Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘I could not say,’ Baldwin said. He shifted in his seat. This felt too much like denying his comrades, but if he were to become known as an escaped Templar, it would not serve to aid them. It would only ensure that he was arrested, and likely executed, for no purpose. Then a small flame of defiance flared. ‘I could only say this: that as Keeper of the King’s Peace I have witnessed enough injustices at the hands of the incompetent, the dull-witted and the corrupt. I should not be in the least surprised to learn that some of those who prosecuted the Templars were no better than those I have seen in the last years in Devon.’

‘Really? Ah, but of course, you are the same good knight who has been involved in so many interesting cases in Devon, are you not? You were in Iddesleigh last year, I believe, and Dartmouth, too. I seem to remember hearing of you.’

Baldwin looked at him very directly. ‘You wish to complain about my impartiality?’

Despenser was expressionless. ‘No, I merely wanted to ensure that you were the man I was thinking of. It is always refreshing to meet someone whose reputation precedes them.’

Baldwin nodded. He was perfectly aware that this was a warning, but he did not know what he was being warned from. It would warrant consideration. ‘Will your wife attend upon the Queen again tomorrow?’

‘Of course. She is with Her Majesty every day.’

‘Good. I should like to speak to her as well.’

‘Why?’

‘Just to confirm her impression of the figure she saw kill Mabilla.’

‘What is there to find out? He was there in the hall.’

‘Did we find a cuir bouilli mask to cover his face? No. A green gipon? No again. Cecily was very certain in her description, but it does not tally with the man we found there. I would like to speak to your wife to see what she recalls.’

‘I see. Any others?’

‘Certainly. I shall also be speaking with Alicia when I have an opportunity.’

‘Interesting, that superstition about candles, don’t you think?’ Despenser said, still eyeing Baldwin. ‘Do you think someone here at this table will shortly die, Sir Knight?’

There was a lightness to his tone, as though he was making fun of the superstition, but when Baldwin looked up at him again, he saw only death in the man’s eyes.

Now he knew how Jack had got into the Palace, Ellis set his mind to considering how Jack’s killer could have found him.

Jack was no easy target. He’d not have spoken of his commission to anyone else. He was far too aware of the dangers of betrayal, especially with a job like this one.

He had made it from here, the south-western point of the wall, into the passageway that led from the upper gallery in the Queen’s chapel to her solar. But how on earth had he got there?

Ach, he was wasting his time! He shouldn’t be here running about trying to put himself in the mind of a man who was dead. It would do little to help him find the murderer of his sister … and yet the fact of being busy lent him some comfort, was helping him to concentrate. Very well, then. Concentrate .

Ellis turned away from the Abbey and stared hard back towards the Old Palace Yard. The new cloister and Queen’s chamber and chapel were ahead of him. He glanced to left and right. The walls here were completely open from the guards at the other walls. There were some parts where the farther guards would have been hard pushed to see too much, and of course their attention should have been directed outwards, away from the palace itself, to keep an eye open for any possible intruders approaching from outside. Someone already on the walkway would have been at an advantage anyway, because many of the guards would see a figure at the other side of the wall and assume it was one of them. In the darkness it would be natural enough.

Still, if he had to bet, Jack wouldn’t want to walk too far on the walkway. No, he’d try to get down to the ground as quickly as possible. There were stairs over to the left, and a …

Ellis looked ahead of him. Just in front of him was a small stone building used for storing provisions, and Ellis grinned to himself coldly. That made sense. He had already found a ladder and rope. It would hardly be surprising if he’d found another length of rope. With that a man might let himself down from here, to a place just behind that stone building, so conveniently positioned to conceal someone climbing down the wall.

He strode along the walkway, down the staircase, and over to the rear of the building. There was a small heap of rubbish there. From the look of it, it was clearly a convenient repository for waste from the kitchens. He found a long stick, and thrust it in about the edges, but found nothing. Then he reasoned that Jack would hardly leave a rope in a damp muck heap. Looking about, he could see no sign of one hidden anywhere else, though — until he looked at the roof of the storage room. Eaves overhung the walls by a significant amount, he noticed. Reaching up beneath the shingles, he found that there was a slight shelf at the bottom, and as he ran his fingers along this, he collected a splinter, and then his fingers met a piece of rough hemp. Excellent!

From here, Jack would have had just the one route to the Queen’s quarters — across the yard and in by the garden door. Ellis set off in that direction, reaching the door in a few paces. There was a guard waiting there, who watched Ellis as he approached.

‘Who are you?’ Ellis asked.

‘Richard Blaket.’

‘Is the Queen in her cloister? I want to see inside — just for a minute. The murderer who killed Mabilla came in this way, I think,’ Ellis explained. ‘Sir Hugh le Despenser wants to find out how, on behalf of the King, to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

Blaket opened the door for him, and Ellis entered, but once inside, he paused and looked back at him. ‘That door, is it locked at night?’

‘Usually, yes.’

There was an anxious look to him that told Ellis all. Clearly it hadn’t been, the night Mabilla died. Was that because someone had been making it as easy as possible for Jack to come here? Could he have had an accomplice inside the palace?

Suddenly Ellis reckoned he was making some headway.

Baldwin and Simon left the Temple a short while before dusk. To Baldwin, his departure felt like a rout. Despenser had threatened him, that much was quite plain, but Baldwin was unclear what he was being threatened about.

‘Do you think it was something to do with Iddesleigh? The damage done to his manor at Monkleigh was bound to have been reported, and then there was the fight down at Dartmouth,’ he said.

‘You have never been allied with him.’

‘I have never allied myself with any political grouping other than the King,’ Baldwin said fiercely. ‘I demand the right to live in peace with my King. Nothing more.’

The Bishop had collected his horse and he and his men trotted up to join the two. ‘Sir Baldwin, I trust you enjoyed your meal? Sir Hugh is an excellent host, is he not?’

‘Oh, yes. Most courteous,’ Baldwin replied, thinking that it was true, so long as you ignored those brutal, black, unforgiving eyes with the promise of death in them.

‘If you do not object, I shall continue to my hall,’ the Bishop said wearily. ‘I shall see you there. After this morning, I think it would be for the best.’

‘Of course, my Lord Bishop,’ Baldwin agreed, and the Bishop and his men were soon riding off towards the royal mews at Charing.

‘He is a man with a lot on his mind,’ Simon said musingly as the others rode away.

A thin rain had begun to fall, and Simon and Baldwin both pulled their hoods up over their heads as they walked. Baldwin was wearing a cloak, but Simon only wore his gipon with a hood incorporating a gorget.