Dispensation of Death

Chapter Forty-One

Baldwin left Blaket at the door to the Queen’s rooms and stood a moment deep in thought. ‘Come with me, old friend,’ he said at last, and led Simon back the way which they had taken earlier in the day.

Simon wondered what was making Baldwin frown so. ‘Blaket killed Mabilla, then?’

‘Apparently so — in order to provide a service to his mistress the Queen, and incidentally, perhaps, to protect his relationship with the Queen’s other maid: Alicia. Did you observe how closely that woman watched and listened all through the Queen’s speech just now?’

‘I only had eyes for the Queen,’ Simon admitted. ‘But what of it? At last we know who killed the girl.’

‘And we know who killed the assassin, Jack.’

‘You may. I do not.’

‘Oh, Simon. It must have been Despenser.’

‘Perhaps. Yet Bishop Walter was most insistent. I think he knew something. Perhaps the confessional … No matter. I am not convinced it was Sir Hugh.’

‘If it were not, then it was surely the only other man who had easy access to that room,’ Baldwin said.

‘There is only one such man.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘And I wish to see him briefly to ask him about that stain on his carpet.’

As they crossed a passage near the King’s chamber, they met a couple of servants carrying a rolled rug.

Baldwin stopped them. ‘Where did you get that from?’

‘The King. He said it has been stained and must be burned.’

‘Good fellow! You do not need to do that. Let me buy it from you.’

So saying, he dug in his purse for some coins and pressed them into the men’s hands. ‘Could you take the thing to the small hall out in the Green Yard?’

The two looked at each other. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Then do so, and I should be grateful if you could also seek out the Coroner to the household, a knight called John.’

That, it appeared, was still more easy to arrange.

‘What are you planning, Baldwin?’ Simon asked as they strode forward along the passage to the door to the King’s chamber.

‘Who is it now?’ King Edward demanded.

He had only just disposed of the two Bishops, and now there was another man come to visit him. As the door opened and his steward peeped out, he felt a rising resentment.

If he were at glorious Eltham or Winchester, or up in York, he could have entertained himself happily, traipsing about the land with peasants, helping them with their annual tasks of hedging and ditching, and joining in their little festivities afterwards. There was no one who understood the common people like him.

But no. Here in Thorney Island, he was a prisoner, held here in his cell while those who despised him dropped in to goggle at him and make their demands, while he must sit and nod and make polite conversation until they would leave him and the next ones would appear. He was no better off than Isabella, his Queen. At least she had all semblance of responsibility taken from her. In some ways he would be happy if their positions were reversed, if she were in power and authority, and he was resting in a small, quiet cloister with no one to pester him.

‘Who is it now?’ he repeated as his servant glanced back at him.

‘The Keeper and Bailiff Puttock, my Lord.’

The two rascals entered a moment later, both with their faces to the floor in a wholly respectable display.

‘Well?’ he demanded of them testily. Where the Bishops had been offered wine and seats, these two could remain standing.

‘My Lord, you asked me to tell you when I had successfully concluded my investigations into the murder of the assassin and the lady-in-waiting Mabilla.’

‘What of the attempt on my friend’s life?’

‘That we have resolved,’ Baldwin said. ‘Your friend is content, I believe, that there will be no more attacks from that quarter.’

The King sat back with some astonishment. ‘You are sure of this?’

‘Quite certain, my Liege.’

‘Then you are to be congratulated, Sir Baldwin. What else?’

‘We have investigated the two deaths with all the sagacity at our command. It is certain sure that the assassin died somewhere here in your chambers, my Lord.’

‘What?’ the King growled. ‘You suggest that I had some part in the murder?’

‘My Lord, of course not. But he was an assassin. If he had been found in your chamber, what could be more natural than that your guards in here, or even your good friend Sir Hugh, should execute him as being a threat to your life?’

‘Sir Hugh? No. It was, I believe, one of my guards. Sir Baldwin, you are an astute fellow.’

‘I try to use the brains that the good Lord provided for me.’

‘And the woman Mabilla?’

Baldwin looked at the King. ‘Naturally, the assassin was too fearful to press his attack upon the Queen. The shrieks of the women unsettled him and drove him away. And by accident he happened upon your chamber.’

‘Where my men killed him. Then why did none of them tell me this?’

‘I should have expected them to have done so. After all, the man did bleed upon your floor-coverings. We noticed that earlier today.’

‘So I saw. The good Bailiff could scarce take his eyes from the spot,’ the King observed drily.

Simon had the grace to redden. He had thought no one could have seen how his attention was diverted to that patch.

