Dispensation of Death

Chapter Twenty-Two

Now he knew how Jack had got into the Palace, Ellis set his mind to considering how Jack’s killer could have found him.

Jack was no easy target. He’d not have spoken of his commission to anyone else. He was far too aware of the dangers of betrayal, especially with a job like this one.

He had made it from here, the south-western point of the wall, into the passageway that led from the upper gallery in the Queen’s chapel to her solar. But how on earth had he got there?

Ach, he was wasting his time! He shouldn’t be here running about trying to put himself in the mind of a man who was dead. It would do little to help him find the murderer of his sister … and yet the fact of being busy lent him some comfort, was helping him to concentrate. Very well, then. Concentrate.

Ellis turned away from the Abbey and stared hard back towards the Old Palace Yard. The new cloister and Queen’s chamber and chapel were ahead of him. He glanced to left and right. The walls here were completely open from the guards at the other walls. There were some parts where the farther guards would have been hard pushed to see too much, and of course their attention should have been directed outwards, away from the palace itself, to keep an eye open for any possible intruders approaching from outside. Someone already on the walkway would have been at an advantage anyway, because many of the guards would see a figure at the other side of the wall and assume it was one of them. In the darkness it would be natural enough.

Still, if he had to bet, Jack wouldn’t want to walk too far on the walkway. No, he’d try to get down to the ground as quickly as possible. There were stairs over to the left, and a …

Ellis looked ahead of him. Just in front of him was a small stone building used for storing provisions, and Ellis grinned to himself coldly. That made sense. He had already found a ladder and rope. It would hardly be surprising if he’d found another length of rope. With that a man might let himself down from here, to a place just behind that stone building, so conveniently positioned to conceal someone climbing down the wall.

He strode along the walkway, down the staircase, and over to the rear of the building. There was a small heap of rubbish there. From the look of it, it was clearly a convenient repository for waste from the kitchens. He found a long stick, and thrust it in about the edges, but found nothing. Then he reasoned that Jack would hardly leave a rope in a damp muck heap. Looking about, he could see no sign of one hidden anywhere else, though — until he looked at the roof of the storage room. Eaves overhung the walls by a significant amount, he noticed. Reaching up beneath the shingles, he found that there was a slight shelf at the bottom, and as he ran his fingers along this, he collected a splinter, and then his fingers met a piece of rough hemp. Excellent!

From here, Jack would have had just the one route to the Queen’s quarters — across the yard and in by the garden door. Ellis set off in that direction, reaching the door in a few paces. There was a guard waiting there, who watched Ellis as he approached.

‘Who are you?’ Ellis asked.

‘Richard Blaket.’

‘Is the Queen in her cloister? I want to see inside — just for a minute. The murderer who killed Mabilla came in this way, I think,’ Ellis explained. ‘Sir Hugh le Despenser wants to find out how, on behalf of the King, to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

Blaket opened the door for him, and Ellis entered, but once inside, he paused and looked back at him. ‘That door, is it locked at night?’

‘Usually, yes.’

There was an anxious look to him that told Ellis all. Clearly it hadn’t been, the night Mabilla died. Was that because someone had been making it as easy as possible for Jack to come here? Could he have had an accomplice inside the palace?

Suddenly Ellis reckoned he was making some headway.

Baldwin and Simon left the Temple a short while before dusk. To Baldwin, his departure felt like a rout. Despenser had threatened him, that much was quite plain, but Baldwin was unclear what he was being threatened about.

‘Do you think it was something to do with Iddesleigh? The damage done to his manor at Monkleigh was bound to have been reported, and then there was the fight down at Dartmouth,’ he said.

‘You have never been allied with him.’

‘I have never allied myself with any political grouping other than the King,’ Baldwin said fiercely. ‘I demand the right to live in peace with my King. Nothing more.’

The Bishop had collected his horse and he and his men trotted up to join the two. ‘Sir Baldwin, I trust you enjoyed your meal? Sir Hugh is an excellent host, is he not?’

‘Oh, yes. Most courteous,’ Baldwin replied, thinking that it was true, so long as you ignored those brutal, black, unforgiving eyes with the promise of death in them.

