Paul Doherty - The Darkening Glass

I inspected the cadaver most closely. I noticed how the back and sides of the head were staved in. I heard a sound and turned. Demontaigu stood in the doorway. I lifted a hand and beckoned him over. He walked across, stared at the corpse, crossed himself and said he would wait for me outside. I inspected the corpse once more, whispered the requiem, thanked Brother Malachi and joined Demontaigu. He simply shook his head at my questions about where he had been and, clutching my wrist, led me across the friary grounds to his cell in the Sienna gallery, which lay near the refectory. The cell was a small whitewashed chamber with a bed and a few sticks of furniture, its only luxury being a painted wall cloth displaying a golden cross against a red background. Demontaigu had emptied the contents of his saddle bag on to the bed. He now sat down and sifted amongst these. I watched him curiously as he listed them, mementos of his previous life. A small relic; a psalter embossed with the five wounds of Christ displayed in silver; little leather pouches containing a medal his mother had given him, a lock of her hair and that of his long-dead sister. Next to these a flute, a childhood toy, as well as badges and amulets from the various shrines and Templar houses Demontaigu had visited.

‘My heirlooms,’ he declared without glancing up. ‘I heard about Lanercost’s death but I had to face more pressing matters. Ausel and the rest have gone to Scotland. They’ve accepted the Bruce’s writ and his claim to the Throne of Scone. The Noctales have severed any loyalty and fealty my brethren had for the English crown. They’ve taken everything with them, including all my possessions except these.’ He scooped them up and placed them in a pannier. ‘Memories,’ he murmured, ‘of a former life, as a boy in a farm near Lilleshall, as a novice at the New Temple, of service in Outremer.’ He rose to his feet and grasped my hands. ‘Now you have my full obeisance.’

I smiled at his chivalrous play-acting. Demontaigu, however, gazed sadly back.

‘I’m not leaving, Mathilde, but the world has changed. My life as a Templar is no longer a secret. People may have suspected before, but now they know the truth. I enjoy the queen’s protection. Lisbon might wish me harm, but whilst I am here, I am safe. Moreover, his massacre out on the moors is now well known. In his heart, his grace cannot be pleased at such an abuse of his authority. In the old king’s days, Lisbon would have been hanged out of hand.’

‘There again,’ I added bitterly, ‘in the old king’s days, Lisbon would never have been allowed into the realm.’

‘True.’ Demontaigu heaved a sigh. ‘He is certainly not welcome at court.’

‘Where is he now?’ I asked.

‘Before he left, Ausel discovered that the devil and his minions shelter at Tynemouth Priory, further up the coast.’ Demontaigu paused. ‘I’ve just come from the city. Rumour runs like flame through stubble. The earls are advancing fast. God knows what will happen next. Now, as regards to Lanercost, my brethren have asked me. .’

I told him succinctly what had happened, voicing my suspicion that somehow Lanercost had been inveigled up into that tower and murdered. I did not add what had happened to me. I wanted to remain cold and alert as deep suspicions gnawed my heart. Lanercost had been murdered soon after we informed him about his brother’s death. We had raised the suspicion that Geoffrey had, unwittingly perhaps, passed information he’d learnt from his brother John to someone else, who’d informed Lisbon and so provoked that bloody massacre. Did a mysterious unknown party blame Lanercost and decide to carry out vengeance? Was it the Templars? Had they sent an assassin into the friary to exact summary justice? I stared into Demontaigu’s face; those lovely eyes gazed shrewdly back. God forgive me, for a while I wondered about the Templars, until a second Aquilae fell to his death.

The next two days were taken up with household affairs. Isabella, alarmed at the news from the south, ordered her officers to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I supervised the packing of the wardrobe, items such as?6 worth of silk for stitching on robes,?20 of silver thread, four dozen mantlets, thirty pairs of stockings, ten bodices, a tunic of triple Sindon, heavy linen, as well as forty tunics of Lucca. The queen’s jewel caskets were crammed with rubies, sapphires, emeralds and other precious stones then locked, sealed and placed on carts. At the same time Isabella had letters drawn up and dispatched, whether it be to her officials in the exchequer at Westminster or to the Royal Hospital of St Katherine’s by the Tower, which she so generously patronised. She wanted everyone to realise that, although exiled in the north, she still kept a sharp eye on her interests, be it in Westminster, London or elsewhere. I also had medical duties: the preparation of electuaries on a broad sheet of lead with an oak base, mixing grains of paradise with cinnamon, or the various potions for my ointment pots. Isabella herself was in vigorous health, though she remained quiet and withdrawn, as if silently brooding over a grievance she could not share with me.

A few days after Lanercost’s death, following the Aquilae’s requiem mass and hasty burial in the commoners’ side of God’s Land in the Franciscan cemetery, Edward called a meeting of his chamber council in the prior’s parlour. I remember the detail so vividly. The parlour was truly a magnificent room, with a hooded fireplace of marble built against the outside wall. Despite the late date, pine logs dusted with dried herbs crackled merrily and gave off a perfumed smell. The weather had certainly turned bitter. Icy rain pelted the small oriel windows with their painted mullions and transepts, making the brightly decorated linen curtains dance in the draught. Settles, stools and benches had been pushed away, leaving the room dominated by a great oak table with leather-upholstered seats placed around it. The tiles on the floor, decorated with heraldic devices, were covered in thick, lush Turkey cloths, whilst on the walls, tapestries and hangings extolled the joys of the chase alongside brilliantly coloured murals describing scenes from the life of St Francis. On a great open aumbry directly opposite the fireplace, jewelled plate, Venetian glass and metalwork of Damascus glittered in the light of a host of beeswax candles, as well as torches burning fiercely in cressets driven high into the wall. This was the king’s chamber, where Edward and Gaveston closeted themselves to discuss the eternal crisis. They talked and talked but did so little. They were suspicious of everybody so they preferred to lurk deep in some place they considered safe. The prior’s parlour, large and cavernous, was ideal: its walls were thick, the door heavy. There were no eyelets or gaps in the wall for eavesdroppers, whilst above was no other chamber; just brightly painted beams decorated with banners and pennants of the royal household. A huge chest near the table, its lid thrown back, was crammed with documents, most of them letters and memoranda sent to the king by his spies in the south, informing him about what was happening.

On that particular day, Edward had apparently made a decision, a rare event. Both king and favourite, as usual, were dressed alike in heavy blue and scarlet surcotes fringed with gold and lined at the neck and cuff with costliest ermine. Both had shaved and oiled their faces, their hair neatly combed and tidied. The king sat at one end of the great table, Gaveston at the other. On Edward’s right was Isabella, dressed in a sleeveless cyclas of green-gold decorated with silver-gilt love-knots over a pure white undergown; a gauze veil across netted cauls hid her lovely hair. On the other side of the table sat Lady Vesci, Dunheved and myself next to Henry Beaumont and his brother, all cloaked and muffled against the seeping cold. I watched my mistress intently; she kept looking down at the table, slipping a sapphire ring on and off the middle finger of her left hand, as Edward explained his reasons for the meeting. He had, he announced, made a dreadful mistake. He made the declaration in a slurred voice, then gazed sadly down at Gaveston.