Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘The Queen sees him every day,’ Baldwin said. ‘He could hardly be unknown to her.’

  ‘No. Nor to most of her ladies,’ Simon said. ‘But think what descriptions we’ve had from Eleanor and the others: that the man had the slighter build of one who fights on foot. No great thickened neck like a knight. Like Blaket. And yes, he would be known well enough in daylight – but how many of the ladies had seen him at night, in strange clothes, with a mask covering his features?’

  ‘Why should he try to kill Mabilla?’

  ‘As I said a minute ago, just think how loyal he was to the Queen. When we tried to see her in her chapel, he refused us entry. He was enormously protective of her.’

  ‘True enough – yet I ask you again: why should he kill Mabilla?’

  ‘Because he learned, perhaps, that she was not so loyal to the Queen as he would expect?’

  Baldwin looked away. Although he was reluctant to admit it, he wanted to see Despenser accused and convicted. There was something about his swaggering arrogance, his conviction that no matter what, he was safe from any form of justice, that made Baldwin’s hackles rise. It was obscene for any man to consider himself above the law. Even the King had his powers restricted by the barony. The law existed to protect all free men from persecution.

  ‘Baldwin, I believe that the Bishop was trying to explain it to us. Perhaps he was telling us the Despenser was innocent of this.’

  ‘And then what? That he was also innocent of ordering the murder of the innkeeper and his wife at the Swan at Chelchede?’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Simon, you’ve seen the man, he will take anything he wants and never count the cost to others. All that matters to him is his own intolerable greed.’

  ‘Yes. But Baldwin, are you looking to have him gaoled no matter what? Gaoled for a crime he did not commit?’

  ‘I would see his powers ripped from him, yes,’ Baldwin admitted heavily.

  ‘And what happened to the man who said that it was better that ten guilty men go free than even one innocent man be unfairly captured and slain?’

  ‘Ouch! You use my own words against me? Is that kind? Is that fair?’

  Simon grinned. The dark mood was leaving his friend. ‘So how do we learn what we need to?’

  ‘Do you recall Ellis, just before he died? He told us that the assassin entered by Arch on that part of the wall,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Which was what we thought.’

  Baldwin was frowning. ‘Yes. Except all the guards were looking for someone climbing in. The trick would be to get in past the guards and do so without being seen. What if that was not how he climbed in, but how he intended to get out? Perhaps the man was not foolish enough to think that he could get away with climbing in and making his way all over the palace. Easier by far to get in during the day and hide, and then escape that way.’

  ‘But he didn’t escape.’

  ‘No. He was stuck in the palace. He died in the King’s chamber, if the blood in there was telling us the truth.’

  Simon shrugged. ‘Perhaps Despenser found his man and slew him himself? He would be one man Jack would trust, surely.’

  ‘Not if he knew Sir Hugh.’ Baldwin considered darkly. ‘And then, what of the maid?’

  Simon shook his head. ‘No. It cannot have been Despenser. He would hardly have Jack emasculated and treated in that manner. No, it must have been another, someone who had reason to loathe him.’

  ‘And who sought to … Simon, I think I understand at last!’

  Chapter Forty

  The King sat in his little parlour to the side of his main chamber and waited.

  At other times he might have tapped his fingers on the table or the arm of his chair, but not today. Today he felt regally calm. All the tension of the last few days was gone with that confession.

  It wasn’t what he had wanted, of course. No, he’d wanted to be kept in sublime ignorance of the death, left to assume that the assassin was just another one of those sent to hurt him or his wife. For a while, he had entertained the thought that the man Jack atte Hedge was a murderer sent by the French to kill his wife. There could be no better disincentive for his journey to France than for the French themselves to have had his wife’s corpse to point at. Perhaps the French courtiers like that murderous bastard Charles, Count of Valois, had decided that she would serve more use to them dead than alive. After all, if she died and the English King was unable to travel to France for fear of his security, the dukedom would revert to the French Crown, and those who had helped secure it would be able to anticipate a reward.