‘If you do not object, I shall continue to my hall,’ the Bishop said wearily. ‘I shall see you there. After this morning, I think it would be for the best.’

‘Of course, my Lord Bishop,’ Baldwin agreed, and the Bishop and his men were soon riding off towards the royal mews at Charing.

‘He is a man with a lot on his mind,’ Simon said musingly as the others rode away.

A thin rain had begun to fall, and Simon and Baldwin both pulled their hoods up over their heads as they walked. Baldwin was wearing a cloak, but Simon only wore his gipon with a hood incorporating a gorget.

‘Simon, have you seen any displays like that in Exeter?’

‘What, like the mob outside St Paul’s? No, never. Nobody would dare to insult Bishop Stapledon down there. He’s known to be an honourable, decent man back at home. I think it was just the Londoners. You often hear about them attacking the rich and important. They seem to think it’s their job to pull people down a peg or two. I doubt it was more than that.’

‘I am not so sure. I heard someone mention the “Eyre”. I wonder whether the good Bishop has sat on an Eyre, or whether he enforced some decision against the interests of the people of London?’

Simon shook his head. He knew little of any matter outside his own county.

Baldwin sighed. Out here now, he remembered how he had denied his companions within the Temple; he had run at the first moment when asked for his views on his comrades. It felt shameful. He felt defiled.

Soon they were back at the Bishop’s house, and they found him sitting up and waiting for them in the main hall. A fire had been lighted in the middle of the floor, and the smoke rose up to the rafters before leaching out between the shingles. It gave the room a warm, homely atmosphere, which was only enhanced when the Bishop’s servant brought out a large jug of wine and three cups.

Simon took the proffered cup, his eyes fixed upon the Bishop, and was aware of a vague sensation that something was not quite right. He sniffed his cup, but the wine was good, it wasn’t that. The Bishop was watching him closely, and Simon could have sworn that there was a gleam in his eye. It was only when he heard a snigger that he looked again at the servant.

‘Rob! What in …’ He quickly swallowed the heretical curse, ‘What are you doing in the Bishop’s uniform?’

‘It was my idea, Simon. I thought that his old clothing needed cleaning,’ Bishop Walter explained. It was true — after their journey, Rob’s clothes were both smelly and threadbare. ‘I have many servants here, and the idea of fitting this young fellow out in old clothing seemed not unpleasing. I trust you do not mind?’

‘Of course not,’ Simon said, eyeing his servant from the corner of his eye. Rob did look much improved. If Simon didn’t know better, he’d think that Rob had been washed, too.

‘Sir Baldwin, Simon, I offer you a toast to the King: may he confound his enemies!’

The two men drank, then Simon pre-empted Baldwin’s question. ‘Bishop, what was the matter this morning? The crowd wanted to rip your head off, if I’m any judge.’

Stapledon grunted and peered at Simon over the top of his cup. ‘You are right, of course. Well, it’s perfectly simple, I’m afraid. Londoners don’t like me at all. It’s because they don’t see the state of the nation’s finances, only what I have to do as Lord High Treasurer.’ He drew in an irritable breath.

‘A King cannot finance a war on his own. The cost of paying troops and buying their arms, armour, mounts … in the past, it was easy: a man offered his service to the King, and if the King accepted him, he would provide spending money, food, drink and clothing, and the man would serve the King all his life with honour and fidelity. Now? These days, every man is a mercenary. They come and go depending upon where the money is, and they don’t expect to make any oath, other than, “For as long as Your Lordship pays me”.’ He grunted and shook his head. ‘Well, when I was first Lord High Treasurer, in the fourteenth year of the King’s reign, the King asked to hold a Grand Eyre in the city. He wanted the money. That was what he said, but in truth I think he wanted to punish the city for trying to support Lancaster in the disputes earlier that year.

‘The Eyre was held along the same lines as those of King Edward, the King’s father. So all who possessed a franchise of any form must come to open court in the Tower and declare it and prove their ownership with any documents. If they could not prove their right to hold it, the franchise was lost. Men who had the rights found that they were taken away. And all blamed me for it. It was not fair, but then so much in life is not fair!’

‘That crowd was determined,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Should you not travel with more men to defend you when you enter the city?’

