Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

He fell, cursing loudly, and his companion had his sword out in a moment. Ellis ignored it, drawing his own and snarling incoherently as he held it aloft and advanced.

And in the midst of the fight, Despenser saw his opportunity. ‘Pilk, in God’s name, stop Ellis. He’s gone mad! Look at him!’

Pilk needed no second urging. He drew his own sword and hurried after Ellis, who meanwhile had kicked the Earl’s man in the head where he lay, and was now attacking the second.

He cared nothing for the scratch he had already experienced on his left arm, but instead attacked relentlessly, his blade always before him so that no further stab might win through. There was no sense to the fight, it was the culmination of the horror of his sister’s death, and then the increasing frustration he felt at not finding her killer. He wanted to lash out until all those who had hurt his sister were dead. And these gilded little popinjays were representatives of the man whom Mabilla had accused of trying to feel up her skirts. The good Earl had tried to rape her, and then sent his man to have Ellis carry that head to his master. Well, Ellis would have his head in return. Tears filled his eyes at the thought of Mabilla’s body lying cold in her grave, and the anguish of loss gave his damaged arm more vigour. He slashed and stabbed faster and faster.

‘Stop that! Stop , Ellis!’

He didn’t register who it was. His blood was up, and any man who approached him was there to try to kill him. So as soon as Pilk was near enough, he span quickly, his sword flashing red, and whipped it past Pilk’s throat. There was a gout of blood, and he sprang forward to plant his fist in Pilk’s face even as Pilk staggered. Then he was back on his other opponent.

But the Earl’s man had not been idle. As soon as Ellis turned to attack Pilk, he reached forward, so low that his hand went to the ground to support him, and his sword thrust up from just above the buttocks. It was not a deep stab, and Ellis hardly seemed to notice it, but when he returned to the attack, he was slower, more ponderous. He could feel it, even though he was unaware that his liver and a kidney were both ruptured. But as he continued, a growing pain in his back told him something was amiss. He tried to return to the assault, but found his eyes growing heavier and heavier, his feet leaden, and suddenly he pitched forward to his knees. He remained there for a moment, blinking, baffled and too tired even to maintain his anger.

But not for long. His opponent would take no risks. His sword whirled once and Ellis’s head was catapulted through the air to join the one still in the bag over by the brazier.

Baldwin and Simon had heard the screams and shouts, and turned to rush back to the yard, but they were too late to stop the fight. They only reached the ground as Ellis sank to his knees, the back of his jerkin and hosen a reddened mess of blood, and just in time to see the Earl’s man bring his blade around and sweep the injured man’s head from his shoulders.

‘A sore loss,’ Despenser said, coming to join them. But there was no sadness in his tone. No, as he gazed at the two bodies, at Pilk’s still shivering from the throes as the last of his blood leached into the gravel about him, and at Ellis’s, where it had fallen forwards to lie on the ground only a matter of yards away, all he knew was satisfaction at a job well done.

‘I hope you are pleased, Sir Hugh?’ Baldwin spat.

‘Me? I have lost two good men here, Sir Baldwin. Naturally I am distressed,’ Sir Hugh replied. But he smiled.

Baldwin clenched his fist; Simon saw and gripped his wrist. ‘Baldwin!’ he muttered in the knight’s ear. ‘Think of Jeanne, and Richalda and little Baldwin. Do not throw away your life and their future in anger!’

‘You are right,’ Baldwin said, taking a deep breath. ‘We have evidence enough already to see you ruined, Sir Hugh.’

‘I had nothing to do with all this, Sir Baldwin. These men started a brawl without my egging them on. They are simply the victim of their own violent natures. And now I shall have to find more men.’

‘Yes. And explain all that happened on the night Jack was killed.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I think you do. You commanded Jack to kill the Queen, but then you changed your mind. For whatever reason, you decided to stop Jack. But how to do that? The only way was to kill him .’

‘You call me a murderer?’

‘I call you much worse than that.’

‘Be careful how you speak to me!’

Baldwin was about to say more, when Despenser shook his head.

‘Sir Baldwin! You think you have some marvellous evidence against me? You do not. I knew nothing about this Jack atte Hedge. Nothing. And you cannot prove otherwise.’

‘I shall prove it!’

Despenser shrugged and grimaced without humour, then walked slowly away, from the scene of slaughter, content that with Ellis dead, he was safe.

Bishop Walter was happy to accede to Sir Baldwin’s request, and met with Simon and Baldwin in the smaller of the royal chambers, the Lesser Hall. They were only there a short while before Coroner John opened the door and peered inside. The night was falling, and it was growing dark. Simon was glad to see that the Coroner had brought a candle, and servants entered with him, quickly lighting candles in a pair of floor-standing holders. Soon the room was illuminated with a cheerful orange glow.

The Coroner ushered the servants out, and then said, ‘My Lord Bishop? I was told to come here.’

‘You have seen the two dead men out there?’ Baldwin asked the Bishop.

‘I am afraid so. Two of Despenser’s men and one other, of whom we have only the head. I am shocked by these deaths. What could have led to such a violent assault?’

‘Three dead. Three more dead,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘And all for so little reason.’

The Coroner stirred in his corner. ‘I should not overly tax your sympathy on their behalf, Sir Baldwin. I am sure that one of those men was involved in the murder of the innkeeper over at Chelchede on Sunday.’

‘That is a terrible thing to say of the dead!’ the Bishop said, startled.

‘Perhaps. Yet I believe you said that you have evidence I could use?’

‘Yes, indeed, Sir John,’ Baldwin said. ‘We have much. For the first, we know that the assassin who was found in the palace here was in fact in the pay of Sir Hugh le Despenser. He was named Jack atte Hedge, and was a known killer.’

‘You have proof?’

‘Yes. He climbed the wall at the south-western point where the wall meets the Abbey grounds, knocking out the guard on duty there, before making his way into the palace.’

‘Where he died,’ John noted with satisfaction.

‘After killing Mabilla,’ Simon growled.

‘And then there was the supposed attack upon Despenser himself. The bowman who tried that had a perfect shot at Despenser, from what we have heard. Despenser was walking away from the wall, one man well ahead of him out in the front, and the other nearer the wall. Yet the bowman leaned right out to fire.’

‘Yes. I thought the same when I studied the ground,’ John agreed.

‘What do you infer from that?’ the Bishop asked.

‘That he was not aiming for Sir Hugh. He was aiming at another,’ Baldwin said.

‘How much, I wonder, would a man be paid for killing the Despenser?’ Coroner John wondered aloud.

‘At least twenty, maybe five-and-twenty pounds. Maybe even more, if he was being paid by someone who had a serious grudge against the man,’ Baldwin said. ‘There are some who would no doubt pay any price to see him removed.’

The Bishop said, a little stiffly, ‘I hardly think that this sort of speculation is helpful.’