Dispensation of Death

Chapter Ten

Thursday before Candlemas¹

Thorney Island

Eleanor de Clare stood with her ladies-in-waiting while the Queen entered her chapel and knelt before the altar.

These late-night visits to her chapel were deeply annoying to them all. There was no point to them, yet she insisted on coming in here and prostrating herself before the Cross. Eleanor had nothing against the correct displays of religious fervour; it was to be expected in a Christian. Yet these very loud and tearful visits were wearing, especially when her brat woke before dawn each day, demanding to know in that querulous little voice of his when he was going to see his sisters again. Acting like a baby when he was a big boy of eight. He ought to know his royal birth and behave accordingly. Even his sisters, aged two and four, would be behaving better than him, she thought.

The priest yawned as the Queen continued to speak in Latin.

‘Oh, damn her!’ Eleanor hissed, but only quietly so that no one else could hear. The woman was so full of her own misery and self-pity, and yet she was all right. She was a Queen. She’d always have her life, be waited on hand and foot.

Earlier, Eleanor had left her in the care of three of her maids, and had gone to the chamber where her husband had been placed. Of course, it was frowned upon for any woman to enter the separate area that was intended for the King’s household. As was normal, this household was entirely masculine. The sole feminine elements had always been the Queen and her maids, when she merged her own household with the King’s. Usually they would have a separate existence, though, as was natural. And most of her household too would be male, because all the key functions required men. The chaplains, guards, chamberlains and comptrollers. Wives were not allowed to materialise without the permission of the King. Usually that would mean that a wife would have to take a room nearby, and then her man could visit her when he required the payment of the marriage debt.

Tonight, Eleanor wanted to see her man, and since he was one of the most powerful men in the country, she felt secure enough to walk along the corridors and enter the little chamber beside the Lesser Hall, where she knew he ought to be sleeping.

Yet when she entered, he was not there. She went to his bed, and laid her hand upon it, but there was no one inside. Nor was it warm. Perhaps, she thought, he was still discussing matters with the King. There was another possibility, but she had always refused to consider that, and would continue to do so now. It was not the sort of thing she liked to think of, and things which were unpleasant in that way were always better ignored.

The Lesser Hall itself was in darkness, and when she peeped around the old door inside, she saw ranks of servants asleep on their benches. It was possible that her husband was in the Great Hall, and she walked to it, but before she reached it she could see that it too was in darkness. They weren’t there.

It was only as she made her way back to the Queen’s cloister that she glanced to her left and saw the lights blazing in the Painted Chamber, the King’s private rooms. On the wind she heard a low, sniggering chuckle, then a belly-laugh, and she closed her eyes.

Now, standing in the chapel and watching the Queen, she could close her eyes again, this time to pray silently for God’s forgiveness. She should never have wished her husband to die for what he was doing. He was in there with the King on business, no doubt. It was wrong for her to assume that they were indulging in those unnatural acts again.

The Queen was done. She stood, swaying slightly, giving Eleanor a feeling of grim satisfaction to know that at least the woman was suffering a little of the torment which she inflicted on her entourage. She must be exhausted, for she had to put her hand out for support, and the Chaplain took it, warily eyeing her as though fearing that his touch could hurt her. Then the Queen snatched her hand away swiftly, as though suddenly realising she had touched a man little better than a peasant, turned and left the chapel.

Walking in her wake, Eleanor felt no need to speak, Queen Isabella knew what she was doing — knew that Eleanor was following her. She was in constant attendance, just like any chaperone — except in Eleanor’s case, the Queen could not send her away. The woman was with her every moment of every day, more gaoler than maid-in-waiting, and both knew it. As was proved by Eleanor reading all the Queen’s correspondence, and keeping the Queen’s seal. Even now, at this time of late evening, there were two maids before the Queen, another and Eleanor here behind her, and Alicia drawing up the rear. There was no let-up in the women’s watchful supervision.

