The King's Spies

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘And your sisters can come forward, too,’ ordered Henry coldly. ‘Emma, Abbess of Alménches, Sybilla fitzHaimo and Matilda de Mortain.’

  ‘We have done nothing,’ objected Emma indignantly, remaining where she was. ‘Our brothers rebelled, but we did not.’

  ‘We stand with our brother,’ said Sybilla between gritted teeth, pushing past the abbess to go to Bellême’s side. ‘Any action against him is an assault against us all.’

  ‘Are you my loyal subject, then?’ asked Henry archly of Emma. ‘Will you renounce all ties to the House of Montgomery-Bellême and swear allegiance to me? No? I thought not. Stand with your brothers, madam, and hear what I have to say. You, too, Matilda de Mortain.’

  Fuming, Emma shoved her way forward, although she declined to stand near Bellême, who glowered at her angrily. He was clearly furious that she should attempt to dissociate herself from him so publicly. Sybilla gazed defiantly at the King, and Geoffrey could tell from her fierce expression that she was more devoted to Bellême than the others. Matilda, meanwhile, stood with her head bowed. Geoffrey wondered whether she was trying to indicate submission, and make Henry aware that she was willing to negotiate if only he would hear her out.

  ‘Read the charges in full,’ ordered Henry, leaning back and clearly enjoying himself. He was not alone, and there were unpleasant smiles all over the hall from nobles and poor folk alike, as the hated Earl was made to listen when Bishop Maurice stepped forward and began to list all manner of offences, most of them blatantly contrived. The King had set his spies on Bellême, and every minor error he had made over the last year was dutifully recorded. If anyone other than Bellême had been accused, Geoffrey would have thought the King was being unreasonable, petty and unfair.

  Bellême’s followers began to mutter rebelliously at the injustice, although Bellême merely clenched and unclenched his fists as Maurice droned on, while King Henry’s eyes never left his vassal’s face. When Maurice reached the thirtieth charge Geoffrey noticed that something peculiar was happening to Emma. She began to sway, and then she dropped to the floor in what appeared to be a swoon. Maurice hesitated for a moment, but then continued with his monologue. Emma, meanwhile, began to shudder and convulse. Then she started to mutter.

  Geoffrey spoke several languages, but he did not recognize the one Emma began to intone, and, judging by the vicious sound of many of the words, it was not one any Christian man should be familiar with. It sounded like the language of witches, and he involuntarily took a step backward. Others did the same, unnerved by the peculiar sounds that were emanating from the writhing abbess.

  ‘She is speaking the Devil’s tongue,’ Beaumais whispered to Geoffrey, sounding more matter-of-fact than the knight felt the situation warranted. ‘I expect she is summoning her mother.’

  ‘Her mother is dead,’ said Geoffrey.

  ‘That is irrelevant,’ said Beaumais. ‘Abbess Emma believes Mabel will be a powerful lady once her severed head is reunited with her body. Until then, she often answers Emma’s calls for assistance.’

  Geoffrey glanced at Emma’s siblings. Bellême watched his sister with a face wholly devoid of expression, and Geoffrey did not know whether he was pleased or angry that his long-dead mother was about to be invited to King Henry’s Easter Court. Roger’s mean mouth was hanging open, as if in disbelief. Arnulf backed away, half-fascinated and half-horrified, and crossed himself quickly. Geoffrey could not decide whether it was a Christian man’s fear for his soul, or whether he was distancing himself from whatever happened in case it did not succeed.

  Sybilla’s face was also blank, but her eyes were hard and cold, and, again, Geoffrey could not tell whether she condoned her older sister’s performance. Matilda closed her eyes and made no secret of the fact that she wished she was elsewhere. The four ‘knights’ gathered around their aunt, and Geoffrey saw all carried daggers and suspected they would kill anyone who tried to prevent Emma from doing whatever it was she had in mind.

  The next thing that happened was the release of a foul smell accompanied by smoke, both coming from under Emma’s habit. Then there was an odd popping sound, and a woman near Bishop Giffard started to scream. Geoffrey tore his eyes away from Emma to the King, and saw an expression of abject horror on the monarch’s face. But he was not looking at the swooning abbess.

