Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘And then what? That he was also innocent of ordering the murder of the innkeeper and his wife at the Swan at Chelchede?’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Simon, you’ve seen the man, he will take anything he wants and never count the cost to others. All that matters to him is his own intolerable greed.’

‘Yes. But Baldwin, are you looking to have him gaoled no matter what? Gaoled for a crime he did not commit?’

‘I would see his powers ripped from him, yes,’ Baldwin admitted heavily.

‘And what happened to the man who said that it was better that ten guilty men go free than even one innocent man be unfairly captured and slain?’

‘Ouch! You use my own words against me? Is that kind? Is that fair?’

Simon grinned. The dark mood was leaving his friend. ‘So how do we learn what we need to?’

‘Do you recall Ellis, just before he died? He told us that the assassin entered by Arch on that part of the wall,’ Baldwin said.

‘Which was what we thought.’

Baldwin was frowning. ‘Yes. Except all the guards were looking for someone climbing in . The trick would be to get in past the guards and do so without being seen. What if that was not how he climbed in, but how he intended to get out ? Perhaps the man was not foolish enough to think that he could get away with climbing in and making his way all over the palace. Easier by far to get in during the day and hide, and then escape that way.’

‘But he didn’t escape.’

‘No. He was stuck in the palace. He died in the King’s chamber, if the blood in there was telling us the truth.’

Simon shrugged. ‘Perhaps Despenser found his man and slew him himself? He would be one man Jack would trust, surely.’

‘Not if he knew Sir Hugh.’ Baldwin considered darkly. ‘And then, what of the maid?’

Simon shook his head. ‘No. It cannot have been Despenser. He would hardly have Jack emasculated and treated in that manner. No, it must have been another, someone who had reason to loathe him.’

‘And who sought to … Simon, I think I understand at last!’

The King sat in his little parlour to the side of his main chamber and waited.

At other times he might have tapped his fingers on the table or the arm of his chair, but not today. Today he felt regally calm. All the tension of the last few days was gone with that confession.

It wasn’t what he had wanted, of course. No, he’d wanted to be kept in sublime ignorance of the death, left to assume that the assassin was just another one of those sent to hurt him or his wife. For a while, he had entertained the thought that the man Jack atte Hedge was a murderer sent by the French to kill his wife. There could be no better disincentive for his journey to France than for the French themselves to have had his wife’s corpse to point at. Perhaps the French courtiers like that murderous bastard Charles, Count of Valois, had decided that she would serve more use to them dead than alive. After all, if she died and the English King was unable to travel to France for fear of his security, the dukedom would revert to the French Crown, and those who had helped secure it would be able to anticipate a reward.

The knock came and the King motioned to his steward to open it, and then sat back to consider the man as he walked inside. Such black treachery was repugnant.

‘You have betrayed me, my Lord.’

Earl Edmund looked about him with as much dignity as he could muster. ‘Your friend Despenser isn’t here? Doesn’t your little knight want to be here when you try to destroy me?’

‘Do not seek to insult my intelligence,’ King Edward said with icy calm. ‘You have murdered, and sent the evidence here to my court — nay, to my own bloody room ! You had the effrontery to murder and then confess it to me, your King!’

‘And my brother. Yes, I did so. And I would do so again, if I found that the man who was supposed to be my vassal had taken the coin of another. Especially if he was supposed to be my own adviser — especially if he was taking Despenser’s money to make me look a fool!’

‘You need no help, my Lord. You are fully competent to do that on your own.’

‘My Lord King, I am your loyal and devoted servant. We have the same blood in our veins …’

‘No.’

The denial was so firm that Edmund hesitated. They had the same father, King Edward I, but Edmund was conceived by the King’s second wife. ‘We are brothers.’

‘No longer. You are a fool. You lost me my dukedom, and now I must scrabble for every troop I can find to try to reinvade, or I must bow to the French King and abase myself before him. Me! Your King! All because of your incompetence and wilful foolhardiness. I know how you lost me the war. I know why I have lost Guyenne.’

‘My Lord, if Despenser had supplied me with the men promised to us …’

‘Oh yes, it always comes down to others, does it not? If not Sir Hugh, who would you blame then? Perhaps a French Constable? A Sergeant in your army? You are pathetic, but I have remained loyal to you and the memory of our father all this time. But no more. The gross insult you gave me when you murdered that man — and had his blasted head delivered to my own hall …’ Edward forced himself to sit back again, willing his fingers to release their grip on the arm of the chair, trying to breathe more easily.

‘My Lord, I was forced to do that. The man was a black traitor.’

‘You think you can murder with impunity?’

That stung. ‘You allow your lover to! He slaughters up and down the country and you do nothing! You smile on him, because …’

‘Yes? Because of what, brother?’ the King asked silkily.

Edmund curled his lip. Then he held out his hands, wrists together. ‘So, you wish to have me gaoled now? You want to have me taken to the Tower?’

‘No. But I will not have your face here in my court. You will go now, Earl. Leave me and do not come back. I will not have flagrant murderers here.’

Edmund made no more defence. He let his hands fall to his sides, and curtly nodded, walking backwards from the room as protocol demanded, and when he was gone, the King let his breath sigh from him.

At least the fool had gone quietly. Now darling Hugh and he would be alone. The King could reign, and rely on his lover without fearing that the jealousy of that half-wit would get in the way.

He stood, and as he did so, he caught sight of the darkened mess on his carpet. An assassin was repellent, but his blood was still more foul. Especially now, some days after the event.

Shouting for his steward, he pointed at it. ‘Have that carpet burned.’

Blaket was still smiling after the previous afternoon.

He had met Alicia outside the gate to the Abbey, just a short distance away, but far enough to be free from watchful eyes, and they had made their way over the bridge, past the mill at the Tyburn River, and thence southwards towards Chelchede.

It was cold, and he had pulled off his cloak to offer it to her, but she refused with a pained expression. Still, when they reached the little hovel which he had borrowed for the afternoon, she was happy enough to disrobe, and the pair had made love wildly beside the hearth on a bed of clean straw with rugs and skins laid atop. The memory of those kisses were with him still, along with the scratches on his back from her nails.

When he saw the two men approaching him, he had a premonition of trouble, and when they stopped and fixed him with serious expressions on their faces, he felt his heart begin to thump noisily. He could still remember the pain and anguish on Arch’s face after the ‘questioning’ he had endured.

‘You can’t go in there, my Lords,’ he said. ‘The Queen is resting.’