Dispensation of Death

Chapter Sixteen

Tramping boots brought the Queen back to the present. She listened, with her heart fluttering at the thought that it could be men come to destroy her, but then she heard a calm voice speaking, and the confirmation of the guard, and knew that this must be safe.

Nonetheless, Alicia was on her feet before anyone had entered the garden, and Richard Blaket crossed to stand beside her, glowering ferociously, his polearm at the ready, while even Cecily rose to kneel immediately before Isabella. It was in Blaket that she put her faith, though: no one would pass him to harm his Queen.

It was Alicia who offered the challenge. ‘You are trespassing on the Queen’s private cloister, lordings — what are you doing here?’

‘My name is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Lady. I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace in Devon, and I have been asked to learn all I may about the terrible incidents of last night. This is my friend and companion, Simon Puttock. He is a Bailiff to the Abbot of Tavistock, and experienced in seeking felons. We would like to speak with your Lady to learn all we may about last night’s attack.’

Isabella considered a moment. This man’s voice was reassuring, certainly. She had a good ear for a man’s voice. Many times she felt certain that her assessment of a man was better than almost everybody else’s, because she could hear when there was deceit. ‘Let them come forward so that I may see them,’ she said, and studied the two for a moment as they bowed. ‘Stand up, gentles. I can hardly see your faces when you turn them to the ground, can I? Yes. I like your faces. You may stay.’

‘May we speak about the attack, please?’ Baldwin said. He spoke in French, and she looked at him appreciatively.

‘You have an excellent accent, m’sieur. What would you like to know? A man sprang out at us, he struck at the lady-in-waiting nearest to him, and then fled. Clearly he was appalled himself by his actions.’

‘Did you recognise him?’

‘Am I in the habit of consorting with assassins? He was masked, in any case.’

‘What kind of mask did he wear?’ Baldwin asked.

‘It was leather,’ Cecily interrupted breathlessly. ‘Cuir bouilli, I should think. Shaped in the image of a face with holes for the eyes.’

Baldwin looked at her, a short, plump young woman with a round face and pleasing green eyes. ‘How was he clad?’

‘He had all dark clothing. Nothing black, but all grey or brown, with a dark green gipon.’

The Queen smiled coolly. ‘Are you here to question my maids as well as me?’

‘I apologise, my Lady. Did you see his weapon?’

‘A long-bladed knife. You know, like those which the Welsh wear? He had it in his hand before we came along the corridor.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin frowned thoughtfully.

She was a beautiful woman, this princess of France. Her skin was pale and perfect, her eyes clear blue. She was clad in a pelicon, a fur-trimmed mantle that was quite voluminous, making Baldwin wonder how many tunics he would be able to cut from the one item of clothing. At a rough guess he reckoned six.

Her arm was clearly giving her some pain, for when she moved as she spoke, it made her wince. Baldwin remembered hearing that some years before, maybe ten or so, she had been trapped in a fire when her tent had caught alight, and she had been badly burned. Apparently this was one of those injuries that healed only poorly. However, the aspect of her clothing that struck him more than any other was the almost shameful nature of her bodice — it was cut lower than any he had seen in England before. He was forced to keep his eyes from her décolletage as he spoke to her.

‘Could you please take us to the corridor? I should like to see it.’

‘Of course. Alicia, you come with us.’

‘I shall come too,’ Eleanor said quickly, making an effort to rise from her couch.

‘There is no need,’ the Queen said with disarming civility. ‘You were so shocked after last night, you remain here and rest. Cecily, you keep her company. I shall hardly be in danger when Alicia is with me.’

‘My Lady, I must insist,’ Eleanor began.

Baldwin intervened. ‘Madam, I swear I shall bring her straight back here to you as soon as we have made our investigations. I apologise, but I shall wish to speak to you later as well.’

Isabella smiled sweetly at her gaoler, and strode past the guard to the door that led through to her chambers. She walked along the corridor to the chapel. ‘I was in here, and walked back through this corridor to my bedchamber, and it was here where he attacked. Look, you can yet see the poor woman’s blood on the flags there.’

Baldwin did not need to touch the washed stones to smell the blood. It had permeated the atmosphere here. Where the Queen indicated, there was a niche in the wall. Just there, a man might hide very efficiently at night when the light in a corridor was invariably dim. The sight affected the Queen, and in the darker light of the corridor she appeared pale.