It was all at her husband’s command, of course. Sir Hugh said that he and the King were unable to trust the Queen any more. Isabella had shown herself to be unreliable, and the idea that she might pollute the minds of their children was too appalling to consider. So she must be contained, her children protected, while there was this present crisis with her brother in France.

Eleanor knew all this, but it was still hard. She would have preferred to be at her own home, with her own children, and away from this miserable place. With her husband.

There had been rumours, of course. Well, she had heard snide comments about the King from her own husband, back in the days when his infatuation had been with Piers Gaveston, that son of an upstart Gascon man-at-arms. They’d all talked about his friend — his sodomite friend. Hugh himself had been scathing and then, when the barons captured Gaveston and murdered him, his mood was exultant. Hugh had been a loyal friend to Lancaster at that time, and he had been given a role with the King to help control him. Much as Eleanor was monitoring his wife now.

She didn’t know when it had all begun to change, when the King had started to exercise an unwholesome influence over her husband. At first it was nothing too overt. It was just that occasionally she would realise that their estates were grown again, with the acquisition of manors and lands which had been owned by the King’s enemies. Traitors were being discovered with ever more regularity, and each time their property was forfeit. Someone had to be given it, and all too often it was passed on to her husband.

But it was not only that their wealth was growing. Hugh was frequently being called to advise the King, and had become a well-known political power in his own right; and as his wealth grew, so did his influence with all others in the realm. These days, Sir Hugh le Despenser was all-powerful …

There was a sudden stamp of boots, a rattle as a candle was dropped. A door opened, and Eleanor heard a maid draw in her breath. Then there was a flash of silver and a loud scream, a scream that shivered its way down Eleanor’s spine, and made her want to turn and fly.

She saw a sudden gout of blood, and heard another scream, which soon turned to a low sob and wail. A maid shoved past her, maddened with terror, a second had already fainted away, and Eleanor saw the other on the floor, writhing in agony, her belly opened with a long slash, while the butcher who had done it stood before them, his long knife slick with blood. The last lady-in-waiting pushed past, but this was Alicia, and she was thrusting forward, putting herself between the man and the Queen.

Lady Eleanor felt sick; she wanted to vomit, but she was a de Clare. Instead, she shrieked at the top of her voice: ‘Guards! Guards, help! The Queen is attacked!’

Friday, Vigil of Candlemas²

London

Simon had been looking forward to arriving in London. He had heard so much about this magnificent city, the greatest in the country, and was excited to think he would soon see it.

They had made excellent time, so Baldwin said. Whereas a King’s messenger would average a good thirty to thirty-five miles a day, they had managed somewhere in the region of five-and-twenty, even without travelling on Sundays in deference to the Bishop. The weather had been moderate and clement for the time of year.

However, Simon’s mood was lowered, even as they approached the city, thanks to the Bishop. Instead of feeling thrilled to see where the King dispensed justice and where the parliaments met most often, the Bishop’s foul mood was affecting him and everyone else in their little party.

It had been bad from the moment that they left Salisbury. Bishop Walter had retreated into his shell, snapping at those about him and scowling at the countryside as though expecting an answer to some deep philosophical question, but finding none.

Even at the various halts, it was clear that the Bishop preferred not to discuss whatever it was that was bothering him. He was a powerful man, and his guards and clerks all preferred to avoid him rather than endure his barbed retorts, which meant that Simon and Baldwin were left with him more and more as the others fled. Neither felt that they should leave their mentor entirely alone, so they paced along beside him, mostly enduring his silence, casting occasional glances at each other as they wondered how on earth to bring him out of himself.

It was only as they reached Cayho³ earlier today — some six miles from London itself, he said — that the Bishop appeared to shake off some of his depression. He began to point out places he felt would interest Simon, but nothing could prepare the Bailiff for the magnificence of the sights which were to present themselves.

‘And that is Thorney Island,’ the Bishop said at last as they came through a small thicket and wood and paused on the great road.

