Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘Oh, get off me, woman!’ Eleanor snapped and rose to her feet, a hand to her head.

‘Would you like some wine?’

‘No . I would like to know why poor Mabilla is dead! I would like to know why someone should have taken her away from me!’

‘Surely the man wasn’t trying to kill her. He struck at the first woman he could barely see in the dark.’

‘Then he was a fool! Why should he do that?’

‘Madam, he wanted her out of his path so he could attack another, I feel sure of that.’

Eleanor nodded tiredly. That was what she had thought too. ‘You think he was after the Queen.’ However, she did not add her private fear: that it was her own husband who had commanded someone to try to kill the Queen. His enraged response when she had accused him was proof to her of his guilt. She could still feel his fingers at her throat.

‘Perhaps the Queen, yes,’ Alicia said.

Rubbing gently at her neck, Eleanor almost missed her tone at first — and then, when she realised what Alicia meant, a wave of horror broke over her, her eyes rolled up, and she slipped away into a dead faint.

Earl Edmund of Kent looked quite taken aback to see Sir Hugh le Despenser. He cast a quick look behind him, then one over Despenser’s shoulder. ‘Lost your little alaunt?’ he said insolently. ‘I thought Ellis was always at your heel, Sir Hugh.’

‘I don’t need constant protection,’ Despenser said coolly. ‘You have heard about the incident last night? The murder of Ellis’s sister?’

‘You call it an “incident”? A deplorable failure of palace security, I’d have said!’

‘Nowhere is entirely safe. Perhaps you would care to have responsibility for the safety of the King?’

Kent hesitated. He could do a better job than this upstart, of course, but there was something in his eyes that said that Despenser was sure he could embarrass him. He was a conniving, devious, lying shite, that man. Instead, Kent decided to attack on safer ground. ‘I have heard that the Bishops are all beginning to agree among themselves that the best course of action may be to have the Queen herself go to negotiate with her brother.’

‘To set her loose could be an interesting solution,’ Despenser said mildly.

‘Yes. You would like to have her out of your reach, wouldn’t you? You would be content to see her go across the Channel and tell her brother all that has happened here?’ Kent said, openly scornful. ‘You think that the French King would be happy to learn that you have advised the King to take away her lands and give her only a pittance as an allowance? What is it she is permitted? One pound each day?’

‘That is nothing to do with me,’ Despenser said smoothly.

‘And I suppose the despatch of Robert Baldock and Thomas Dunheved to petition the papal Curia for a divorce, that is not your working either? I fear, my friend, that my sister-in-law believes you may have been responsible. What did she say? Ah, yes, that her husband could never have been so vindictive or cruel to her. Her brother Charles will be fascinated to hear that.’

‘What he likes or dislikes is none of my concern.’

‘Perhaps. Not yet.’

‘You should be more careful of your tone, Earl Edmund,’ Despenser said with a hint of steel, but then he added, ‘you don’t understand. I have already had a talk with Bishop Drokensford and discussed the idea of the Queen being sent as ambassador on behalf of the King. I don’t know where people get the idea that I’m against her. I have promoted the idea as vigorously as I dare. I only hope that he and I and others of a similar view can persuade the King that it would be in the best interests of the realm for her to be sent.’

Kent gaped. ‘But how could you suggest her, when you …’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You have a scheme, don’t you? You think we’re all churls with nothing but shite between our ears, but some of us are bright enough to see through your little plots, Sir Hugh.’

He ignored Despenser’s easy smile and pressed past him — not so close as to offend, for Despenser was an undoubted expert of sword and lance and it was best not to push your luck — and stalked off towards the Old Palace Yard.

Sir Hugh le Despenser watched him go with his lip curled. The man was contemptible. Even his threats were wasteful of breath. If he wanted, Despenser could have him bent about his little finger in an instant. But he did not wish it yet. No. Better to keep him as a source of confusion for a while longer. That way there would be a point of concentration for any malcontents, and by keeping a watch on him, Despenser and his men would have an accurate register of all those who were his enemies.

It was at that moment that he heard the scream from the Great Hall. Immediately, he looked up at the shingled roof, thinking that there must be a fire within, for the most common fear in a great building like this was that the roof might catch fire. But there was no sign of smoke, no flames, nothing.

And then he saw a man lurch from the Exchequer’s door — a clerk, who gripped at the door-frame, staring wildly about him like one who has lost his mind.

‘Sweet Christ’s cods! Now what?’ Sir Hugh swore foully, and marched off to see what was wrong, just as the little cleric bent and spewed all over the cobblestones.

Baldwin and Simon were marching over the gravel to find Rob and their horses just as the cry came, and as soon as they heard it, there was a general rush towards the source, men with polearms running full-pelt, one hand gripping their long weapons, the other grasping their scabbards or horns to stop them clattering against their thighs, while others: merchants, servants and visitors alike, hurried along in their wake.

‘Murder! Murder! Murder! Out! Out! Out!’

‘It’s none of our concern,’ Simon said pointedly, grabbing Baldwin’s arm. ‘The King has Coroners and Keepers for just this sort of eventuality. He doesn’t need us.’

‘True,’ Baldwin said, ‘but there is an issue of professional pride involved. I wonder what could have caused such a commotion?’

‘Oh — did you miss his shout?’ Simon said with heavy sarcasm. ‘I believe he may have said that there has been a murder.’

‘Oh? Well, it can do no harm to see who has died, can it?’

‘I didn’t come all this way just to …’ Simon muttered rebelliously, but followed in his friend’s wake.

As they approached the rear of the crowd that encircled the entrance, they heard the beginnings of the rumours.

First was a tranter, shaking his grizzled head. ‘Dead, sitting on the King’s throne!’

‘He was the King’s food-taster, and they say he was poisoned,’ a tavern slut was gabbling earnestly.

A palace servant sneered, ‘Poisoned with steel, most likely. Blood everywhere, I heard.’

Baldwin looked at Simon with wry exasperation. ‘Very well, I agree. There is nothing sensible to be gleaned here. Probably they are all wrong and it was merely a serving-maid who tripped and stubbed her toe! Let us return to our mounts and wait there for the Bishop to come to us. We should repair to his house and make ready for the first of these consultations we have heard so much about.’

Simon was happy to agree, and the two walked over the yard to Rob, who stood peering at the crowds with bitter disappointment to be missing whatever was happening.

Seeing his mood, Simon tutted and sighed. Then: ‘Rob, if you’re so curious, work your way up there and see what all the excitement’s about, eh?’

The boy was off like a greyhound after a hare.

‘He is keen enough on some trails, then,’ Baldwin observed, grinning.

‘At least he’s only interested in simple matters at present,’ Simon said. ‘Soon it’ll be maids, and then I’ll be worried.’