Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘Me? Good God, my Lord, my King!’ Despenser took the easier option of falling to his knees rather than trying to play the actor in front of him. Edward II was too good an actor himself not to see the signs of falsity; Despenser had learned that long ago. Now he kept his eyes downcast. ‘If I have ever given you cause to doubt my loyalty or integrity, my Lord, take my life now. You know I love you. I would never do anything that could hurt you or harm your marriage. The woman is hard to deal with, I know, but that would be no excuse to have her killed. We need to wait to hear from your envoys to the papal Curia.’

‘And then see about sending her to France,’ the King reminded him. ‘But there she could be even more troublesome.’

‘I am sure the lady means you no ill-will or harm, my Liege.’

‘Are you?’ the King asked rhetorically. ‘You do not see how she looks at me sometimes. I swear, I have never meant her any harm, but …’

He stopped himself. His old friend knew all the secrets of his mind, and there was little point in voicing oft-repeated fears.

When he had married her, it was in truth because he had been told to. There had been no desire to marry her — he had never met the woman. But there was a vital need for the English Royal Family to strengthen its bonds with the French, so a marriage was contracted. He travelled to France as the contract demanded, and there he wedded his wife — and was surprised to learn that he had acquired a beauty.

She was plump, fair, pale-complexioned, and clearly amiable in spirit. All she could do to please him, she attempted. They were both French-speakers, so they were able to communicate easily, although he could not share all with her. He could not tell her of his love for Piers Gaveston. Not that he needed to. His affection for Piers was all too obvious.

That had led to a troubled early stage in their marriage, but if it was hard for both, they persevered, and he was inordinately glad that this was the case, for when certain barons captured Piers and murdered him, paying two local men, both dregs of the kennel, to run him through with a lance then hack off his head, the only person he felt he could truly trust and go to for consolation was his wife. His royal lady, Isabella.

At that time their marriage flowered into full friendship. He found that possessing a woman with an individual mind could be stimulating. She had a different perception of some matters, and her viewpoint was intriguing. For him, of course, ruling was tedious and dull. He wanted none of it. He wanted to be out, doing things, not sitting in a draughty hall dispensing justice or listening to the complaints of the petitioners who came to moan and whine about his barons and what they had done. It was nothing to him. No, better by far to delegate all powers and responsibilities, as he had with Piers. And then he could do what his soul demanded, trying out peasant skills such as hedging, ditching, thatching, or going for long swims to keep himself exercised, and watching plays. He always adored the arts.

But like all the other happy times for him, this could not last. Isabella took against Sir Hugh from the start. What had he ever done to her, to merit her enmity? God’s name, but a man had to wonder sometimes at how a woman’s mind worked. Here was Hugh, determined to do all in his power to help the King, and yes, of course, he would be rewarded — richly rewarded — for that. But what business was that of hers? None. No, but there she was declaring that a third person had come between her and her husband. Well, Hugh, darling Hugh, was an important part of Edward’s life, and she ought to recognise that. She was only his wife, and she had no right to demand more of his time than she had already taken. She had four children, for God’s sake. What more could a woman ask?

It was no surprise that Edward was more keen to run to the comforting arms of his lover than stay with his wife.

Clearly it would be no surprise if poor Hugh grew so disenchanted with the treatment she gave him that he turned to drastic methods to remove her. She was the key obstacle to the two men’s happiness. Always there, always a morose reminder of a past life, bringing a sour taste to everything. If only she had kept quiet.

Quiet? It was not the way of her family. Her father, King Philip IV, was powerful, autocratic and demanding. All his people were terrified of him, and he was ruthless in pursuit of his own interests. It rather looked as though her brother, Charles IV, was built in the same mould. He saw only opportunities for cheating Edward out of his inheritance. Sweet Christ! They were trying to take Guyenne now. He was damned if he would let them do that!

‘Sire? Are you all right?’

He remembered poor Sir Hugh, kneeling on that uncomfortable floor. ‘Stand, my friend. Don’t tell me about Isabella. I do not want to know what you have done. Non! ’ And he placed a finger on Hugh’s mouth before he could enunciate his protests. ‘I know you, and I know of what you are capable. Do not deny these things to me. Just love me …’

Baldwin felt a shiver run down his spine, and then he puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. He was too old for this kind of behaviour.

‘Wait till I tell Meg,’ Simon breathed. ‘I’ve seen the King!’

Baldwin gave a pained smile. ‘Let us wait until we get safely home before thinking about things like that, eh? Bishop — can you tell me how I can get a message to the Queen? And I want to view the body of the lady who died last night. I must know where she is being kept. Also, the body in the hall — we should leave him there until the Coroner has returned and can view him.’

‘The hall is needed for the council,’ Stapledon pointed out.

‘The law says … ah, but I suppose the King is the embodiment of the law. Well, we shall leave the man there until the Coroner returns, if at all possible. When is the council to begin?’

‘Tomorrow is Candlemas. If possible the hall should be free for that, and then the council will begin on the Monday after.’

Baldwin caught sight of Rob. Suddenly concerned that the boy could open his mouth and get himself into trouble, Baldwin asked him to go and make sure that their horses were being well looked after, and then fetch himself some food, and waited until he had gone before speaking. ‘Very well. Then we must make sure that the Coroner has a chance to view the body today so that it can be tidied away for the festivities tomorrow. Anything else?’

Kent was frowning. ‘If someone has attempted to kill the Queen once, surely he will make another attempt, since he has failed this first time.’

‘He is dead,’ Stapledon pointed out.

‘The alleged assassin is,’ Baldwin said. ‘The man who paid him is not. It is possible he may try again.’

‘There are some who have plenty of men at their disposal,’ Kent said, with a meaningful look at the door through which the King and Despenser had just left.

Soon afterwards he stood and left the room, and as Baldwin watched him stride off through the doorway, he was struck with a very dangerous thought: at the time he had assumed that the Earl was thinking of Sir Hugh le Despenser when he said that some fellows had plenty of men at their disposal. But now he wondered whether he had understood him aright — was it possible that he thought the King himself could have tried to have his wife murdered?

Queen Isabella sat on a small turf bench in her cloister. At her feet were two ladies-in-waiting, Alicia and Cecily, both seated on small cushions against the chill ground. Queen Isabella had demanded a lighted brazier to keep them all warm, and the red-hot coals gleamed and spat in the basket.

Behind her, she knew Eleanor was resting on a comfortable, low couch.