Ahead of them, Simon could see a great monastic wall about a large abbey church. Outside the wall was a broad river that had been converted into a canal, and as he watched, a small ship was navigating it. Behind it lay the great sweep of the Thames, with some few buildings on the opposite bank, but it was the other buildings behind the Abbey that caught his attention most.

‘Is that really a hall?’

‘It is the Great Hall,’ Stapledon smiled. ‘That is where the King meets with all his advisers and listens to their debates. Everything that affects the realm is decided in there.’

Simon heard Baldwin clear his throat in an expression of cynicism but ignored his friend. He would enquire later why Baldwin rejected the Bishop’s words. ‘What are they?’

‘Those are the royal palaces. On the right is the Queen’s chapel and her cloister, then the King’s chambers and his own cloister is between there and the Great Hall itself.’

Simon nodded, but could not keep his head from shaking in surprise. He had not expected a small city, but in effect that was what he was looking at. The Abbey and palace complex was a small enclosed community, and outside it were roads heading north, west and southwards, and on each of them was a thin straggle of houses and hovels, with their own little patch of garden. The northern road was the most impressive, though. Near the Abbey there were smaller properties, two- or three-roomed dwellings that would be sufficient for merchants passing by. Beyond them were much larger houses — places that would suit a Bishop or very senior courtier. As they marched up towards the north, where the river suddenly bent to the right, the sight there caught his attention, and he whistled.

‘That is London?’

‘That is London,’ the Bishop agreed. ‘The greatest city in the country.’

Simon nodded, and his eyes were fixed upon it as they rode on to the seat of government in England.

Thorney Island

In the Great Hall, Hugh le Despenser grabbed the servant by the collar and pulled him towards him.

‘What do you mean, you can’t find him! I want my man Ellis here now!’ He flung the petrified man from him and kicked his arse for good measure as he scuttled away. Turning, he saw a guard. ‘Well — do you have any brilliant ideas about any of this?’

‘None, my Lord. I was not on duty last night.’

‘Have all the guards who were on duty been assembled?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want them all questioned for this … this …’ Before he could find the right words, he saw the woman at the doorway and motioned impatiently to the guard to leave him. ‘Your Highness, you have my deepest condolences for the loss of your maid.’

Sweet Mother of God, he thought. This is all I need.

When Queen Isabella walked in, her face might have been forged from steel, for all the emotion she displayed. Behind her was Eleanor, Despenser’s wife, and he threw her a look, but she merely raised her brows and shrugged in expression of her bewilderment.

‘Sir Hugh, I would discuss matters with you in private,’ the Queen said.

‘My Lady, I would be delighted,’ he lied. Motioning to the chairs, he graciously invited her to sit.

All he wanted just now was time to consider what had happened. Jesus! Jack had never failed before, but this time he’d killed Mabilla instead of the Queen, and Sir Hugh had no idea why. True, the woman was the one whom the Queen wanted removed, and her death was opportune from that point of view, but no one had told bloody Jack to kill her. Although it was a damn good job he had got the wrong victim. Sir Hugh was confused, and confusion made him angry. He wanted to talk to Ellis and see what the fool had done. More than that, he wanted to find Jack, grab him warmly by the throat and both congratulate him and shake the truth from him. How could he have missed the bloody Queen?

‘Sir Hugh, you and I both know that even in a magnificent hall like this there are places where a man might secrete himself and hear all he wished. No. I should prefer that you walk with me in my cloister for a while.’

‘Let me just fetch …’

‘There is no need for a guard in my cloister,’ she interrupted coldly. ‘Besides, I am sure that you would be an adequate defence against any assassin, would you not?’

He had no answer to that. Mutely he followed her as she led the way from the hall and out into the Lesser Hall, thence into her cloister. Eleanor started to follow them, but the Queen stopped and stared at her. ‘You are not required, my Lady. You will remain here.’

Despenser nodded to Eleanor. There was no need for her to join them.