  Geoffrey followed his gaze to a cloaked figure who stood in the shadows at one side of the hall holding a small bow with an arrow nocked into it. The arrow was pointing at Henry.

  Eight

  Geoffrey eased his way through the crowd towards the archer. Henry had ducked behind someone, and the archer was obliged to move to bring him into his sights again. Geoffrey glanced at the dais and saw Henry was using Philip as his human shield, which may have been what had stilled the archer’s hand. It was all very well being paid by the Bellêmes to shoot the King, but no man would risk killing one of their kinsmen while he did it. Philip, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware he was saving the King from certain death. He, like everyone else, was watching Emma go through her moaning, smoking contortions, and no one seemed aware of the King’s mortal danger.

  Geoffrey reached the archer and jostled him, so the arrow sped harmlessly towards the roof, where it embedded itself in the painted ceiling. The archer regarded him furiously, obviously not understanding why someone from the Bellême household should interfere with him. He nocked another quarrel and took aim a second time. Then there was a thump and he dropped to the floor, an arrow protruding from his own chest. Geoffrey gazed around wildly and saw the King’s soldiers had been well trained and, like Henry himself, recognized a diversion when they saw one. The hostile archer had exposed himself when he had stood to shoot, and one of them had picked him off.

  Geoffrey saw the fallen bowman was dead. He kicked the weapon under a stack of benches, looking around to see if Emma had hired a second killer to take over if the first one failed. But she had apparently been confident that her plan would work, and no one else whisked a weapon from his cloak to commit regicide. Geoffrey glanced at the King and met his eyes. Henry nodded slightly, and gave the slightest of smiles. Geoffrey hoped it was an acknowledgement of the fact that he had spoiled the man’s aim, and not that he thought Geoffrey had had a hand in the attempted murder. But Henry’s archers were lowering their weapons on his orders, and Geoffrey comforted himself with the fact that he would hardly tell them to do that if he thought a threat still existed.

  He eased away from the archer, knowing it would not be wise to be discovered next to a corpse when the fuss surrounding Emma had died down, especially since that corpse was probably one of the Bellêmes’ most faithful retainers. He glanced around guiltily, but no one seemed to have noticed that he had moved. Indeed, Beaumais was still talking to him, and the courtier was not even aware that Geoffrey had been gone. He started to relax, and hoped Bellême’s attention had also been focussed on his sister’s odd antics. He saw it had: Bellême was looking just as bemused as everyone else.

  ‘What is wrong with her?’ the Earl demanded. His earlier unreadability was replaced by irritation, and Geoffrey had the impression he had not known what Emma intended to do. ‘Has she been at her portions again? I told you to make sure she did not have any this morning, Sybilla.’

  ‘She said she wanted to be alone, to pray for our family,’ objected Sybilla, chagrined by the rebuke from the brother she adored. ‘She must have taken something then.’

  Bellême sighed in exasperation. ‘You know perfectly well that she does not pray, and I told you not to leave her alone today. We have problems enough without folk accusing us of witchcraft.’

  ‘She is no witch,’ protested Sybilla unconvincingly, while Matilda rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Geoffrey tried to prevent himself from smiling, and could not imagine who Sybilla thought she could fool, when her sister lay on the floor with smoke and foul smells issuing from her clothing as she screeched words that were clearly magical incantations. He did not think he had ever seen
a more brazen display of the dark arts.

  ‘Then what does she think she is doing?’ demanded Roger, eyeing Emma in disgust. ‘She cannot summon our mother, if that is what she is trying to do. Old Mabel will not come here in broad daylight, with a hall full of people to laugh at her poor decapitated corpse.’

  Geoffrey did not think many people would be laughing if Mabel de Bellême appeared sans head and started to make her way through them. He was unable to suppress a shudder. It seemed the only reason Roger thought Mabel would not appear was because it was the wrong place and time. Geoffrey was not a superstitious man, but the rumours about the Bellêmes and their diabolical talents made him uneasy nonetheless.

