Michael Jecks - Dispensation of Death

‘So will you denounce him?’

‘What, Blaket or the King? To denounce one means also affirming the guilt of the other. Would you and I live if we succeeded in that, Simon? I do not think so. No. We should consider ourselves fortunate to have escaped this place with our lives.’

‘One point, though,’ Simon said after a few moments. ‘You said that Despenser could not act well, that he wouldn’t be able to dissemble in that manner, but you’re happy to accuse the King of exactly that. What makes you think that our Liege could do so when Despenser could not?’

‘Simon, do you remember the day we first arrived here and saw the roads? I mentioned the King’s pastimes, didn’t I?’

‘Ah — you said that he enjoyed acting!’

‘Precisely.’

And that, Baldwin had hoped, would be an end to the matter. He was disgusted with the council of the King, distrusted all those who sought power and advancement from the King, and felt threatened by the King’s own most trusted adviser.

There was nothing here for him. He could not alter the decisions being made, because the decisions were made by a few powerful people before ever any meeting was held. Even men whom he had once trusted, like Bishop Walter Stapledon, were proven to be more interested in preserving their own power than in seeing justice done. That might be a harsh view of the Bishop’s motives in concealing the indenture, but all Baldwin knew was that the Bishop had held that scrap in trust, and had then passed it on to Despenser, the man whom it accused.

But although Baldwin’s own desire was to leave the city and make his way back to Devon, to his wife and children, at all possible speed, events were shortly to take a turn which he had not predicted.

Wednesday after the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary 1

Thorney Island

The Queen was the first to be told of the new proposal — after Sir Hugh, the Bishops, her son and the King’s ambassadors.

She was startled to receive an invitation to see her husband. His chambers were so close, and yet she had grown accustomed to the fact of their separation over the last months.

‘You are sure he wants me?’ was her only response to the request.

The marvellous painted hall in which he waited for her was a welcoming chamber. The fire in the hearth was roaring, and although she had left a pleasantly warmed room behind her, this was so much hotter that Isabella was forced to shed her cloak.

‘My Lord, you asked to see me?’ she enquired, giving him a courtesy and keeping her eyes demurely downcast so he might not read the anger in her eyes.

‘Lady, I have come to a conclusion.’ It sounded as though he had drunk poison, for the words almost choked him. ‘Your brother has demanded that I should go to him to swear homage for Guyenne and the Duchy. I feel I cannot go at present, not while our countries are at daggers drawn. So I have decided that you shall go in my place.’

‘You have?’

‘I and the parliament. We are sure that your good offices will aid our negotiations. I wish you to leave within the month.’

‘But there is so much to prepare! Surely the Pope could send another to act for you? Would not a Bishop or Archbishop carry more weight than a mere woman?’

‘The Pope suggested you,’ the King spat.

She looked up then, so that he could read the contempt in her eyes. She had known that all along. It was pathetic of him not to think of the many ways in which a prisoner might learn news of the world. For her part, it was easy. Drokensford kept her well-informed, as always.

‘You will go in the first week in March,’ the King said, containing his own rage with difficulty. This woman was a she-wolf. Cunning, evil, cruel, she was the embodiment of all that was unnatural in a woman. He could see that she had known about all this beforehand — well, let her think that she had won. When she came back from the French court, when she had done his will over there and won back Guyenne for him, she would return to her prison in England. Not here, though, where she could plot with her friends. Somewhere else, farther away from power. Perhaps in Castle Acre. Norfolk was a county for which she had always asserted a liking. She could go there and fester.

‘I suppose I shall be forced to travel with people chosen for me?’ she said after a moment.

‘I will wish to keep the costs of the embassy at a minimum.’

‘Naturally. Yet I would have some men I can trust.’

‘You have my word that all will be honourable and trustworthy.’

‘Your word? I am reassured.’

He grated his teeth, but swallowed his anger at her sarcasm. ‘You wish for a senior man? A Bishop? Earl?’

‘Will our son travel with me?’

The King smiled. ‘No. He will come later, provided that all the negotiations are successful. I will send him on to you when all the plans have been set out clearly.’

For Sir Hugh, it was the best of all worlds. As he had hoped when he first tried to tempt Earl Edmund into plotting against him, persuading the fool through Piers that Sir Hugh did not want the Queen to leave the country, in reality it was clearly impossible for him to be seen to attempt to prevent her going. The only effective manner of his preserving his power was for the Queen to be apparently supported by him so that the French did not have any more incentive to seek his death.

It would have been best for him to have seen her killed here, but it was not to be.

‘My Liege.’

The King took his arm with a smile. ‘Come, look at this, Sir Hugh.’

At the window, Sir Hugh looked out. From here they had a view of a magnificent royal barge. ‘That is marvellous!’

‘Isn’t it?’

It was painted in red, with glints of gold where gilt licked the decoration. Cushions were spread about, and Sir Hugh could see that there was a great awning to keep the King and his guests sheltered in the worst of weathers. At the stern was a comfortable-looking seat with padded arms and thick cushions for the King. Beside it, a comfy, but lower chair.

‘I had it made for the summer, and wanted to view it beforehand. I hope you and I will be able to use it in the warm months.’

‘Yes, I am sure …’

‘So no more attempts on the Queen’s life, Sir Hugh,’ the King murmured.

Sir Hugh smiled. ‘You need not worry about that.’

‘No, I do not — do I?’ the King said, but this time — for the first time — Sir Hugh heard that special note in his tone: it was the same tone he had used when pronouncing death on Sir Andrew Harclay; when he told his cousin, Earl Thomas of Lancaster, that he must die; when he spoke to his wife. It was the sort of voice he used for people whom he had once trusted, when he learned of their faithlessness.

There was only one thing for Sir Hugh to do, and he did so hurriedly. Dropping to his knees, he bent his head almost to the floor. ‘My Lord, don’t blame me! I only sought what I was sure was best for you.’

‘Yes — and you, eh? No more, Sir Hugh. It is tedious to have to seek out such men. And they do bleed an inordinate amount.’

Sir Hugh looked up at his lord and lover. ‘It was you?’

‘So no more, Sir Hugh. I have lost my wife. I would not lose you too.’ He paused. ‘You must pay. You will buy me a new carpet. My last one was soiled.’

Richard Blaket stood aside as the Queen returned to her chamber, Alicia in attendance. As the Queen entered, Alicia remained outside with him.

‘We shall be travelling soon,’ she said.

‘To Eltham?’ Richard asked. He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice, but failed. The guards set about this island were all selected from the area and would not travel with the household when it was moving across the countryside.