Dispensation of Death

Chapter Twenty-One

Ellis had set off early that morning. He had no wish to go and visit a church to watch the Candlemas processions again. Not today. Today, he was bent on revenge.

He walked quickly along the road back towards Westminster. Before he did anything else, he wanted to pray over Mabilla’s body again.

The idea that someone had taken his sister away was so inconceivable that he found himself doubting it even as he walked — as though the events of the night before had been nothing but a bad dream. Surely he would soon see her again. She would be there in the palace, smiling and laughing to hear that he’d had such a ridiculous mare. As though anyone could want to hurt Mabilla!

Ellis and she had been born to a squire who lived up in Iseldone, the small vill north of the city beyond the marshes and bogs. Squire Robert had lived a blameless life in the service of King Edward I until he died at the hands of the Scottish on one of the King’s forays into that morass of politics. From that moment, Ellis had taken responsibility for the family. He was the oldest son.

Mabilla had married into the Aubyn family soon after their father’s death. Then their younger brother Bernard had fallen from his horse and died, and shortly after that, their mother was also dead. When Mabilla and Ellis discussed it, they both felt sure that it was a broken heart that had ended her life, because she had lived for her husband first and Bernard second. Without them, her life was not worth living. And now, only Ellis was left.

He turned off Straunde and into King Street.

Both he and Mabilla had seen what a life of effort and loyalty could bring a man. It had brought their father an early grave. And then there was Bernard — dead at the age of twenty because of a mishandled horse. Ill-luck and Fate — no one was safe from them, however blameless their life.

When Mabilla’s husband became vassal to Sir Hugh le Despenser, she formed a close friendship with Eleanor, Sir Hugh’s wife. From that it was natural that Mabilla should seek employment for her brother, and soon Ellis was a noted servant. He became Sir Hugh’s trusted sergeant, and Sir Hugh grew to depend on him more and more.

The walls of the Palace Yard were ahead now. Most people were in the Abbey for Mass, and the yard was silent as he passed through. He walked from the New Palace Yard into Old Palace Yard, and thence through the buildings until he reached the chapel where Mabilla still lay. Only then, when his face was resting on her breast, did he at last let go and begin to weep.

Despenser trusted him. Sir Hugh knew he could rely on Ellis. If he ordered it, Ellis would break legs, break arms, use screws on thumbs, pierce the flesh under fingernails with splinters, or kill. All would be done as commanded. But that did not make Despenser a friend, and just now Ellis could appreciate that the only friend he had ever truly known was Mabilla. And she was dead.

Simon walked from the Cathedral with a thrilling in his veins.

He often felt this way after a Mass. There was something about the incense, the light, the space, that never failed to excite him. It felt as though God Himself had visited Simon today and touched him. He was elated. The fact that the service had been held in such magnificent surroundings only served to heighten his emotional reaction.

Sir Baldwin, however, remained withdrawn, quieter than usual, as they left the church and began to head back down Ludgate Hill.

‘At least while Despenser’s men are with us there’s no need to worry about the mob,’ Simon remarked.

Baldwin did not comment, but cast about him warily like a warrior expecting an ambush.

The two had soon passed through the city wall and were out in the more open ground beyond. Once there, Baldwin said, ‘Simon, did you see Despenser’s expression as he asked us to go to his house? He was gleeful. Be very careful while we are at the Temple.’

‘Why? He seems to have accorded us every compliment and honour.’

‘That is true. He has done so to many whom he later destroyed!’

‘What could he have against us?’

Baldwin did not want to mention Iddesleigh and Monkleigh, but he knew that there was one other thing which Simon would appreciate. ‘My sword — you remember my engraving?’

‘Of course.’ He was about to recite the Latin inscription, but Baldwin shook his head.

‘No, not the writing. The reverse of the blade.’

‘Oh — Good Christ, did he see it?’

‘While we were protecting the Bishop, yes. I am sure of it.’

Simon grunted. On one side of the sword Baldwin had had inscribed a quotation, but on the other he had caused a Templar cross to be carved into the metal just below the cross-guard. It was there to remind him at all times of his comrades, the brave men who had endured torture in the defence of their Order. Now, it could lead to dire consequences. Renegade Templars who had not surrendered to the Crown or the Pope were subject to the full rigours of the law. Excommunicated, they could be arrested on sight. Simon was tempted to ask why his friend had considered it necessary to have the blade marked in that way, but he silenced his tongue. Baldwin was his friend, but he was also a proud man. Proud of his past and his companions who had died. It was not Simon’s place to question his reasons. If Simon had seen all his friends murdered by the inquisitors and their secular friends, he would probably want to remember them too.

It did take the edge off his pleasure, though, to see that the invitation to the Despenser hall could have been for some other motive than pure neighbourliness.

Ellis left the chapel and went to look at the walls. He felt sure that the assassin would have made his way to the Palace grounds by some more circuitous route than merely following tradespeople inside. Jack had always been more cautious than that. If it were possible to avoid being seen, he would do so.