‘Oh, they were just a small mob. They had no intention of harming me seriously. I was just a convenient target this morning. If someone else had been there, they would have attacked him.’ He gloomily drank off the last of his cup and refilled it. ‘What of you, though, Sir Baldwin?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. I am not in my dotage yet. I saw the way that Sir Hugh stared at you. I tell you plainly, Sir Baldwin, that look worried me.’

Baldwin was about to deny understanding, but then he remembered that feeling from when he had been walking back here, that he had been forced to retreat and not stand up for his companions. In response, he drew his sword and offered it to the Bishop. ‘Look at the blade.’

‘The Latin?’

‘No — the reverse.’

The Bishop peered, tracing the lines with his forefinger. He stiffened, and then nodded very gently. ‘A cross?’

Baldwin was surprised, wondering whether the Bishop’s eyes were poorer than he had realised. ‘It is a specific type of cross,’ he said.

The man gazed at him very hard for a moment, and then passed the sword back. ‘As I said, it is a cross. The symbol of all that is great about our Lord Jesus Christ, and an honourable mark for a knight to wear on his sword. No, the main thing is, you must watch yourself with Sir Hugh. He is a constant ally to the King — but he can yet be prey to strange fancies, and when he grows upset with a man, sometimes he can be quite unforgiving.’

‘My Lord Bishop,’ Baldwin began, taking back the weapon and thinking that the Bishop had not realised the cross was a sign of the Temple … but even as he thought this, the other man turned to him again and met his look with a raised brow.

Suddenly his defence of the Temple in Despenser’s presence was explained. This was another man of the Church who had no truck with the fanciful allegations against the Order. He was one of those who recognised that the persecution was nothing more than that: a vicious assault on an innocent brotherhood for motives of profit.

Baldwin sheathed his sword, and bowed his head in gratitude. ‘Let me offer you another toast, my Lord Bishop. To you: your health and long life.’

Ellis reached the Temple late that evening, and strode straight out to the hall where he knew his master would be waiting.

‘Good. You’re back. What did you learn, then?’

It took Ellis some little while to describe all that he had seen at the Palace that day. When he was finished, Despenser sat back, mulling over the news. ‘So — we are no further forward with the facts, then. We have learned much about how Jack got in there, but nothing about his killer or why he would want to kill your sister.’

Ellis watched him coldly. He knew his master well enough. Despenser would consider the facts carefully, weighing them, and then reach a conclusion. Although there was something different about him today. Sir Hugh was distracted. There was something else on his mind, obviously. Ellis wasn’t blind or stupid. He knew that there were arguments about the Queen’s visit to the French, that men had been trying to control Sir Hugh’s authority over the King … there were plenty of matters to take up the knight’s time.

It was all one to Ellis. He was his master’s henchman, and no one else would ever have his loyalty. While Sir Hugh lived, Ellis would be his man, and he would die to save his life. Ellis had no time for others. He had made his choice many years ago when he had first come to understand that his master would protect him, and in that time Ellis had never wavered in his loyalty.

‘It comes to this, Ellis. We know that someone must have let an ally of the Queen understand that her life was in danger. And whoever that was, he knew that your sister was helping us to monitor her. Other men would have assumed that the only person spying on her was my wife. Who knew about Mabilla?’

Ellis felt as though his stomach had fallen to his feet; there was a curious rushing noise in his ears. ‘Pilk was there that night when you told Jack …’

‘No, Ellis. He wasn’t. Jack threw him out of the room and Pilk went down the stairs. There’s no way he could have learned anything about the plan. And it wasn’t Jack, because he was always too careful. I know how much you adored your sister, Ellis, so it cannot have been you. And I hope you’ll believe me when I say it wasn’t me either. No. So — only one other man knew the plan and could have affected our plot.’

Ellis knew who Despenser meant. They had met him in the cloister yard on the day that they briefed Jack. Just before they saw him.

‘Yes,’ Despenser breathed. ‘It must have been him. Piers de Wrotham.’

Ellis frowned. ‘But you didn’t tell him about Mabilla. How would he learn about her?’

Despenser gave a shamefaced grunt. ‘I am afraid I may have mentioned her to him the next day, while you were out. I let it slip to him.’