‘My Lady, are you quite well?’ Baldwin asked solicitously, and seeing her unease, he sent Alicia to fetch some wine.

‘I will be fine in a moment,’ she muttered as her maid ran along the passageway.

‘I am sorry to have brought you back here, my Lady, but it is important that I see where the attack took place. Now, do you have any idea who could have wished to see you murdered? Is there anybody who has been so angry with you that he might have chosen to order a man to kill you?’

‘Tell me, my friend. Do you know anything of your country’s politics?’ she enquired with mock-seriousness. Then, seeing his agreement, she gave a slow, weary nod in return. ‘Then you know who is most likely to wish to harm me. Do not expect me to commit petit treason by naming them. You know who they are.’

Baldwin felt as though a knife was in his own belly and being twisted. Petit treason was the legal term for any form of treason against a Lord — including that of treachery against a husband. It was enough of a clue.

‘Thank you for that, madam. And now … just a few more questions. The woman who died — she was …?’

‘Her name was Mabilla Aubyn. A pleasant enough child, I think, and a bondswoman to Eleanor de Clare.’

‘And she was walking with you?’

‘Yes. There were five about me. Two before me, and two behind, with Alicia following at the rear. Mabilla was on my right, Cecily on my left, and Joan behind me on my left, Eleanor on my right. As I say, Alicia was behind us all. When the man appeared, we were all struck with fear, I believe. Mabilla was dead in an instant. Ah — I would be wary of trusting to Cecily’s memory of the man who attacked us. She fainted away as soon as she saw the man’s knife. Only Alicia showed real courage. She thrust herself between the man and me, even when Joan was screaming and flying back towards the chapel in her terror. Only Alicia will be able to tell you what the man looked like. You must ask her. She must have terrified the fellow — he fled before her.’

‘And you were all walking in the dark, or was there light?’

‘What a question! Mabilla carried one candle, Alicia another. Why?’

‘No matter. I just wondered — would a man assume that you would walk before your servants?’

‘Not if they know me and this place, no!’ She need hardly point out that this palace was to her a prison. Alicia returned with a mazer of strong wine, and Isabella drained it.

‘Mabilla had a candle, as did Alicia,’ Baldwin noted. ‘Tell me, Alicia, did you recognise the man?’

‘If any of us knew the man, we would have denounced him for attacking us, of course!’

‘Yes. What of Mabilla? Did she scream, turn to run, make any move to show she recognised this man?’

‘We were all screaming, m’sieur. It was late at night and a man had appeared before us with a blade in his hand, ready to strike. Of course we were all scared.’

‘Naturally,’ Baldwin said with a mild smile. ‘And now, let me escort you back to your cloister. It is a most pleasant garden you have created there, madam.’

‘Thank you. It is a little haven from the storms of political life,’ she said and looked down, for she suddenly realised that her hands were perfectly still. There was no more shaking in them at all.

As she walked back to her cloister, she mused on the strange calmness which had come over her, but when they were at the gate to her cloister, the shaking came back.

‘Ce diable!’

Baldwin heard her hissed words, and followed the line of her sight. At the far end of the Old Palace Yard he saw Bishop Stapledon.

The Queen looked up at Baldwin with glittering hatred in her eyes, then swept through the gate into the sanctuary of her cloister, Alicia trailing after her.

Eleanor was already on her feet when the Queen stormed in. The two women stopped and stared at each other, Isabella fuming inwardly, and then she picked up her skirts and walked more calmly to her seat again.

Her swift return was enough to make Eleanor easier. Clearly the uncouth knight and his friend had said something to upset her. That was good. She would hardly have given away anything too harmful to Sir Hugh’s interests if she disliked and distrusted the men questioning her.

She nodded to Cecily to remain, and walked past the guard out to the Green Yard. ‘You said you would return to see me?’

The knight met her look with a dark-eyed intensity that shocked her. Lady Eleanor was no child, but as Sir Baldwin fixed her with that look, she felt uncomfortably like a maiden once more. It was the sort of look that said he knew what she had been doing, what her thoughts were. Only this time, rather than fearing he might learn of an illicit kiss from a groom, she was more concerned about her other secrets. Unconsciously, she drew up the neck of her tunic to conceal the fingermarks of her husband.