  The knock came and the King motioned to his steward to open it, and then sat back to consider the man as he walked inside. Such black treachery was repugnant.

  ‘You have betrayed me, my Lord.’

  Earl Edmund looked about him with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘Your friend Despenser isn’t here? Doesn’t your little knight want to be here when you try to destroy me?’

  ‘Do not seek to insult my intelligence,’ King Edward said with icy calm. ‘You have murdered, and sent the evidence here to my court – nay, to my own bloody room! You had the effrontery to murder and then confess it to me, your King!’

  ‘And my brother. Yes, I did so. And I would do so again, if I found that the man who was supposed to be my vassal had taken the coin of another. Especially if he was supposed to be my own adviser – especially if he was taking Despenser’s money to make me look a fool!’

  ‘You need no help, my Lord. You are fully competent to do that on your own.’

  ‘My Lord King, I am your loyal and devoted servant. We have the same blood in our veins …’

  ‘No.’

  The denial was so firm that Edmund hesitated. They had the same father, King Edward I, but Edmund was conceived by the King’s second wife. ‘We are brothers.’

  ‘No longer. You are a fool. You lost me my dukedom, and now I must scrabble for every troop I can find to try to reinvade, or I must bow to the French King and abase myself before him. Me! Your King! All because of your incompetence and wilful foolhardiness. I know how you lost me the war. I know why I have lost Guyenne.’

  ‘My Lord, if Despenser had supplied me with the men promised to us …’

  ‘Oh yes, it always comes down to others, does it not? If not Sir Hugh, who would you blame then? Perhaps a French Constable? A Sergeant in your army? You are pathetic, but I have remained loyal to you and the memory of our father all this time. But no more. The gross insult you gave me when you murdered that man – and had his blasted head delivered to my own hall…’ Edward forced himself to sit back again, willing his fingers to release their grip on the arm of the chair, trying to breathe more easily.

  ‘My Lord, I was forced to do that. The man was a black traitor.’

  ‘You think you can murder with impunity?’

  That stung. ‘You allow your lover to! He slaughters up and down the country and you do nothing! You smile on him, because …’

  ‘Yes? Because of what, brother?’ the King asked silkily.

  Edmund curled his lip. Then he held out his hands, wrists together. ‘So, you wish to have me gaoled now? You want to have me taken to the Tower?’

  ‘No. But I will not have your face here in my court. You will go now, Earl. Leave me and do not come back. I will not have flagrant murderers here.’

  Edmund made no more defence. He let his hands fall to his sides, and curtly nodded, walking backwards from the room as protocol demanded, and when he was gone, the King let his breath sigh from him.

  At least the fool had gone quietly. Now darling Hugh and he would be alone. The King could reign, and rely on his lover without fearing that the jealousy of that half-wit would get in the way.

  He stood, and as he did so, he caught sight of the darkened mess on his carpet. An assassin was repellent, but his blood was still more foul. Especially now, some days after the event.

  Shouting for his steward, he pointed at it. ‘Have that carpet burned.’

 
; Blaket was still smiling after the previous afternoon.

  He had met Alicia outside the gate to the Abbey, just a short distance away, but far enough to be free from watchful eyes, and they had made their way over the bridge, past the mill at the Tyburn River, and thence southwards towards Chelchede.

  It was cold, and he had pulled off his cloak to offer it to her, but she refused with a pained expression. Still, when they reached the little hovel which he had borrowed for the afternoon, she was happy enough to disrobe, and the pair had made love wildly beside the hearth on a bed of clean straw with rugs and skins laid atop. The memory of those kisses were with him still, along with the scratches on his back from her nails.

  When he saw the two men approaching him, he had a premonition of trouble, and when they stopped and fixed him with serious expressions on their faces, he felt his heart begin to thump noisily. He could still remember the pain and anguish on Arch’s face after the ‘questioning’ he had endured.

