Dispensation of Death

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Chaplain was as good as his word, and soon he returned, holding a skin of wine and three wooden cups. ‘I thought you looked like men who would appreciate a little drink.’

‘We thank you, most sincerely,’ Simon said. He jealously watched the wine being poured and all but drained his cup in one draught. ‘I often find that investigations can be thirsty work,’ he said hopefully, and was reassured to see his cup refilled.

Baldwin glanced at him. There was one question which still troubled him about this Chaplain. ‘Tell me, when I mentioned your name to the Bishop of Exeter, he was not fulsome in your praise.’

Peter was still for a moment, and then he gave a short shrug. ‘He does not like me. I was a failure for a while. Until Drokensford rescued me.’

‘How so?’

Peter grunted. ‘I have no need of secrets from you. I was a priest in a hellish little hole in Kent, far from any civilisation. There I fell in love with a woman. The wife of my patron, and we ran away together. We hoped … well, we intended to escape Kent and England and find a new life in France.’

‘You were captured, though.’

Peter could see that moment again. Waking beside his lovely Margaret to see Sir Walter above him, sword in hand. Peter had escaped only by a whisker, but she was killed by that blow, and Peter had taken the sword and thrust it again and again into Sir Walter’s breast. They found him there at noon, still cradling her dead body. And then he was sent to the Bishop’s gaol until Bishop Drokensford found another little job for him.

‘My Lord Bishop thought that I would be the perfect man to help our Queen. I dislike seeing women caged,’ he said after a moment. And the Bishop kept a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t seduce Isabella, too, he thought. Seeing a flash of colour, he looked up. Ah, here she is,’ Peter said.

Turning, Simon and Baldwin saw the Lady Eleanor crossing the yard. She looked pale. But having witnessed the murder of her servant, it was scarcely surprising that she was wan, Simon thought.

‘My Lady, I am grateful indeed that you could spare us a little of your time,’ Baldwin said.

She nodded, but to Simon she seemed barely aware of the courtesy. To him, she appeared so enwrapped in her own thoughts that the real world could scarcely intrude. ‘Peter told me that you might have information that could help me?’ she said.

‘I fear there can be little comfort for you,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But you would hardly expect that in this court, would you?’

She said nothing, but a slight fluttering gesture of her hand, like the beating of a butterfly’s wings, appeared to confirm his guess.

‘I shall not attempt to conceal anything from you, my Lady. I feel it is best to tell you what we have heard, so that you are forewarned.’

‘Please do.’

Baldwin glanced at Peter, who began. ‘Very well, my Lady. Mabilla, we have heard, was the brother of Ellis, your husband’s henchman. She was also, we have recently been told, an especial spy for your husband.’

‘No. No, that can’t be right!’ Eleanor said with a shake of her head. ‘He wouldn’t need another in the Queen’s household. He knew I was always there.’

‘Lady, I fear it is true.’ Baldwin’s tone was calm, but relentless. ‘She not only spied on the Queen, but … on others, too.’

As the Lady Eleanor grasped his meaning, her complexion became quite waxen, the colour of a church candle, and Simon moved closer to her, fearing that she might faint.

‘I do not wish to upset you,’ Baldwin said, but now his voice had changed. Instead of the confident retailing of the story, he began to sound quite wretched as he took in her appearance.

‘Continue, I pray,’ she said.

As Peter passed her a filled cup of wine, Baldwin obeyed, clearing his throat.

‘We know that she was used to spy on Earl Edmund of Kent, for example. When he came back from Guyenne, he was desolate after the shameful truce he had agreed with Charles Valois. Mabilla’s apparent kindness to him persuaded him that she was interested in him, and he tried to force her to lie with him. However, she had no intention of sleeping with him and gaining a reputation for unchastity purely for your husband’s benefit, so she rejected him. It confused him greatly, I think. To this day, I believe he doesn’t understand why she refused him.’

‘So Earl Edmund killed her?’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘No. Why should he do that? If he had been that upset, he might have stabbed at her when he thought she was insulting him, but not weeks later. No, I do not think so.’

‘No,’ she said bitterly. ‘You think it must be my husband, don’t you?’

Baldwin was silent. At moments like this, when someone was considering betraying all that they had held dear for many years, it was best to let them speak at their own speed. But when she spoke, her frankness shocked him. He was unused to such glacial anger, even from women whose men had foully mistreated them.

‘I am sure it was him,’ she spat. ‘He always wanted other things, other women. And men. I was never good enough, you see. I was adequate at first, because I brought him valuable property in Wales, but now he’s built up his own estates he scarcely needs me.’

‘You cannot think he intended to kill you?’ Simon said.

‘What would you think, master?’ she demanded. ‘He sends an assassin to kill me, and he killed Mabilla by mistake.’

