Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘I remember him. Huge man. A good fighter.’

‘My sister was murdered by the man who killed Jack.’

Despenser sipped his wine. ‘I am concerned. Whoever this killer is, he knew how to offend me. There was a message in the way that they did that to Jack. Cutting off his tarse and shoving it in his face like that was meant for me. It is a challenge, Ellis, and I don’t like to be challenged by those whom I do not know.’

‘How did he know Jack was going to be there last night? Did you know?’ Ellis asked.

‘No one knew. You know how Jack worked. He was always alone. Never trusted anyone else. Not even me, his paymaster.’

‘Was there anyone else could have known?’

‘No! Hell’s teeth, man! I’ve already said — Jack was always close.’

Ellis glowered at the floor. ‘It must have been someone at the palace.’

Despenser was tempted to throw his goblet in the fool’s face. ‘Is that so?’ he spat. ‘So, someone at the palace found a suspected assassin and killed him, and then chose not to take a reward for his discovery and for thwarting the attempted regicide.’

‘If he knew you were behind Jack, he’d probably prefer to remain anonymous. Most men know what you would do if you found out they had stood in your path or killed one of your servants.’

Especially if they knew I was seeking to assassinate the Queen, Despenser confessed to himself. Aloud he said, ‘How could someone have learned about Jack last night?’

‘I don’t know yet, but if it is your will, I’ll find out.’

‘It is my will. And when you have done so, come and report to me. Tomorrow I will ensure that this Keeper of the King’s Peace does not go anywhere near the Palace. I will have him and his friend come here for the Feast. That will be easy enough to arrange, with the help of the Bishop. Yes, it would be good to know what went wrong for Jack last night. Especially since it would help us to learn whether someone else has uncovered Jack’s attempt on the life of Queen Isabella.’

Sir Hugh yawned. ‘One last thing, Ellis. Do not let people know more than you have to. I don’t want the King’s officers coming here for me because you’ve been talking too freely. Understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now — remind me. At Monkleigh last year there was some trouble, wasn’t there? We were attempting to take over another manor, and someone prevented us. Sir Geoffrey Servington sent us a full report on the whole affair, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Find it. I have a feeling that the name Furnshill is in there somewhere, and I’d like to make sure. I suspect that this Sir Baldwin has been a thorn in my side before — and you know what I do with thorns? I pull them out and crush them.’

The Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary 1

St Clement Danes

The morning Mass was a very special affair, and Baldwin and Simon were up before dawn on the Saturday with the main part of the Bishop’s household. To the knight’s surprise, Simon’s servant Rob appeared quite overwhelmed with the magnificence of the chapel, reverently gawping at the decoration all about.

After prayers in the Bishop’s chapel, Walter Stapledon led the way to the great gate at the Straunde, and he and his familia strode out into the road.

St Clement Danes was a delightful church just inside the Temple Bar, and Simon immediately felt at home there. It was one of those friendly churches where the congregation greeted strangers warmly. The priest himself was very proud to welcome the Bishop to his little church and urged him and his guests to enjoy their service when he met them at the door on the way inside.

Simon watched the priest with a mind empty of all except the beauty of the service, and a certain wariness about Rob’s behaviour, but as he stood watching, he began to grow aware of Baldwin fidgeting at his side.

The knight seemed to be spending much of the time peering ahead at the altar. It was only after they had finished the candlelit procession that Simon could edge nearer and speak. ‘You look upset, Baldwin. Is there something I can help with?’

‘No. It is nothing.’

He refused to discuss the matter further, but Simon saw his eyes moving towards Bishop Walter several times during the rest of the service. He seemed no more comfortable when they left the church and walked out into the crisp, wintry air.

‘Bishop, if you do not mind, I shall walk on to the Cathedral,’ he said. Bishop Walter graciously acquiesced, and Baldwin set off eastwards towards the city, Simon a little way behind him. After a while, he stopped at a great bar set across the road. It was a short distance from the church, and a man had pulled it aside so that it would not hinder traffic, but at night it would lie across the roadway, blocking it.

‘That,’ he said to Simon as the Bailiff and Rob caught up, ‘is Temple Bar.’

‘Yes?’ Simon gazed at it, seeking inspiration.

Rob said. ‘Yeah? It’s … big.’

‘Quite,’ Baldwin said, but this time with a twitch of his mouth that told Simon he was amused. ‘There are bars like this at every main junction outside the city’s gates. The city set them up to stop traffic during the night, and each day they’re pulled back so that people can use the roads again. They’re only tokens, really. A determined force could easily remove them. But they’re useful as symbols of the extremity of the authority of the city itself.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘This one is called Temple Bar because it is here. Outside the Temple,’ Baldwin said, and he suddenly turned to face the enormous gates that stood a few yards away.

‘So?’ Rob said.

‘Oh!’ Now Simon understood Baldwin’s distraction.

‘Yes. That was the New Temple, Simon — the main preceptory for the whole country. A magnificent building, with orchards, gardens, stables, and the main halls, of course. It was the heart of my Order in this country.’

Simon wanted to rest a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he knew Baldwin would not appreciate it. The knight was too enwrapped in his memories, for Baldwin had once been a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon — a Knight Templar.

‘I have wished to come here and see the place one last time for many years,’ Baldwin whispered. ‘And now I am here, I feel that it is a mausoleum only. Dreams lie in there, Simon. Dreams of honour and glory. Dreams of the Holy Land being Christian once more. But no King will honour such a dream.’

‘What?’ Rob demanded, staring from one to the other.

Simon grunted to himself. ‘Lad, I need you to return to the Bishop’s palace and keep an eye on our belongings there. Could you do that?’

‘Why? It’ll be safe enough in there, won’t it?’

‘Just go and do it,’ Baldwin grated. Reluctantly, the lad set off back to Bishop Walter’s home in London.

Once he had disappeared from earshot, Simon said softly, ‘I am sorry, old friend.’

‘No, do not be. This is the Festival of the Blessed Virgin. Come, stop me from continuing with my black mood, Simon. You have a duty today, to keep me happy and cheerful. Prevent me from thinking about my Order. Ach! What of it. Come! Let us find Saint Paul’s. It is a wonderful cathedral, Bailiff. Almost as grand as the great one at Canterbury.’

He continued talking as they walked up the road until they reached the bridge over the Fleet River, and there Simon’s eyes opened wide to see the huge wall.

It extended northwards in a straight, unimpeded line, with a vast ditch before it. The wall was beautiful, too. There were strings of red tiles that made a pattern of lines going diagonally across it, and it had beautifully maintained castellations, a rebuke to the tatty condition of the walls at Exeter.