It was a quiet little corner of the palace, this cloister of the Queen’s. He had always imagined that Isabella would have had it decorated in some gaudy colours, for with her French ancestry, she had a love for all fashions. It was not Sir Hugh’s way. He had been raised in the court of King Edward I, and there all things martial tended to be exalted, rather than the vanities of the modern court. But much of that was the responsibility of the King, not his wife.

‘Sir Hugh, you are investigating the murder last night?’

‘Yes. I have men all over the palace to find the culprit, and I am sure that the maid will be avenged.’

‘Are you? I am not so sure. It would be useful, I think, if there was no great effort to locate the guilty man, hein?’

He did not know how to respond to this. Having grown up as the son of a courtier, he understood the dangers of politics better than any other. His man Jack atte Hedge had failed in his original task, but still, he had succeeded in one way. Sir Hugh would like to know why, but the result was beneficial. There was a small line of defence and attack here which he could use to his own advantage.

‘That may not be quite correct, my Lady. Actually, I have already heard that Mabilla had teased a man and flaunted herself at him, but when he tried to respond, she deliberately snubbed him.’

If there was one thing this Queen always adored, it was a salacious rumour. ‘Oh? Who?’

‘I fear I have been told it was Earl Edmund of Kent,’ Sir Hugh said smoothly, lowering his voice. ‘You know how downcast he has been since the ridiculous way he was ejected from Guyenne. Well, I think he grew enamoured of her, and pressed his suit too keenly. She was horrified to see how he had misunderstood her flirting, I think, and refused him. There was a guard who witnessed it all.’

‘Ah. So perhaps I misunderstood, you mean?’ She almost looked as though she was about to laugh. ‘Mabilla’s removal was not your act? In truth, I applaud you, Sir Hugh. You have such skill and wit in the way in which you play with people!’

They parted shortly after that, and it was a curiously contemplative Despenser who entered the small chamber near the Lesser Hall, where he had a parlour. In there he took a seat. Perhaps the Queen was coming round to liking him, after all. There was something renewed in her eyes when she spoke to him — a certain regard, or perhaps respect. She had wanted a sign, and Mabilla’s death was the proof of their pact.

Her manner had definitely changed for the better. Perhaps it was his straightforward approach with her. She could see that here was a strong man with whom she could deal, not some feeble-minded dollypoll who relied solely on bribery and violence, as she might once have believed. It was an odd thought, but perhaps he could collaborate with her, after all. She would be a marvellous ally.

His wife entered just as he was reaching this conclusion, and she stood before him, her breast rising and falling with emotion. Although she was silent, he found her presence enough of a distraction to make him look up.

She was furious. It was in her eyes.

‘Husband!’

‘Eleanor, my love. She didn’t want much — I’ll let you know later.’

‘Husband — was it you?’ she burst out.

‘Eh?’ Despenser was so surprised at her question that he felt unable to answer immediately. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you try to have the Queen murdered? Because if you did, you killed my maid Mabilla!’

‘Woman, be quiet,’ he hissed. ‘That is not the kind of accusation I want to hear in here.’

‘And I don’t want to have any more of my maids slaughtered before my eyes!’

‘Madam, you overstretch the mark.’

‘Sir, I will not have any more of my women servants killed.’

His jaw clenched, and then he reached out to her. All his frustration at recent events boiled in his blood. On his feet in a flash, he grabbed her by the throat and spun her around, throwing her against the nearest wall, his fingers tightening.

‘Bitch, you don’t speak to me like that. Ever. And if I hear you talking about me being involved in the death of anyone at all, I shall be seriously unhappy with you. You do not want me to be so angry with you … so be still. You have duties. Go to them!’

She dropped, choking, from his grasp, and almost fell on all fours, but he was heedless of her as he strode back towards the Great Hall. He had other things to consider.

‘Ellis? Ellis!’ he roared. ‘Where in the name of Satan is he?’