Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘You’ll be safe enough now,’ Despenser said. He glanced at Baldwin, then down at the sheathed sword. ‘There’s no one will dare to harm you here, Bishop.’

‘Shall we go inside, then?’ Stapledon suggested. For all his apparent calmness, he was plainly nervous, not without good reason.

‘Yes. And afterwards, my Lord Bishop, would you honour my little home with your presence at my feast? It will not be a large affair, but I should like to invite a friend. Of course, Sir Baldwin, you must join us too. It would be pleasant to have you and your companion with us.’

‘I would be delighted. I am very grateful to you,’ the Bishop said, and Baldwin gave a short nod.

‘Good. That is settled, then. You will like my home, Sir Baldwin. It used to be the London home of the Knights Templar. Perhaps you know of it?’

Baldwin said nothing. He did not feel safe enough to speak.

Ellis had set off early that morning. He had no wish to go and visit a church to watch the Candlemas processions again. Not today. Today, he was bent on revenge.

He walked quickly along the road back towards Westminster. Before he did anything else, he wanted to pray over Mabilla’s body again.

The idea that someone had taken his sister away was so inconceivable that he found himself doubting it even as he walked — as though the events of the night before had been nothing but a bad dream. Surely he would soon see her again. She would be there in the palace, smiling and laughing to hear that he’d had such a ridiculous mare. As though anyone could want to hurt Mabilla!

Ellis and she had been born to a squire who lived up in Iseldone, the small vill north of the city beyond the marshes and bogs. Squire Robert had lived a blameless life in the service of King Edward I until he died at the hands of the Scottish on one of the King’s forays into that morass of politics. From that moment, Ellis had taken responsibility for the family. He was the oldest son.

Mabilla had married into the Aubyn family soon after their father’s death. Then their younger brother Bernard had fallen from his horse and died, and shortly after that, their mother was also dead. When Mabilla and Ellis discussed it, they both felt sure that it was a broken heart that had ended her life, because she had lived for her husband first and Bernard second. Without them, her life was not worth living. And now, only Ellis was left.

He turned off Straunde and into King Street.

Both he and Mabilla had seen what a life of effort and loyalty could bring a man. It had brought their father an early grave. And then there was Bernard — dead at the age of twenty because of a mishandled horse. Ill-luck and Fate — no one was safe from them, however blameless their life.

When Mabilla’s husband became vassal to Sir Hugh le Despenser, she formed a close friendship with Eleanor, Sir Hugh’s wife. From that it was natural that Mabilla should seek employment for her brother, and soon Ellis was a noted servant. He became Sir Hugh’s trusted sergeant, and Sir Hugh grew to depend on him more and more.

The walls of the Palace Yard were ahead now. Most people were in the Abbey for Mass, and the yard was silent as he passed through. He walked from the New Palace Yard into Old Palace Yard, and thence through the buildings until he reached the chapel where Mabilla still lay. Only then, when his face was resting on her breast, did he at last let go and begin to weep.

Despenser trusted him. Sir Hugh knew he could rely on Ellis. If he ordered it, Ellis would break legs, break arms, use screws on thumbs, pierce the flesh under fingernails with splinters, or kill. All would be done as commanded. But that did not make Despenser a friend, and just now Ellis could appreciate that the only friend he had ever truly known was Mabilla. And she was dead.

Simon walked from the Cathedral with a thrilling in his veins.

He often felt this way after a Mass. There was something about the incense, the light, the space, that never failed to excite him. It felt as though God Himself had visited Simon today and touched him. He was elated. The fact that the service had been held in such magnificent surroundings only served to heighten his emotional reaction.

Sir Baldwin, however, remained withdrawn, quieter than usual, as they left the church and began to head back down Ludgate Hill.

‘At least while Despenser’s men are with us there’s no need to worry about the mob,’ Simon remarked.

Baldwin did not comment, but cast about him warily like a warrior expecting an ambush.

The two had soon passed through the city wall and were out in the more open ground beyond. Once there, Baldwin said, ‘Simon, did you see Despenser’s expression as he asked us to go to his house? He was gleeful. Be very careful while we are at the Temple.’

‘Why? He seems to have accorded us every compliment and honour.’

‘That is true. He has done so to many whom he later destroyed!’

‘What could he have against us?’

Baldwin did not want to mention Iddesleigh and Monkleigh, but he knew that there was one other thing which Simon would appreciate. ‘My sword — you remember my engraving?’

‘Of course.’ He was about to recite the Latin inscription, but Baldwin shook his head.

‘No, not the writing. The reverse of the blade.’

‘Oh — Good Christ, did he see it?’

‘While we were protecting the Bishop, yes. I am sure of it.’

Simon grunted. On one side of the sword Baldwin had had inscribed a quotation, but on the other he had caused a Templar cross to be carved into the metal just below the cross-guard. It was there to remind him at all times of his comrades, the brave men who had endured torture in the defence of their Order. Now, it could lead to dire consequences. Renegade Templars who had not surrendered to the Crown or the Pope were subject to the full rigours of the law. Excommunicated, they could be arrested on sight. Simon was tempted to ask why his friend had considered it necessary to have the blade marked in that way, but he silenced his tongue. Baldwin was his friend, but he was also a proud man. Proud of his past and his companions who had died. It was not Simon’s place to question his reasons. If Simon had seen all his friends murdered by the inquisitors and their secular friends, he would probably want to remember them too.

It did take the edge off his pleasure, though, to see that the invitation to the Despenser hall could have been for some other motive than pure neighbourliness.

Ellis left the chapel and went to look at the walls. He felt sure that the assassin would have made his way to the Palace grounds by some more circuitous route than merely following tradespeople inside. Jack had always been more cautious than that. If it were possible to avoid being seen, he would do so.

The wall guards all knew Sir Hugh and his henchman, so it was no trouble for Ellis to gain access to the upper walkway. Once there, he started with the boats at the dock north of the New Palace Yard. Peering down at the dock, just visible through the murky water, he wondered about Jack coming up here. But the dock was in constant use — the wooden platform was fifty yards long and about twenty wide so that barges and boats could float onto it in high tides, and beach themselves as the tide flowed away again for unloading. Thus there was no time for Jack to appear here and make use of it without plenty of men being about to see him.

Walking on the Thames side of the wall, he was struck with the same thought: if he came up the river in order to scramble over the wall, Jack would be very hard-pressed to do so without being seen. Much easier to come to the palace grounds from the land.

Ellis carefully studied the walls at the north and south, but what could he expect to find? The scratches and stone chips from a grapnel? Jack would not have used such a loud device. The metallic clattering of the hooks would have stirred any guards even if they were asleep. A rope ladder would be more his style, but when he had reached the palace it was late evening, not the middle of the night. In the first part of the evening, Jack would have been seen if he’d come up over the walls. Anyone carrying a ladder that way would have been challenged.