Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

There was a deep-seated sense of resentment as he limped, careful to protect the more tender aspects of his anatomy, from the gate towards the Green Yard. The place was filled as usual, because whenever there was a council meeting or parliament here, all the traders turned up from miles around. They wanted to make as much money as they could while the realm’s magnates were all collected here on this muddy little island by the Tyburn.

There were some he recognised, and some who were less familiar, but one face in particular stood out as soon as he saw the man. It was the black-haired fellow who had been in deep discussion with his master Sir Hugh on the night that Jack atte Hedge first appeared at the Temple. Here he was again, sitting on a bench, supping a cup of ale. William was intrigued. If the man was here, he must be someone of more importance than Pilk had realised at the time.

Retaining power in the Despenser’s household was often a question of being more astute than others, more aware of what was happening, and then keeping any information you gleaned from that to yourself. Well, Ellis had plainly succeeded in that, because William knew bugger all about the man.

Without thinking, he bent his legs towards the fellow. He would buy him another ale, he decided, and learn all he could; but even as he limped towards the fellow, the latter rose and began to make his way from the court. As Pilk watched him, disappointed, he saw the dark-haired man glance back towards him. But not directly at him. No, he was staring at someone nearby …

Finishing his drink, Piers de Wrotham rose and set off towards the main gate. He had no more business here today, so far as he knew. He had ostensibly advised his master, Earl Edmund, and then been well rewarded for it by his other, secret master, Sir Hugh. Now, since catching sight of the Earl, he had a strong desire to leave here. Urgently. There was something in the look on Edmund’s face that spoke of danger. Had he seen Piers with Sir Hugh? That would account for it. Perhaps he should make a run for it now. It would be easy enough — he could either just disappear and make his way homewards to Kent, or perhaps return to Despenser and offer his services on a more permanent footing? Sir Hugh was definitely the man to keep friendly with.

The great gates were wide, and he reached them with a sigh of relief. Premature, as it happened, as with an inward groan, he saw the Earl, standing near where he had been before and casting about as though seeking someone. The moment he spied Piers at the gate, he strode up to meet him.

‘I am glad to see you. I need to talk to you,’ he said shortly.

‘Of course, my Lord.’

‘Outside, then. Not in here. Too many ears flapping.’

Piers nodded sagely, and the two made their way out and up King Street, the Earl all the while gazing about him as though the whole area was new to him.

‘How much?’ he demanded.

‘My Lord?’

‘How much did he pay you?’

‘Who, my Lord? I don’t — ’

‘I saw you with Sir Hugh just now at the side of the tavern.’

‘You must have thought you saw me.’

Edmund turned, grasped his tunic in his fist, thrusting him up against a wall. ‘You really thought that you could pull the wool over my eyes and gull me while taking Despenser’s money, didn’t you? That offends me, old friend. It really offends me.’

‘Why should I do that, my Lord?’ Piers gasped.

‘Money, of course. It is what makes all transactions happen now, isn’t it? Everybody wants money — nothing else matters. Except I have some men who are more loyal than that. I don’t need to buy them. They are my honoured vassals. I trust them with my life, you know.’

Piers opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out. Suddenly he was petrified with fear, for in the Earl’s eyes he saw nothing. Not hatred, not anger, just … nothing ! It was as though he was already dead: an irrelevance.

The Earl let him go, and Piers almost fell to the ground. He wanted to leap up and flee, but his legs would not move. All he could do was stare up in horror, and then it was too late. There were steps behind him, and he saw the Earl nod once.

‘You know what to do with him.’

‘My Lord!’

‘You are filth.’

‘Let me tell you! I can help you.’

‘And then sell me again?’

‘Sir Hugh le Despenser, he was behind it all. Mabilla was his spy in the Queen’s chamber, and Sir Hugh wanted Mabilla dead so that the Queen wouldn’t tell the King Sir Hugh was plotting her murder. Mabilla was the trade. The Queen would live but the spy in her household would go. That was the arrangement!’

‘You think I care?’

‘But my Lord, you can sell this! It’s information people want! You could — ’

But Earl Edmund wanted to hear no more. He did not hesitate or glance over his shoulder as the two men bundled Piers into an alleyway, hurrying him along until they came to a darker doorway.

Simon and Baldwin found William in the yard still. Peter of Oxford had come with them, and he pointed out the Despenser’s man at a table nursing a large horn of ale. He was staring at the gate with a frown of consternation on his battered face.

It was strange, the way that the Earl had hurried after the black-haired man like that. The Earl had looked really pissed off when he got here and Piers was gone, but then he caught sight of his man in the gateway, and strode after him. It looked as though the two knew each other.

‘Are you William Pilk?’

He glanced up to see the tall Bailiff, and then he recognised the knight behind him. ‘What d’you want?’ he asked, although he was sure enough. Seeing Peter behind Simon, he leaned forward truculently. ‘And what are you grinning about?’

Simon introduced himself, studying the figure in front of him. He looked as though he had just been in a fight, and had probably come off worst. Pilk was the sort of guard who would do well because of his native cunning, but Simon was sure that he was not terribly bright.

‘Well? What do you want?’ Pilk repeated to Baldwin, without showing a shred of respect.

‘First, just to ask you some questions.’

‘I don’t think I want to answer any.’ Pilk stood. ‘I have things to do.’

‘So do we,’ Baldwin said and thrust hard in the middle of Pilk’s chest, forcing him to sit down on the bench again with a gasp of pain as his sore arse hit the wood. ‘If you wish to leave, please do. However, when I report to the King later, I shall tell him you didn’t want to help investigate the murders. You were too busy . I am sure the King will understand.’

Pilk sneered despite the pain he was in. These prickles didn’t understand the first thing about the palace. ‘You do that,’ he said insolently. ‘I am on my Lord Despenser’s business.’

‘And we are on the King’s,’ Baldwin said. As Pilk stood up again, Baldwin grunted with irritation and pushed him down a second time. This time his hand connected with a large bruise over his abdomen, and in a reflex action, Pilk slapped at his hand. Suddenly there was a bright blue blade at his throat.

‘I asked you politely, and now I am telling you to sit down,’ Baldwin stated through gritted teeth.

‘What do you want?’ Pilk demanded, scowling as he sat again.

Baldwin sheathed his sword as Simon beckoned a serving maid. She looked a little reluctant to go to them, for she had seen the sword flash, but when Simon grinned broadly and held up a coin for her to see, her fear dissipated.

When she was gone to fetch their drinks, Baldwin hooked his thumbs in his belt.

‘I think you could be in serious trouble.’