The wall guards all knew Sir Hugh and his henchman, so it was no trouble for Ellis to gain access to the upper walkway. Once there, he started with the boats at the dock north of the New Palace Yard. Peering down at the dock, just visible through the murky water, he wondered about Jack coming up here. But the dock was in constant use — the wooden platform was fifty yards long and about twenty wide so that barges and boats could float onto it in high tides, and beach themselves as the tide flowed away again for unloading. Thus there was no time for Jack to appear here and make use of it without plenty of men being about to see him.

Walking on the Thames side of the wall, he was struck with the same thought: if he came up the river in order to scramble over the wall, Jack would be very hard-pressed to do so without being seen. Much easier to come to the palace grounds from the land.

Ellis carefully studied the walls at the north and south, but what could he expect to find? The scratches and stone chips from a grapnel? Jack would not have used such a loud device. The metallic clattering of the hooks would have stirred any guards even if they were asleep. A rope ladder would be more his style, but when he had reached the palace it was late evening, not the middle of the night. In the first part of the evening, Jack would have been seen if he’d come up over the walls. Anyone carrying a ladder that way would have been challenged.

Yet there was one other way to reach the palace … from the Abbey’s grounds. Sensing that he had guessed aright, Ellis went over to the wall separating the two plots, and as he reached the southernmost point of the palace wall, he saw it.

A rope hung almost negligently from a battlement. Pulling at it, he saw a ladder on the ground below. As he drew up the rope, the ladder was lifted aloft until it reached almost to the battlement. A man could have climbed up the ladder to reach the battlement. Once there, he could have allowed the ladder to topple back silently, using the rope, and then left the rope so that he could pull it back upright for his escape. That way, hopefully no guard would spot that someone had entered the precinct. Not that the guard here was any good anyway. It was old Arch.

Ellis knew the man. Always reeking of sour ale, and Ellis was sure that his guarding was lackadaisical at best. Rumour had it that Arch was asleep more often than awake when he was on duty.

‘So that’s how you got here, Jack,’ he said out loud. ‘Now — how were you caught?’

The way to the Temple was along a street between other properties, but soon they were past them and into a wide space. In front of them was the Temple Church itself, and Simon was immediately struck by the look of it. ‘Why is that part round?’

‘Templar churches were always based on the layout of the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem,’ Baldwin said. ‘The Temple had this same form.’

They were led along the northern wall of the church itself and over towards a large building at the east of it.

‘This is where the Templar heretic Prior and his monks used to live,’ Despenser said as he dismounted. ‘An elegant building, I would say, for those heathens and devil-worshippers.’

He threw his reins towards a boy who scuttled forward to grab them, and then stood at the Bishop’s horse to steady it. Bishop Stapledon looked about him with a face that was carefully blank.

Simon knew that he was intensely irritated that the lands and buildings should have been used to further enrich the King’s lover. The Temple grounds had been supposed to be given to the Knights of St John, and many were outraged that the King had chosen not to do so. The Bishop clearly felt that if anyone should be rewarded with them, it should be a man from the Church. Simon could guess who he felt would be most deserving. He had begun to understand that Stapledon was not averse to personal enrichment.

‘Please, come inside.’

Simon found himself in a sumptuously appointed hall. Along two walls were huge tapestries displaying the Despenser arms mingled with scenes of hunting. Intricately detailed sections showed Sir Hugh chasing a hart, slaying a boar, standing among a pack of hunting dogs — and the last one depicted him sitting with friends and enjoying a meal.

‘You like it?’ he said. ‘I had the full halling from a tapicer in the city. He was very clever, I think, to get so much life into the picture. Don’t you agree?’

‘Very good.’

Despenser glanced at him, but he had other things on his mind than a guest’s apparent disinterest in his hallings. He called for his steward, and soon tables were set out and laid with a series of linen cloths. Despenser himself took the table at the dais, and courteously invited the others to join him, Bishop Walter at his side, Simon and Baldwin opposite. The rest of the men were ranged about tables in the main hall.

‘Yes. This was the Prior’s hall, I think. You can hardly imagine the place in those days. I saw it once, you know. There was gold and silver everywhere, and gilt on all the exposed spaces. A marvellous place. Yet when the Order was suppressed, it all just disappeared.’

‘Where to?’ Simon asked.

‘Christ knows. Perhaps the rumours are true, and they loaded it all onto some boats and flung it into the sea. What do you think, Sir Baldwin?’

‘Me? I have no idea. I had thought the King took most of their wealth, just as the French King took that which was discovered in the Paris Temple. If you say that much is missing, though, I will believe you.’

‘I do not know. Perhaps you are right,’ Despenser smiled, but there was no humour in his face. ‘So long as none of the illegitimate sons of whores escaped, that is the main thing.’

Baldwin felt his eye upon him, and had to set his jaw to stop from angrily responding. ‘You think that all were guilty?’

‘Perhaps not. But so long as some were, it matters little.’

‘It matters a lot!’ Baldwin exclaimed hotly. ‘It is better that ten guilty men go free than one innocent man is unjustly convicted.’