  ‘I thought Emma would behave here,’ protested Sybilla, not liking the fact that she was being blamed for his sister’s dramatics.

  Bellême shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why would you think that? Now douse her with a bucket of water, before she sets us all alight.’

  ‘There is no need for that,’ said Emma, abruptly scrambling to her feet. The crowd around her backed away in alarm, as though they expected her to explode, turn green or spray them with some vile substance. ‘I am quite recovered.’

  Indeed, she was so recovered that Geoffrey saw the whole attack had been carefully choreographed. She was completely back to normal, with the exception of a few tendrils of smoke curling from under her habit. Geoffrey looked on the floor and saw broken glass, and assumed she had mixed two volatile compounds to produce the fog and stench.

  ‘Have you quite finished, madam?’ demanded Henry archly. Geoffrey saw he was angry, but, since her attack had failed and the archer had been dispatched permanently, he had apparently decided to ignore the attempt on his life in the interests of completing the Bellêmes’ humiliation. He was about to pronounce sentence on them, and Emma would soon be gone from his realm anyway.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied, smoothing down her hair and straightening her clothes. ‘I suffer from a falling sickness. It is something that afflicts us holy women from time to time.’

  Her eyes flicked in the direction of her archer, but since he lay dead under a bench, she could not see him. She realized her attempt to kill the King had failed, and her eyes glittered with frustrated anger.

  ‘A falling sickness?’ asked Henry caustically. ‘That must be inconvenient.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ she replied. ‘But I am used to it. Now, you were saying, My Lord Bishop?’

  Maurice cleared his throat and resumed reading, while Bellême and his siblings turned towards the King again. Geoffrey saw the exchange of angry glances that passed between Emma and Sybilla, while the four ‘knights’ shifted uneasily. Matilda’s expression was blank, although Geoffrey was under the impression that she had not been included in the plot, and neither had Bellême. And Arnulf and Roger? Geoffrey had no idea.

  Maurice hastily finished his arraignment and began rolling up the parchment. Emma’s fit had upset him. Had he also been aware of the plan, and was disappointed that it had failed? Or did he dislike demonic languages assailing his ears? He backed away, relieved to have discharged his duties and more than happy to let the King take over. Henry regarded his assembled vassals in silence.

  ‘Well?’ he asked eventually, addressing the entire clan, although it was Bellême he looked at the hardest. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘These are grave charges, sire,’ replied Bellême icily. ‘I must beg your leave to consult with my family, and decide how best to answer them. I would not wish to speak in haste and tell Your Majesty something that later transpired to be incorrect.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Henry, the voice of reason. ‘You can have until the end of this afternoon. Bring the next case, Pantulf!’

  A shambling man stepped forward, and began to tell Henry in a high-pitched voice that his neighbour stole the water he needed for his mill, but no one listened to his piteous entreaties. Instead, all eyes were on the Bellêmes as they left the hall, apparently intending to return to their fine lodgings and discuss the accusations. Geoffrey followed – he had no choice, given that he was back in the middle of Bellême’s soldiers. Beaumais walked with him, still agog at the spectacle Emma had provided.

  ‘I have heard that God afflicts holy folk with conditions like that,’ he gushed. ‘It must be a confounded nuisance, and will inevitably occur at the most awkward of moments.’

  ‘I do not think it had anything to do with her holiness,’ remarked Geoffrey, astonished that Beaumais should think Emma’s display was even remotely connected with Christianity.

  Beaumais waved a hand to indicate he thought Geoffrey was wrong. ‘Still, Bellême cannot blame her for getting in his way when she cannot help herself.’

  Geoffrey regarded him askance. ‘Getting in his way?’

  Beaumais looked shifty, as though he realized he had said something he should not have done. He prevaricated. ‘But you heard how ridiculous these charges are! The King commits most of them himself, and it is an outrage that he persecutes his nobles for following his example.’

  ‘You have not answered my question. What did Bellême intend to do?’

  Beaumais sighed. ‘He was going to wait until the last charge was read, then kill Henry with his sword. But Emma’s fit meant the guards were more alert, and he saw he would not have succeeded.’