‘Lady, I am grateful to you for coming to speak with us,’ the knight said, and for the next few minutes he questioned her about the attack. Her recollection was no different from Cecily’s.

‘And then the man fled?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have no idea who he was? He was not familiar? Sometimes in a household as vast as this, a man’s gait or his way of holding his head can grow known to you.’

‘I am sure I did not recognise him in any way,’ the lady said with a shake of her head.

‘Are you aware of any who may have wished to harm Mabilla?’

She hesitated — it wasn’t intentional, and it was only a moment, but she saw his face lower towards her like a dog wondering whether his master was sad. There was the same enquiring, considering frown. ‘No. No, of course not,’ she said emphatically.

‘Did the man make any kind of move as though he was considering attacking another person in your group?’

‘Good heaven, no. No, he fled as soon as Mabilla fell.’

Sir Baldwin nodded pensively, and at last his attention was diverted from her. Instead he looked northwards, gazing along the line of buildings. ‘What of others? It was dark there. Could one of the other ladies have had an enemy? Perhaps a lover whose affection had turned sour?’

‘No. The ladies are all entirely honourable and without any form of … of sourness.’

‘Lady, you seem a little tired. Would you care to seat yourself?’

His tone was warm and respectful, but she felt a cold certainty that he was watching her every move. He was a shrewd questioner, the more so because he recognised the little guilty signs. He knew she was lying.

‘Perhaps the murderer was seeking another, and met us by accident?’ she said faintly. ‘No one should have known we would be there at that time of night. It was a whim of the Queen’s.’

‘You would not usually have been there? That is interesting. Where else could the man have been going?’

‘To the chapel itself, I suppose. There is nowhere else he could have gone,’ she said, and after Sir Baldwin and the Bailiff Simon Puttock had bade her farewell, she watched them leave with a sense of huge relief.

At the same time, she felt a sense of loss. If only she could trust these two. She felt she couldn’t trust her own husband just now. Not if he was sending men to kill her maids.

‘I didn’t understand much of what you were saying to the Queen or that lady,’ Simon admitted as they left Eleanor and made their way towards the chapel.

‘I rather assumed you wouldn’t,’ Baldwin said. ‘Did you hear what the Queen said when she saw Walter?’

‘Hm? No. What was that?’

‘It is clear that she detests him,’ Baldwin explained briefly. ‘It will require a little thought, this. For now though, let us go and seek out the body of this girl. I am more than a little surprised by what we’ve just been told.’

‘I was more surprised by the way the Queen flaunted her breasts.’

‘She has an interest in clothing, I suppose.’

‘I had an interest in the descriptions of the assassin’s clothing.’

‘You noticed that too? Cecily’s description agreed with Lady Eleanor’s, but neither tied up with the clothes on the man in the hall, did they? I wonder … they saw a figure and a face in the middle of the night, by candlelight, while the Queen was naturally under a great strain, thinking this must be an assassin aiming his knife at her.’

Simon glanced at him. ‘Baldwin, they’re used to candlelight. Lady Eleanor and Cecily were intelligent enough to be assured about the clothing and describe it in some detail. If I had to trust any evidence in this whole mess, I’d trust them.’

‘And yet Cecily fainted away, and Eleanor was farthest from the man.’

It took them little time to find a servant in the King’s livery who could take them to the body. Mabilla lay in the Queen’s chapel, a pretty little room with a high vaulted ceiling. At the rear was a gallery — presumably, Baldwin thought, for the Queen herself. She would pray up there while her household prayed down here below.

‘Nice,’ Simon commented, looking at the wall paintings. There were scenes from the Gospels on either side, and the great window over the altar was made of panes of coloured glass, lighting the interior with a warm, diffuse light that gleamed on the gold leaf and gilt all about. The space was clear of seats bar one, a small, low chair facing the altar. Before it was a small cushion for her to kneel on in prayer. ‘Rather better decorated than Lydford’s.’

Baldwin smiled, but said nothing. Before the altar a bier had been placed, and upon that was the body of Mabilla.

She had been laid out by the women of the Queen’s household, her wounds cleaned and her clothing changed. Baldwin pulled a face at the sight. ‘We cannot undress her in here to see the wounds, can we?’

‘Most certainly not!’ came an indignant voice.