Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘Why did you do it, Blaket?’ Baldwin said.

‘Do what?’

‘Kill Mabilla.’

Blaket took a deep breath, a diver taking his last before a plunge. ‘Yes,’ he said.

Simon himself breathed a little more easily now. ‘So you admit killing her?’

‘Someone had to. She was a danger to my lady the Queen. Our Queen.’

‘What made her so dangerous?’

‘That I cannot tell you,’ he said.

‘Cannot or will not?’ Simon pressed him.

‘He cannot, messieurs,’ said the Queen as she pulled open the door.

Simon glanced at Baldwin, and then the two walked past the guard and into the room with the Queen.

‘You have been here before, I hear,’ she said.

‘You have a most devoted guard,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘He caught us in here.’

‘He said that you had been seeking the murderer of that assassin.’

‘And of your lady-in-waiting,’ Simon said pointedly.

‘I know nothing of the death of the assassin. All I do know is, he was sent here to kill me. It was not possible to forgive such an act. It will never be possible.’

‘The maid?’ Baldwin asked. As he spoke, he saw the blonde woman behind the Queen. It was Alicia, the woman who Peter had said was in love with this guard, Blaket. She sat at a stool with her hands in her lap, listening to every word. ‘Mabilla?’ Baldwin prompted. ‘You ordered her death, Your Majesty?’

The Queen looked at him very directly. ‘You think me evil, monsieur? Mabilla was a spy. She watched me all the time — every hour of every day. It would have been pleasant to have ordered her to be removed from my side, but I am much dissipated in my authority of late.’

‘Your husband would surely have …’

‘What? Taken away Mabilla to please me ? My husband has another lover now. A third person has come between us,’ she said bitterly. ‘You know this. All know it. And I have to endure the shame.’

‘What made it so necessary that she die?’

‘She knew that I was trying to write to my brother, the King of France. She watched over me constantly.’

‘So why did you order her death?’ Baldwin asked. ‘She had been watching you for some little while, I suppose. So why have her killed just then?’

‘Because she was attempting to have me killed. What, you are surprised? You knew that the assassin had been sent to kill me, did you not? How would he have been able to do that, without knowing what I would be doing at different hours of the day? He needed someone to tell him — and Mabilla was the one who did so. She told him all that I was doing — when I went to my chapel, when I would be at prayer, when I returned, when I would be eating, when I would be sleeping, and where , too. She had sold me to my executioner.’

‘So you ordered Blaket to kill her?’

‘Yes. I wanted no more spies in my home. Removing her means no one else will be so keen to commit petit traison against me.’

‘But what of the assassin?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Him?’ The Queen smiled. ‘Ah, for that you must ask my Lord.’

‘The King?’ Baldwin asked. ‘He and Despenser would hardly have a man killed and then make it appear that sodomy was involved, setting the body behind the throne to make it obvious that the dead man was the power behind the King …’

Isabella laughed. At first Baldwin thought it was a reaction of horror at the thought of the barbaric treatment of the corpse, but then he realised that it was genuine amusement.

‘Monsieur! Monsieur! Did you think that? No! It was merely to say that the man should have no children. He who has dared to try to attack the wife of the King should not be permitted to sire his own children. Any traitor would receive the same punishment.’

Baldwin sighed. That was not a construction he had put on the punishment of the man. Yet it was a normal punishment for the worst traitors, along with hanging and drawing. And yet … ‘But if, as you allege, Your Majesty, the Despenser killed this man, surely he would not cut off his tarse and thrust it into his mouth? To him, the man was honourable and faithful.’

‘You think that there is a limit to that loathsome man’s behaviour?’

Baldwin held her gaze for a while, and then nodded. ‘I understand. Now — Blaket. What should I do with him?’

The Queen was very calm. ‘Monsieur, you could have him arrested. You have his confession, you have my admission of complicity. All you need do is denounce us.’

Baldwin could feel her stillness as she spoke, and he eyed her closely, seeking a clue as to her real feelings. Simon, he saw, was enthralled by her tale. He was looking at her with that contemplative expression which Baldwin knew so well.

And yes, truth be told, Baldwin had a deal of sympathy for her. She had fallen from such power to a position of humble subservience. Her toppling had brought her as low as any poor ward protected by an unjust and unpredictable master. Here she was, a beautiful woman, mother to the King’s children, honourable and faithful, and because her husband had discovered he loved another man, she was all but destitute. All her servants had been replaced with those more easily bent to the King’s will, her Chaplain even had been removed.

‘My lady, I am no judge. I am concerned with the truth, and now I think I know it. I am anxious to see that no man suffers injustice, and I confess, I see injustice here, but only in the actions of others towards you — not from you towards other people. And your guard, I believe, has acted in good faith, if in a deplorable manner.’

‘What would you have done?’ Blaket said. ‘I killed her in order to protect my Lady.’

‘Plainly,’ Sir Baldwin said. And did she recognise you?’

‘No,’ the Queen said. ‘I did not.’

But Baldwin had not meant the Queen. Behind her he could see the blonde woman, still watching carefully. Alicia was not eager to see her man punished for protecting the Queen. Perhaps she was in truth an honourable, devoted servant.

In his mind’s eye Baldwin saw that little corridor again. The flickering light, the women passing along it from the chapel towards the Queen’s chamber, the sudden shock as the man leaped out, his blade flashing, and stabbing Mabilla in the breast while the others all recoiled, screaming, fainting, and one alone being bold enough to move forward. Why? To show her man that he had killed the right woman?

He might never know for certain, but that seemed the most likely tale.

‘Your Highness,’ he bowed, and he and Simon took their leave.

The King was expecting the second knock, but when the door opened, he found himself confronted by the serious faces of Bishop John of Bath and Wells, and Walter Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter.

‘My Lord Bishops — please, enter and take some wine with me,’ he said graciously enough.

‘I thank you, King Edward. It is good of you to be so kindly towards your humble subjects.’

As humble as two of the richest clerical thieves could be , the King told himself, but he smiled and inclined his head as though he believed the honeyed words. ‘And to what do I owe this visit, my Lord Bishops?’

It was Drokensford who spoke. ‘My Liege, as you know, it is a matter of great debate among your council as to who should be sent to France to undertake your mission. In an affair of such delicacy and concern, only a most trusted ambassador could be chosen.’

‘I know that. We have discussed the topic at such length, I am grown tired of the whole thing. In God’s name! What must I do to protect my Crown? There is no one safe enough.’

‘Apart from your wife, of course,’ Stapledon reminded him.

‘Yes, yes. That is what was concluded.’