  Geoffrey concurred; the guards were certainly alert after they had shot the archer.

  ‘Bellême will not be pleased with Emma,’ Beaumais added, stating the obvious.

  Geoffrey thought the Bellêmes would be more successful if they co-ordinated their attempts at regicide, and realized Henry had had a luckier escape than he knew.

  It was a tense walk through the city to the tavern, with people jeering or simply standing silent and accusing. Geoffrey did not recall when he had ever felt quite so uncomfortable, and that included after the sack of Antioch when the citizens had screamed bitter curses at the looting Crusaders. The cavalcade reached the inn without mishap, and filed through the door, where retainers and family alike jostled to stand as far away from the enraged Earl as possible.

  Bellême drew his sword and paced furiously, hacking at tables to vent his frustration. His reputation was such that everyone knew he might divert his frenzy from furniture to a person, to allow the sight of flowing blood to soothe him. His gaze settled on a cat sunning itself on a windowsill, but the animal became aware it was the subject of hostile attention and fled before he could harm it. He thrust his sword through the window instead, shattering the shutter and smashing a pot on the other side.

  ‘Foolish women!’ he howled. ‘You have ruined me! I had a plan and you foiled it.’

  ‘We did what we thought was right,’ said Emma primly, looking very much the abbess. ‘I cannot imagine why my archer failed me. He does not usually miss what he aims at.’

  ‘I think he was pushed in all the excitement,’ said Matilda, and her eyes lingered briefly on Geoffrey. His stomach lurched. Had she seen him jog the archer’s arm? Or was there nothing significant in the way she had caught his eye? If she knew the truth, he doubted he would live long once she told her brother.

  ‘I do not care,’ snarled Bellême. ‘What are we supposed to do now? I could go back to the King and claim I am innocent of these outrageous charges, but he will find me guilty regardless. Then he will demand our estates – from every last one of us – and the House of Montgomery-Bellême will be banished from this land forever. Do you have any idea how much these estates are worth?’

  ‘A little,’ said Emma insolently.

  ‘Then why did you not leave matters to me, as I ordered?’ Bellême was all but screaming, and spit sprayed from his mouth. ‘There are only two roads open to us now: we can go back to Henry and allow him to strip us of our property. Or we can ride to Arundel, which I took the precaution of preparing for a siege. Neither appeals. I would sooner have had Henry dead and word sent to the Duke of Normandy to come and take the English throne.’

  ‘Brother,�
�� began Sybilla gently, taking a step towards Bellême and attempting to lay a hand on his arm. ‘Calm yourself. And, in any case, the Duke would not make a very good king.’

  ‘Stupid, ignorant women!’ screeched Bellême, rounding on Emma again. ‘I would not have allowed him to rule! I would have recommended a regent: me. You have lost me more than you can possibly know with your pathetic attempt to “help” today.’

  ‘Saddle the horses,’ said Arnulf to his squire, making a decision in the silence that followed. ‘I will not stay here to be treated like a common criminal by Henry. I shall go to Arundel.’

  ‘And what about Philip?’ asked Matilda, hands on hips. ‘He is Henry’s hostage, and if we race away to Arundel, Henry will kill him.’

  ‘Poor Philip,’ sneered Roger unpleasantly. ‘Let us all forfeit our chance of saving something from this mess so we can prevent his miserable neck from being stretched.’

  ‘It is not his fault we have come to this,’ argued Matilda. ‘He should not have to pay the price.’

  ‘Life is unfair,’ remarked Arnulf, pushing past her and making for the door. He paused and looked back at the silent retainers. ‘Well? Will you stay, so Henry will not kill Philip? Or will you ride south with me?’

  There was an immediate bustle of activity, as folk ran from the chamber to make ready for what promised to be a hard and fast journey. All were relieved to be away from the Earl, who was still spitting his fury and reducing the tavern’s fine furniture to firewood. Matilda stood with her head bowed, although the expression on her face was more calculating than distressed. After a moment, Geoffrey saw her waylay a servant and whisper something in his ear. He nodded and hurried away.