  ‘You can’t go in there, my Lords,’ he said. ‘The Queen is resting.’

  ‘Why did you do it, Blaket?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Kill Mabilla.’

  Blaket took a deep breath, a diver taking his last before a plunge. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Simon himself breathed a little more easily now. ‘So you admit killing her?’

  ‘Someone had to. She was a danger to my lady the Queen. Our Queen.’

  ‘What made her so dangerous?’

  ‘That I cannot tell you,’ he said.

  ‘Cannot or will not?’ Simon pressed him.

  ‘He cannot, messieurs,’ said the Queen as she pulled open the door.

  Simon glanced at Baldwin, and then the two walked past the guard and into the room with the Queen.

  ‘You have been here before, I hear,’ she said.

  ‘You have a most devoted guard,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘He caught us in here.’

  ‘He said that you had been seeking the murderer of that assassin.’

  ‘And of your lady-in-waiting,’ Simon said pointedly.

  ‘I know nothing of the death of the assassin. All I do know is, he was sent here to kill me. It was not possible to forgive such an act. It will never be possible.’

  ‘The maid?’ Baldwin asked. As he spoke, he saw the blonde woman behind the Queen. It was Alicia, the woman who Peter had said was in love with this guard, Blaket. She sat at a stool with her hands in her lap, listening to every word. ‘Mabilla?’ Baldwin prompted. ‘You ordered her death, Your Majesty?’

  The Queen looked at him very directly. ‘You think me evil, monsieur? Mabilla was a spy. She watched me all the time – every hour of every day. It would have been pleasant to have ordered her to be removed from my side, but I am much dissipated in my authority of late.’

  ‘Your husband would surely have …’

  ‘What? Taken away Mabilla to please me? My husband has another lover now. A third person has come between us,’ she said bitterly. ‘You know this. All know it. And I have to endure the shame.’

  ‘What made it so necessary that she die?’

  ‘She knew that I was trying to write to my brother, the King of France. She watched over me constantly.’

  ‘So why did you order her death?’ Baldwin asked. ‘She had been watching you for some little while, I suppose. So why have her killed just then?’

  ‘Because she was attempting to have me killed. What, you are surprised? You knew that the assassin had been sent to kill me, did you not? How would he have been able to do that, without knowing what I would be doing at different hours of the day? He needed someone to tell him – and Mabilla was the one who did so. She told him all that I was doing – when I went to my chapel, when I would be at prayer, when I returned, when I would be eating, when I would be sleeping, and where, too. She had sold me to my executioner.’

  ‘So you ordered Blaket to kill her?’

  ‘Yes. I wanted no more spies in my home. Removing her means no one else will be so keen to commit petit traison against me.’

  ‘But what of the assassin?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Him?’ The Queen smiled. ‘Ah, for that you must ask my Lord.’

  ‘The King?’ Baldwin asked. ‘He and Despenser would hardly have a man killed and then make it appear that sodomy was involved, setting the body behind the throne to make it obvious that the dead man was the power behind the King …’

  Isabella laughed. At first Baldwin thought it was a reaction of horror at the thought of the barbaric treatment of the corpse, but then he realised that it was genuine amusement.

  ‘Monsieur! Monsieur! Did you think that? No! It was merely to say that the man should have no children. He who has dared to try to attack the wife of the King should not be permitted to sire his own children. Any traitor would receive the same punishment.’

  Baldwin sighed. That was not a construction he had put on the punishment of the man. Yet it was a normal punishment for the worst traitors, along with hanging and drawing. And yet … ‘But if, as you allege, Your Majesty, the Despenser killed this man, surely he would not cut off his tarse and thrust it into his mouth? To him, the man was honourable and faithful.’

  ‘You think that there is a limit to that loathsome man’s behaviour?’

  Baldwin held her gaze for a while, and then nodded. ‘I understand. Now – Blaket. What should I do with him?’