‘My Lord, I am sure that if you recall that night, perhaps your men woke you to tell you of an attack thwarted somewhere out in the main hall, and then you went back to sleep. It all appeared as a dream.’

‘And if I do not recall such a thing?’

‘Then surely the tale I tell did not happen. And another man must be sought, one who had access to your chamber, one who could draw steel in your own room and slay a man.’

‘And if that were so?’

‘If that were so, my Lord, then it must become known that an assassin entered your chamber. He came so close to finding you, and to executing you in a black, treacherous act. Others in the land might think to themselves that it would be relatively easy to repeat the action of a solitary assassin and try to force their way into your rooms. And perhaps one, or two, or three men might die before the fourth achieved his aim. We do not wish for that. Better by far that we forget the precise location and recall only that the body was discovered in the Great Hall.’

‘I can see that you would make a masterful diplomatist, Sir Baldwin.’

‘My Liege, I sincerely hope not!’ Baldwin said with feeling.

Sir John perched himself on the bench on which the headless body of Piers was resting, arms folded, and peered down at the head, resting on its cheek a few inches away from the torso. He reached over and drew the head down until the stub of ligament and muscle met with those of the torso. It rolled a little, and rested unmatched once more.

‘Sir John, I am glad you could come here,’ Sir Baldwin said a few moments later, the door rattling on its ancient hinges. He waited until Simon had come in, before slamming the door shut once more. ‘What a miserable place this is!’

‘I have known worse,’ Sir John noted, glancing up at the roof. ‘At least it is dry.’

Baldwin did not enlighten him. He had been thinking of the whole of Thorney Island, perhaps extending as far as the city of London itself.

‘This man. You know who he was?’ Sir John asked. When they shook their heads, he continued, ‘Piers de Wrotham. A minor player in this arena, he was a political fellow, who spent his life advising Earl Edmund. However, today the good Earl learned that Piers was receiving instructions from Sir Hugh le Despenser before advising the Earl. Sir Edmund made a gift of his head to the knight, and now he’s running from the King’s ire. I think he will go into exile in all likelihood.’

‘And justice will have been served,’ Baldwin said with disgust.

‘Do not be angry, Sir Baldwin. I have learned that anger at injustice wins little reward. No, it is better to be resilient in the face of such treatment. We do our jobs, we record our facts, and we try to keep our hearts disconnected from the miserable truth of the mundane nature of the cruelty inflicted upon the men and women of our realm. There are some, like this one here,’ he said, looking down at Piers’s head once more, ‘whose death I cannot mourn, because he was one of those who caused much of the sorrow. But others, others I mourn. The ones who have been mistreated and only seek a little compensation, the ones who’ve been robbed and seen their livings destroyed by the harsh greed of the barons. There are many who deserve sympathy.’

‘Does this Piers not deserve justice?’ Simon demanded.

‘Aye. But the exile of the killer will be enough. The King may change his mind, I suppose, and allow Earl Edmund to return, but I doubt it. The fellow has lost the Crown its jewel in France. I don’t think he’ll ever be welcomed back. This was the last sugary coating on the cake of his misdeeds.’

‘What of the other deaths?’

‘What of them? The innocents will go unavenged, I fear. The assassin — well, I am less concerned about him. But I would like to know the truth of his death. And I would be glad to see the killers of the innkeeper at the Swan brought to justice.’

‘They are already at the bar before God and answering for their crimes, I feel sure,’ Baldwin said, and told him about the fight between Ellis and the others in the New Palace Yard. ‘William Pilk and he were slain. I am sure that one or both were responsible, under Sir Hugh, for the murder of Henry and his wife.’

‘What of the killings here? Mabilla and the man?’

Baldwin nodded towards the carpet standing rolled at the wall. ‘If you look at that, it has a large bloody mess on it. I think that the assassin died on it. The rug came from the King’s own chamber. That was where Jack atte Hedge died.’

‘Good God! Why?’

‘Jack was told to come and kill the Queen. I am sure that Sir Hugh paid him for that. Sir Hugh also gave him a horse and had a formal agreement with him, an indenture. But he also had a spy in the Queen’s cloister. Not only his wife, but a woman who was reporting to him independently of his wife, just in case his amiable, kindly lady might grow fond of the Queen. He obviously feared that she might become disgusted with the task he had given her, that of gaoler. The spy was Mabilla.’

‘So the Queen had her killed?’

‘In a manner, yes. She told the Despenser that she wanted Mabilla removed. I think she probably made it clear in what way she wanted it to happen. And the Despenser was happy to comply with her demands, and even made the death a demonstration of his power, showing the Queen that whenever he wanted, he could strike at any in Isabella’s entourage — including, perhaps, herself.’