‘Lady,’ Baldwin said, ‘I think you are wrong. If he had wanted you to die, he would have ensured that his man killed you.’

‘But Alicia pushed herself before me. She protected me — and the Queen, of course.’

‘One woman? No, if the assassin wished to kill you, he would have pushed all the ladies-in-waiting from his path. Just as, if he had intended to kill the Queen, he could have done so. No, I think that he was there to kill one person and one person only: Mabilla.’

‘You do not know my husband.’

‘I think I know him well enough, Lady. What advantage would your death bring him? Money? Power? Land? No, nothing.’

‘What would he gain from Mabilla’s death?’

Baldwin had to shrug in defeat at that. ‘It is very difficult to think of anyone who could have had a motive to kill her. The man whom you saw that night — I do not suppose you recognised him?’

‘No. His mask was enough to strike terror into my heart, and when I saw the knife, I lost all will. I just stared at it. Pathetic, but I could do nothing else!’

‘The man did not have a candle, though,’ Simon said.

‘I … no, he cannot have. If he had, I should have seen the light as we walked along the corridor.’

‘Was there the scent of a snuffed candle?’ Simon pressed her.

‘No, nothing.’

‘So he must have known his way about the palace in the dark, surely?’

Baldwin and Peter were both frowning at him. It was Baldwin who nodded slowly, and murmured, ‘A very good point, Simon.’

‘He must have been someone who knew the passageways as well as knowing where the Queen would be,’ Simon said.

‘Did she walk along that corridor at the same time every night?’ Baldwin asked.

‘The same time?’ Eleanor gave a sharp little laugh without humour. ‘She would have us up at all hours of the evening. She has needed the consolation of her priest every night since … well, since her children were taken from her.’

‘We have heard about that,’ Baldwin said, and his tone was colder.

Simon was still thinking about the corridor where Mabilla had died. ‘That means it could have been anyone in the Palace guard.’

‘Or someone who bribed a guard to learn where she might be,’ Peter offered helpfully.

‘True,’ Baldwin agreed.

Eleanor put in, ‘It could have been one of my husband’s men, too. I told him all about the Queen’s nocturnal wanderings. Any of his men could have overheard. No doubt Mabilla could have done, too.’

‘What of the assassin himself — the man found murdered, this Jack atte Hedge?’ Baldwin said. ‘Did you know him?’

‘The name is known to me.’

‘There is no need to be wary,’ Simon said bluntly. ‘We found one of your husband’s horses at the inn where Jack was living. The innkeeper told us it was the horse which Jack rode in on.’

She let her head fall a little. ‘Yes, I think Jack atte Hedge was a man whom my husband knew. They would meet occasionally. Only occasionally, though. Not often.’

‘How often would your husband have had need of a murderer?’ Baldwin asked pointedly. ‘This man Jack — do you know whether he was used to kill many people?’

‘That is not the sort of topic my husband would discuss with me,’ Eleanor told him. She trembled. It was hard to lose the conviction that her husband had been attempting to kill her when the figure jumped out at Mabilla that night. Alicia’s words had brought all that home to her.

‘I believe that this Jack was hired to come here to kill the Queen,’ Baldwin said. ‘I think that someone knew he was coming, and was determined to stop him. To do that, he stabbed and murdered the man, hiding him. And then he decided to kill Mabilla too. But my difficulty comes from this: if your husband chose to hire an assassin such as this Jack atte Hedge, I do not think he would be foolish enough to tell many people. He would surely try to prevent anybody from learning about it. And so whoever killed Jack must either have been enormously lucky, and guessed that the man might enter the palace to attempt to murder the Queen … or it was someone very close indeed to your husband who sought to frustrate his plan.’

‘Someone close?’ she repeated.

‘Only a man very close to Sir Hugh would be able to learn his mind, I should say. I only know him slightly, but that much is clear enough.’

‘Yes,’ she said, but her voice was little more than a whisper.

‘There is one aspect that confuses me, though. The man clearly knew that the Queen would pass by that corridor. Would your husband know that?’

‘He knows that the Queen regularly passes by there, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I have told him.’

Yes, since you are her gaoler and spy, Baldwin thought. Still … ‘But the man was not there as you walked to the chapel? Only when you returned? Or could he have been there, but so well concealed …’

‘No. He was not there as we walked to the chapel — we should have seen him.’

‘Strange,’ Baldwin said. ‘That would almost seem to imply that the killer was warned of the right time to be there. He was told beforehand, or heard people’s steps — or perhaps he knew that the Queen walked there most nights and was simply lucky that one evening. But that would mean that Jack atte Hedge and Mabilla’s deaths were simple coincidences that night, and I do not believe in such things.’

‘One of my husband’s men,’ she said again, and then she looked scared.

‘You can think of someone?’ Simon pressed her.

