeks. As he walked in, he had looked calm, perhaps a little anxious, but not more than that. Now, though, he stood with his eyes downcast, a man who knew his peril and daren’t meet the eyes of his judges in case he saw death in them. He’d be fun to break! If the bastard didn’t confess to his crime in five minutes of first meeting Ellis and his tools of torture, Sir Hugh would be happy to eat his cap!
It was then that he saw Sir Baldwin’s gaze on him. The man had the nerve to meet his eye! Sweet Christ, he’d have the man’s ballocks off for that! And there was no fear in his face. If anything, he was like a man who had already lost all he cared about and now was prepared to stand up for what he believed.
The King finished his meal in a leisurely manner, and beckoned a laver, who hurried forward with a bowl and towel as the Chaplain behind the King read a short Grace giving thanks for God’s bounty.
Dabbing at his lips, the King did not so much as cast a look in their general direction. ‘You were in my lady wife’s parlour. You had been told not to go there, but you did so.’
Sir Hugh stared from one to the other. He saw the Bailiff glance at his friend, but Sir Baldwin made no sign; he merely stood utterly still, his brows lowered as he listened.
‘I had asked you to investigate the murderous attack upon my good friend Sir Hugh here, but you chose to slight me and suggest that I should be more careful of my wife’s life. And then you broke into her chambers.’
‘You asked me to investigate the murder of Mabilla and the death of the assassin in the Great Hall. I am doing that to the best of my ability, my Liege.’
‘You seek to correct me? You presume to tell me I am wrong again?’ King Edward snapped.
All in the room stiffened. Despenser could feel it: the sudden gathering for the explosion of violence that would surely ignite in the King’s breast. He’d seen it so often since the Battle of Boroughbridge. The King had
made it his mission to seek out all those who’d decided to challenge his holy authority, his God-given right to rule in his own name, in the manner which he chose. They had been hunted down, every one, and destroyed. Broken, ravaged, they were hanged until almost dead, and then their pricks and ballocks were cut from them and burned before their eyes to show that their line was cursed. While they choked and struggled, gagging, the noose about their necks, the executioner would hack open their breasts and rip out their still-beating hearts and throw them onto the fire. Only then were they beheaded, their corpses butchered so that their limbs could be displayed on the city walls as a deterrent to others.
‘I intend to seek the man who could have sought to murder your Queen, my Lord,’ Sir Baldwin said flatly. ‘This is the task you gave me, and I will serve you as best I may.’
‘I told you I wanted the man who intended my friend here to be killed. That was the man I wanted you to find for me.’
‘And I said that your friend here had enough men of his own. The Queen suffers from the loss of her household. Who is to protect her?’
‘She has my protection!’ the King snapped.
Baldwin set his head slightly to one side and said nothing, but his manner was clear.
Sir Hugh intervened with acid in his tone. ‘You mean to accuse your King of deceit? You say that he seeks to harm his wife?’
Sir Baldwin looked at him. ‘No man could dream of such a thing! I merely state the obvious, my Lord. You have your household to protect you. The King’s household exists to serve him. Yet the Queen, who is the lady whose life must be in peril, has had all her guards dispersed, her friends and knights removed. She is little better than a petitioner at the court where she is supposed to rule. If a man were to make an attempt on her life again, it would be easy enough.’
Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) Page 33