‘But he appeared quite shocked by the woman’s death.’

‘He would, though, wouldn’t he?’ Baldwin said. ‘The man is quite a consummate actor.’

‘I see,’ Sir John said. ‘But there are many gaps in your story, Sir Baldwin. If Despenser was to have killed the man, why do so in the King’s chamber? Why carry his body to the Great Hall to drop it behind the throne, and why commit that foul mutilation?’

‘True enough. But I fear you will have to enquire yourself about those aspects. I am only seeking to tell you the story as I understand it,’ Baldwin said.

Sir John nodded thoughtfully. Then he sprang lightly from the table, and addressed the two. ‘I thank you for the tale, in any case. It is quite entertaining.’

‘It is the only one you will have on the affair, I think,’ Baldwin said.

Later that night, Baldwin was lying back on his bed when Simon challenged him.

‘That was a whole cartload of garbage, wasn’t it?’

‘What was, Simon?’

‘The tale you gave to John. There was hardly any truth in it, was there?’

‘Simon, look at it this way: we set out to seek a killer, and in the end it became clear that the killer knew his way about the palace, that he was a man who could conceal himself, that he was someone known to Alicia, in all probability, and someone who was removing a woman whom the Queen wanted taken away.’

‘Yes.’

‘Blaket was plainly the man who killed Mabilla. He confessed as much. Jack was killed in the King’s chamber. We know that too. However, Despenser is not so good an actor that he could feign anxiety and rage. He did not know what had happened to his assassin. I am sure of that.’

‘But then … Oh, in Christ’s name, you don’t mean-’

‘Of course. The King is no fool. He heard about the spying and was none too pleased about it. I dare say he was happy enough to see Mabilla removed. But no matter what, he is a politician too. He was furious to learn that an assassin had been hired to kill his wife. It would ruin any chance of regaining Guyenne.’

‘How would he learn of the assassin?’

‘Simon, we already know of one double-agent — that man Piers. There are others here who would act in the same manner, finding all they can from one master to sell to another. But let us assume this Piers realised that there was such a plan in motion, and he told the King. Edward saw how much damage this must do, so he himself sought the assassin. He warned a few trusted guards to keep their eyes open. One of them was Blaket. He met Jack and persuaded him to meet with Despenser in a small chamber, near the King’s hall. But inside was not Despenser but the King himself. There Jack was murdered, and that obscene mutilation committed.’

‘Why that, though? If the King is so fond of other men as you have said, why do that?’

‘It was nothing to do with sodomy, Simon. That was a sign of the King’s great displeasure at such treason. Castration is common for those who try to commit such offences, as the Queen herself told us.’

‘So you mean that Blaket saw all this, and then returned to the Queen’s door to kill Mabilla?’

‘That was his duty, as he saw it. He loves two ladies, Simon. Alicia with his body, but the Queen with his heart. You saw how devoted he was to her. When she wanted peace, we could approach no further than to him. Passage beyond him would have involved someone’s death. Yet he took us to the King when he found us in the Queen’s rooms.’

‘So will you denounce him?’

‘What, Blaket or the King? To denounce one means also affirming the guilt of the other. Would you and I live if we succeeded in that, Simon? I do not think so. No. We should consider ourselves fortunate to have escaped this place with our lives.’

‘One point, though,’ Simon said after a few moments. ‘You said that Despenser could not act well, that he wouldn’t be able to dissemble in that manner, but you’re happy to accuse the King of exactly that. What makes you think that our Liege could do so when Despenser could not?’

‘Simon, do you remember the day we first arrived here and saw the roads? I mentioned the King’s pastimes, didn’t I?’

‘Ah — you said that he enjoyed acting!’

‘Precisely.’

And that, Baldwin had hoped, would be an end to the matter. He was disgusted with the council of the King, distrusted all those who sought power and advancement from the King, and felt threatened by the King’s own most trusted adviser.

There was nothing here for him. He could not alter the decisions being made, because the decisions were made by a few powerful people before ever any meeting was held. Even men whom he had once trusted, like Bishop Walter Stapledon, were proven to be more interested in preserving their own power than in seeing justice done. That might be a harsh view of the Bishop’s motives in concealing the indenture, but all Baldwin knew was that the Bishop had held that scrap in trust, and had then passed it on to Despenser, the man whom it accused.

But although Baldwin’s own desire was to leave the city and make his way back to Devon, to his wife and children, at all possible speed, events were shortly to take a turn which he had not predicted.