‘There are only two men who could have known and attempted to do something like that: William Pilk and Ellis. But it could not be Ellis. He was Mabilla’s brother. He loved her, and would never have laid a finger on her.’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look. Baldwin’s face was carefully devoid of all emotion, but Simon could not dissemble so effectively. On his was a savage delight.

‘William Pilk.’

As they learned his name, William Pilk had other concerns. He was wearing a bruise that was growing nicely under his right eye. His shin was sore, his kidneys felt as though he’d been kicked by a donkey, and his ballocks were swelling — they felt like they’d grown to twice their normal size. He couldn’t remember half of the wounds being inflicted, and he only prayed that Ellis felt as bad as him.

There was a deep-seated sense of resentment as he limped, careful to protect the more tender aspects of his anatomy, from the gate towards the Green Yard. The place was filled as usual, because whenever there was a council meeting or parliament here, all the traders turned up from miles around. They wanted to make as much money as they could while the realm’s magnates were all collected here on this muddy little island by the Tyburn.

There were some he recognised, and some who were less familiar, but one face in particular stood out as soon as he saw the man. It was the black-haired fellow who had been in deep discussion with his master Sir Hugh on the night that Jack atte Hedge first appeared at the Temple. Here he was again, sitting on a bench, supping a cup of ale. William was intrigued. If the man was here, he must be someone of more importance than Pilk had realised at the time.

Retaining power in the Despenser’s household was often a question of being more astute than others, more aware of what was happening, and then keeping any information you gleaned from that to yourself. Well, Ellis had plainly succeeded in that, because William knew bugger all about the man.

Without thinking, he bent his legs towards the fellow. He would buy him another ale, he decided, and learn all he could; but even as he limped towards the fellow, the latter rose and began to make his way from the court. As Pilk watched him, disappointed, he saw the dark-haired man glance back towards him. But not directly at him. No, he was staring at someone nearby …

Finishing his drink, Piers de Wrotham rose and set off towards the main gate. He had no more business here today, so far as he knew. He had ostensibly advised his master, Earl Edmund, and then been well rewarded for it by his other, secret master, Sir Hugh. Now, since catching sight of the Earl, he had a strong desire to leave here. Urgently. There was something in the look on Edmund’s face that spoke of danger. Had he seen Piers with Sir Hugh? That would account for it. Perhaps he should make a run for it now. It would be easy enough — he could either just disappear and make his way homewards to Kent, or perhaps return to Despenser and offer his services on a more permanent footing? Sir Hugh was definitely the man to keep friendly with.

The great gates were wide, and he reached them with a sigh of relief. Premature, as it happened, as with an inward groan, he saw the Earl, standing near where he had been before and casting about as though seeking someone. The moment he spied Piers at the gate, he strode up to meet him.

‘I am glad to see you. I need to talk to you,’ he said shortly.

‘Of course, my Lord.’

‘Outside, then. Not in here. Too many ears flapping.’

Piers nodded sagely, and the two made their way out and up King Street, the Earl all the while gazing about him as though the whole area was new to him.

‘How much?’ he demanded.

‘My Lord?’

‘How much did he pay you?’

‘Who, my Lord? I don’t — ’

‘I saw you with Sir Hugh just now at the side of the tavern.’

‘You must have thought you saw me.’

Edmund turned, grasped his tunic in his fist, thrusting him up against a wall. ‘You really thought that you could pull the wool over my eyes and gull me while taking Despenser’s money, didn’t you? That offends me, old friend. It really offends me.’

‘Why should I do that, my Lord?’ Piers gasped.

‘Money, of course. It is what makes all transactions happen now, isn’t it? Everybody wants money — nothing else matters. Except I have some men who are more loyal than that. I don’t need to buy them. They are my honoured vassals. I trust them with my life, you know.’

Piers opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out. Suddenly he was petrified with fear, for in the Earl’s eyes he saw nothing. Not hatred, not anger, just … nothing! It was as though he was already dead: an irrelevance.

The Earl let him go, and Piers almost fell to the ground. He wanted to leap up and flee, but his legs would not move. All he could do was stare up in horror, and then it was too late. There were steps behind him, and he saw the Earl nod once.

‘You know what to do with him.’

‘My Lord!’

‘You are filth.’

‘Let me tell you! I can help you.’

‘And then sell me again?’

‘Sir Hugh le Despenser, he was behind it all. Mabilla was his spy in the Queen’s chamber, and Sir Hugh wanted Mabilla dead so that the Queen wouldn’t tell the King Sir Hugh was plotting her murder. Mabilla was the trade. The Queen would live but the spy in her household would go. That was the arrangement!’

‘You think I care?’

‘But my Lord, you can sell this! It’s information people want! You could — ’

But Earl Edmund wanted to hear no more. He did not hesitate or glance over his shoulder as the two men bundled Piers into an alleyway, hurrying him along until they came to a darker doorway.