Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘Maybe he bribed the guards,’ Peter offered. ‘Or he was simply an enormously bold, courageous fellow.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin agreed. They had reached a staircase. ‘This is it?’

‘Let me go first and make sure all is safe,’ Peter said. He walked up the stairs and opened a heavy little door at the top. ‘It’s fine.’

Baldwin and Simon followed him and stood at the top. Baldwin thrust his head through the gap and found himself in a narrow passageway that led off towards the river and met up with an upper storey in the old palace building. Soon he was up and standing beside Peter, Simon clambering after them.

‘It is usually safe here. That is why it’s sometimes popular.’

Simon tilted his head. ‘With whom?’

‘Lovers. They use this route when they want secrecy. I’ve seen some few.’

‘Such as?’

He looked at Simon with a smile. ‘I mentioned Alicia and the guard before. They have been along here, when Alicia should have remained in the Queen’s quarters and Richard Blaket should have been in the guardroom. But lovers cannot be kept apart, eh?’

This new corridor ended in a small chamber, in the next wall of which was another small door. Peter again went ahead and peered through. He jerked his head at them, and they walked along the flagged way after him. Periodically, on their right, were a series of tall, narrow windows which gave out over the Queen’s cloister. At this time of the evening no one was there. They would be eating, Baldwin thought, from the odours that rose to his nostrils.

Peter led them to a door set into the wall at the end. Here he looked at them seriously, then drew a key from a chain about his neck, and put it in the lock. The door opened easily and silently, and Simon and Baldwin found themselves in the chapel once more, this time in the upper storey.

‘Here you are.’

‘The Queen will be eating? I suppose that means we cannot enter her chamber,’ Baldwin mused.

‘No, she’s dining with the King in the old palace just now.’

‘Why?’

‘They are putting on a show of matrimonial normality,’ Peter said cynically. ‘There are too many who would like to portray them as loathing each other, so they sometimes put on a little display to frustrate all of them.’

‘Then let us see her chamber.’

Peter chewed at his lip. ‘What will you do if there is blood in there?’ he asked without moving. ‘You mean to accuse the Queen of murder?’

‘No. There is no doubt that the man who died was an assassin. We have had him confirmed in his profession,’ Baldwin said. ‘My interest is to learn about Mabilla and who actually killed her.’

Peter led the way slowly out through the rear of the chapel and along another corridor. ‘But if you find blood in her chamber …’ he said again, still anxious.

‘It will simply mean that someone killed the assassin in order to protect her.’

‘Ah. Good point. That man should be rewarded,’ the Chaplain smiled. He threw open a door. ‘Here it is.’

They were in a long chamber that looked out over the Thames. The walls were decorated with a pattern of tiles, the floor comprised good broad elm boards, and there were decorative tapestries and hangings to stop the draughts. Baldwin glanced about him once, and was then off along the chamber, his eyes to the ground, walking from side to side like a questing hound.

‘Is he always like this?’ Peter asked.

Simon, who was finding it hard to drag his eyes from the hangings, from the gilded carvings at the ceiling, from the fabulous tableware and the gleaming plates and bowls of silver, could only nod.

‘Stop! In the name of the King!’

Peter winced and threw a look at Simon.

‘Oh! Hello, Master Blaket,’ Simon said, and attempted a sickly smile as the long pike’s spear-point came to a halt at his breastbone.

Sir Hugh le Despenser watched as the two men were pushed in, the Chaplain apologising profusely behind them, all of them bowing low as they came into the King’s presence.

King Edward could have been unaware of their arrival. He was sitting at his comfortable seat and eating, making no comment, but Sir Hugh knew that studied disinterest of old: it was a certain indication of his extreme anger.

Studying them himself, Sir Hugh saw that the Chaplain had every appearance of fear. Good. So he should! He’d been found leading these two in among the corridors to the Queen’s quarters when they’d been told to leave the place alone. If nothing else, he’d lose his comfortable little posting here. No matter that he had ‘benefit of clergy,’ his crime was one that would undoubtedly lead to a punishment. That was a sly little game for clerics who were guilty of fondling some matron’s titties, but it wouldn’t serve for a man considered a traitor to the King. And leading strangers into the Queen’s accommodation was surely a treacherous act.

These two rural officers! Look at them! One a country-knight with barely enough money to keep himself in equipment and horses, while the other was a mere peasant. Pathetic! Yet they had challenged his authority and now they sought to embarrass the King himself. Good God — what a pair of cretins !

The Bailiff was worried. It was there in his quickening breath, the narrowed eyes, the slight flushing at his cheeks. As he walked in, he had looked calm, perhaps a little anxious, but not more than that. Now, though, he stood with his eyes downcast, a man who knew his peril and daren’t meet the eyes of his judges in case he saw death in them. He’d be fun to break! If the bastard didn’t confess to his crime in five minutes of first meeting Ellis and his tools of torture, Sir Hugh would be happy to eat his cap!

It was then that he saw Sir Baldwin’s gaze on him. The man had the nerve to meet his eye! Sweet Christ, he’d have the man’s ballocks off for that! And there was no fear in his face. If anything, he was like a man who had already lost all he cared about and now was prepared to stand up for what he believed.

The King finished his meal in a leisurely manner, and beckoned a laver, who hurried forward with a bowl and towel as the Chaplain behind the King read a short Grace giving thanks for God’s bounty.

Dabbing at his lips, the King did not so much as cast a look in their general direction. ‘You were in my lady wife’s parlour. You had been told not to go there, but you did so.’

Sir Hugh stared from one to the other. He saw the Bailiff glance at his friend, but Sir Baldwin made no sign; he merely stood utterly still, his brows lowered as he listened.

‘I had asked you to investigate the murderous attack upon my good friend Sir Hugh here, but you chose to slight me and suggest that I should be more careful of my wife’s life. And then you broke into her chambers.’

‘You asked me to investigate the murder of Mabilla and the death of the assassin in the Great Hall. I am doing that to the best of my ability, my Liege.’

‘You seek to correct me? You presume to tell me I am wrong again?’ King Edward snapped.

All in the room stiffened. Despenser could feel it: the sudden gathering for the explosion of violence that would surely ignite in the King’s breast. He’d seen it so often since the Battle of Boroughbridge. The King had made it his mission to seek out all those who’d decided to challenge his holy authority, his God-given right to rule in his own name, in the manner which he chose. They had been hunted down, every one, and destroyed. Broken, ravaged, they were hanged until almost dead, and then their pricks and ballocks were cut from them and burned before their eyes to show that their line was cursed. While they choked and struggled, gagging, the noose about their necks, the executioner would hack open their breasts and rip out their still-beating hearts and throw them onto the fire. Only then were they beheaded, their corpses butchered so that their limbs could be displayed on the city walls as a deterrent to others.