  The Queen was very calm. ‘Monsieur, you could have him arrested. You have his confession, you have my admission of complicity. All you need do is denounce us.’

  Baldwin could feel her stillness as she spoke, and he eyed her closely, seeking a clue as to her real feelings. Simon, he saw, was enthralled by her tale. He was looking at her with that contemplative expression which Baldwin knew so well.

  And yes, truth be told, Baldwin had a deal of sympathy for her. She had fallen from such power to a position of humble subservience. Her toppling had brought her as low as any poor ward protected by an unjust and unpredictable master. Here she was, a beautiful woman, mother to the King’s children, honourable and faithful, and because her husband had discovered he loved another man, she was all but destitute. All her servants had been replaced with those more easily bent to the King’s will, her Chaplain even had been removed.

  ‘My lady, I am no judge. I am concerned with the truth, and now I think I know it. I am anxious to see that no man suffers injustice, and I confess, I see injustice here, but only in the actions of others towards you – not from you towards other people. And your guard, I believe, has acted in good faith, if in a deplorable manner.’

  ‘What would you have done?’ Blaket said. ‘I killed her in order to protect my Lady.’

  ‘Plainly,’ Sir Baldwin said. And did she recognise you?’

  ‘No,’ the Queen said. ‘I did not.’

  But Baldwin had not meant the Queen. Behind her he could see the blonde woman, still watching carefully. Alicia was not eager to see her man punished for protecting the Queen. Perhaps she was in truth an honourable, devoted servant.

  In his mind’s eye Baldwin saw that little corridor again. The flickering light, the women passing along it from the chapel towards the Queen’s chamber, the sudden shock as the man leaped out, his blade flashing, and stabbing Mabilla in the breast while the others all recoiled, screaming, fainting, and one alone being bold enough to move forward. Why? To show her man that he had killed the right woman?

  He might never know for certain, but that seemed the most likely tale.

  ‘Your Highness,’ he bowed, and he and Simon took their leave.

  The King was expecting the second knock, but when the door opened, he found himself confronted by the serious faces of Bishop John of Bath and Wells, and Walter Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter.

  ‘My Lord Bishops – please, enter and take some wine with me,’ he said graciously enough.

  ‘I thank you, King Edward. It is good of you to be so kindly towards your humble subjects.’

  As hum
ble as two of the richest clerical thieves could be, the King told himself, but he smiled and inclined his head as though he believed the honeyed words. ‘And to what do I owe this visit, my Lord Bishops?’

  It was Drokensford who spoke. ‘My Liege, as you know, it is a matter of great debate among your council as to who should be sent to France to undertake your mission. In an affair of such delicacy and concern, only a most trusted ambassador could be chosen.’

  ‘I know that. We have discussed the topic at such length, I am grown tired of the whole thing. In God’s name! What must I do to protect my Crown? There is no one safe enough.’

  ‘Apart from your wife, of course,’ Stapledon reminded him.

  ‘Yes, yes. That is what was concluded.’

  ‘And yet, if you send her there in the guise of a beggar, it will hardly reassure the French King that your intentions towards her are to be kindly upon her return.’

  ‘She is French, and our realm is in a state of suspended war with France,’ the King said harshly. ‘You expect me to reward the sister of my enemy?’

  ‘My Liege, of course not. But it would not be necessary to reward her, merely to return to her some of the estates and income which are presently denied to her. Elevate her to her correct station before sending her, or the service which she alone can do you might be irreparably damaged before she sails.’

  ‘She is unfaithful to me, her King!’

  ‘There is no evidence of that,’ Drokensford said repressively. All knew that his tone implied that there was much fault on the King’s part.

  ‘And what if she turns faithless while she is there?’

  ‘Hold back your son,’ Stapledon said. ‘Keep him safe here, and only when all is agreed do you send him to join her so he may swear fealty to King Charles. And when he goes, I shall go with him as your eyes and ears in the French court.’

  ‘You swear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let it be so!’

  Chapter Forty-One