‘Well, if that is your view,’ Despenser shrugged, ‘at least you may reflect upon the certainty that God will know His own. The innocent will no doubt be there with Him even now.’

‘I am sure that not all were evil,’ Bishop Stapledon said, and there was a strength in his tone which Baldwin had not expected. ‘There were very many with whom I had dealings who were entirely honourable. Like most of the other knights Templar.’

‘The Pope convicted them of unimaginable crimes,’ Sir Hugh reminded him.

‘Oh yes, and then when the Order was destroyed, the same good Pope allowed all those Templars who wished it, the opportunity to go to another religious brotherhood. Some joined the Benedictines, some the other Orders. They were men of honour and integrity.’

‘Then why were they arrested?’

‘That was much the fault of the French King.’

‘Ah, of course,’ Sir Hugh sneered. ‘It’s often down to him.’

Food arrived, and the party set to with gusto.

Sir Hugh le Despenser was the first to finish his thick stew, and he took a hunk of bread to soak up the juices as the mess bowls were taken away with their valuable contents to be given as charity at his door. As he chewed, he watched the servants clearing away the dishes, and then said to the Bishop: ‘Did you notice during the candlelit procession that I spilled some wax on my hand? Never a good omen, that.’

Simon was not credulous, but he did have some superstitions. ‘Where I was born they used to say that if you spilled wax, someone you knew might die.’

‘Really?’ Despenser said shortly. Too late, he told himself. Jack was already dead. ‘How interesting. I hope it won’t be my wife. She is with the Queen again today.’

‘That was a dreadful event yesterday,’ the Bishop said quietly.

Despenser looked at him. ‘Dreadful’ hardly covered it. He could still remember that body on the floor behind the throne. Jack, the man on whom he had come to depend so much, because he was the most expert killer, had himself been killed. But by whom? And how? Anyone who could lull Jack and slay him was an enemy to be feared.

He managed, ‘I agree. One finds it difficult to express one’s horror at such a foul murder.’

‘The maid, yes,’ Stapledon agreed.

‘It is hard to understand how any man could wish to hurt the Queen,’ Baldwin said.

His words had an instant impact. ‘You think that?’ Despenser said. Beside him, Bishop Walter winced.

‘Surely any man who has taken an oath to obey the King has simultaneously taken an oath to protect his wife?’ Baldwin said.

Despenser was studying him closely. ‘Perhaps some do not think that she merits such blind devotion?’

‘I am surprised to hear you say that, Sir Hugh.’

‘Her brother makes it difficult for a patriot to support her. Just as the Bishop pointed out, the French cannot always be trusted. They covet our lands and kingdom.’

‘You say that is an excuse for not honouring our Queen?’

‘I say that we who have responsibility for the security of the realm have many difficult decisions to make,’ Despenser said. ‘It is like the matter of the Templars — perhaps some, as the good Bishop suggested, may have been innocent. But for the protection of Christianity as a whole, it was essential that they were all arrested, was it not?’

‘I could not say,’ Baldwin said. He shifted in his seat. This felt too much like denying his comrades, but if he were to become known as an escaped Templar, it would not serve to aid them. It would only ensure that he was arrested, and likely executed, for no purpose. Then a small flame of defiance flared. ‘I could only say this: that as Keeper of the King’s Peace I have witnessed enough injustices at the hands of the incompetent, the dull-witted and the corrupt. I should not be in the least surprised to learn that some of those who prosecuted the Templars were no better than those I have seen in the last years in Devon.’

‘Really? Ah, but of course, you are the same good knight who has been involved in so many interesting cases in Devon, are you not? You were in Iddesleigh last year, I believe, and Dartmouth, too. I seem to remember hearing of you.’

Baldwin looked at him very directly. ‘You wish to complain about my impartiality?’

Despenser was expressionless. ‘No, I merely wanted to ensure that you were the man I was thinking of. It is always refreshing to meet someone whose reputation precedes them.’

Baldwin nodded. He was perfectly aware that this was a warning, but he did not know what he was being warned from. It would warrant consideration. ‘Will your wife attend upon the Queen again tomorrow?’

‘Of course. She is with Her Majesty every day.’

‘Good. I should like to speak to her as well.’

‘Why?’

‘Just to confirm her impression of the figure she saw kill Mabilla.’

‘What is there to find out? He was there in the hall.’

‘Did we find a cuir bouilli mask to cover his face? No. A green gipon? No again. Cecily was very certain in her description, but it does not tally with the man we found there. I would like to speak to your wife to see what she recalls.’

‘I see. Any others?’

‘Certainly. I shall also be speaking with Alicia when I have an opportunity.’

‘Interesting, that superstition about candles, don’t you think?’ Despenser said, still eyeing Baldwin. ‘Do you think someone here at this table will shortly die, Sir Knight?’

There was a lightness to his tone, as though he was making fun of the superstition, but when Baldwin looked up at him again, he saw only death in the man’s eyes.