Paul Doherty - The Darkening Glass

‘Did anyone see him fall?’ I asked.

Rosselin called across a young lad clutching a bundle of sticks. By the flour on his apron, he was the fire boy from the nearby bakery, sent out to the wood stall to collect kindling. I beckoned him closer and spoke to him. In halting phrases and an accent I could scarcely understand, the fire boy explained how he collected wood for the master baker. He’d left the wood stall and glanced up at the tower because of the gossip and chatter, then he’d seen it. I offered a coin; it was snatched away. The boy grew animated, chattering like a sparrow. I had to urge him to speak slower as he described how he saw something black, ‘like a monstrous raven’, fall from the tower. The body dropped like a stone. No, declared the boy, he saw no movement of the legs or arms. He heard no scream. All he saw was the body spin, hit the sloping roof of the church then bounce like a ball along the tiles and over and down into the cobbled yard. I tweaked his cheek, thanked him and said his kindling might get wet, so he hurried off.

The Aquilae had also heard the boy’s tale. They could tell me little about Leygrave except that he was Lanercost’s close friend, deeply downcast at the death of his comrade. Accompanied by Demontaigu, I led them away from the eavesdroppers up into the deep porch of the church. As I did so, I glimpsed the Beaumonts sloping across to watch a group of lay brothers lift Leygrave on to a stretcher brought from the infirmary. I ignored them. We sheltered from the rain beneath the tympanum showing Christ on the Last Day carrying out judgement above the phrase carved in stone: Hic est locus terribilis! Domus Dei et Porta Caeli : This is a terrible place! The House of God and the Gate of Heaven.

‘Mistress,’ Rosselin rubbed a thumbnail around his lips, ‘we must attend to Leygrave’s corpse. What do you want?’

‘An assassin is hunting you,’ I replied. ‘Who it is and why, I don’t know. Two of your comrades have been barbarously murdered. All of you may well be marked for slaughter. So I ask you, I beg you, why?’

Those three young men, who’d flown so high and basked in all of Gaveston’s glory, could only stare sullenly back. Rosselin handed across a piece of parchment.

‘I found that, tucked into the rim of Leygrave’s boot.’

I knew what it contained even before I undid the small roll of vellum.

‘Aquilae Petri, fly not so bold, for Gaveston your master has been both bought and sold.’

‘Is that all?’ I asked. ‘Is that all you can offer me?’

‘It is all I can say; it is all we can tell you.’ Rosselin tucked his thumbs into his war-belt gleaming with glittering studs. ‘True, we are frightened, mistress. The case against us presses hard. We take your warning, we heed your advice. This is a matter, A l’outrance — to the death.’ He bowed and, followed by the rest, left the porch.

I took Demontaigu deeper into the church. There I stopped and leaned against a pillar, staring down at the gorgeously decorated rood screen.

‘Is this the work of the Templars, Bertrand?’

‘No.’ He drew closer, crossing himself. ‘I understand your suspicions, Mathilde, but no.’ He glanced away. ‘I don’t think so. We should leave.’

I winked at him. ‘We’ll have other visitors soon.’

‘Who?’

I lifted my finger to my lips, even as the door latch snapped and the Beaumonts came into the church, stamping and shaking the rainwater from their cloaks and boots.

‘We meet again, mistress.’ Henry Beaumont swaggered forward. He sketched a courteous bow and glanced sharply at Demontaigu. ‘The queen’s clerk,’ he murmured, ‘deep in conversation with the queen’s shadow.’

‘We are all shadows under God’s sun,’ I retorted.

The Beaumonts simply stared back.

‘So why have you followed me here?’ I asked. ‘To discover what I know? That is very little! Or to tell me what you and Lanercost were discussing out in the apple orchard on the morning he died?’

Lady Vesci’s smile faded. Louis coughed and turned away. Henry remained ebullient as ever.

‘Direct, mistress, so I will be equally direct back.’ He gazed quickly at Demontaigu. ‘Take your hand away from your dagger, Templar; you are only here by the queen’s grace.’

‘And God’s,’ Demontaigu retorted.

‘Perhaps,’ Beaumont replied, ‘but God seems to have deserted your order. Now, Mistress Mathilde, I’ll be honest.’ He was standing so close I could smell the wine on his breath. ‘I met Lanercost because I wanted to know what he took into Scotland, what the king truly intends. Rumours about possible Scottish help buzz around like bees.’

‘In which case, that’s the king’s business, secret to him.’

‘Is it?’ Beaumont snapped his fingers. ‘I wonder. Think, woman! Gaveston is in great danger. The hawks circle. Your mistress, God save her, is enceinte . Does Gaveston politic for her, for the king or just for himself? Gaveston’s business could be a threat not only to me but to us all.’ He stepped back, bowed and, followed by his kin, sauntered out of the church.

‘We’ll know soon enough,’ Demontaigu said thoughtfully, ‘if Bruce will help or not.’

I nodded and glanced down that sombre nave. The vigorous wall paintings, proclaiming the punishments of hell and the glories of heaven, seemed to press in on me. My mind was caught by the depiction of a king and queen thronged in glory.

‘Court life is like a body,’ I replied, ‘full of all sorts of strange humours. I want to study the particular symptoms of what is now happening.’ I crossed over and opened the door to the bell tower. Inside it was deserted. Asking Demontaigu to accompany me, I grasped the ladder and was about to climb when I caught the glint of a stud. I picked it up and recognised that I’d seen the same on the ostentatious war-belts the Aquilae liked to wear. I handed it to Demontaigu.

‘Why should it be lying here?’

Demontaigu grinned. ‘Because,’ he unstrapped his own belt, tossed it to the floor then indicated the ladder, ‘it is hard enough to climb through so narrow an opening; sword and dagger would make it very clumsy.’

‘So that is why Lanercost and Leygrave weren’t wearing theirs.’ I stared around. ‘Brother Eusebius has more to answer for.’

We climbed the ladder into the bell tower. We searched and probed, but that dusty ancient chamber refused to yield its secrets about the mysterious deaths of those two young men. I scrutinised the slippery, sloping window slab very carefully. I found no trace of blood, but I did detect very clearly the marks of boots, the broad sole and narrow heel of the Cordovan type much favoured by Gaveston and his Aquilae. The slab was smooth and the imprint of drying mud in the centre of the ledge quite pronounced. God forgive me, I should have been sharper. I put aside any closer scrutiny and reached the obvious conclusion that Leygrave must have stood on that ledge and then. . what? If he had stood there then he must have been contemplating suicide. Or was he pushed, forced, blackmailed? Yet why did he come up here in the first place, unarmed, to this lonely, stark belfry where his close companion and comrade had also died so mysteriously? Someone else had definitely been involved in their deaths; hence that cryptic, jibing message. I looked over my shoulder. Demontaigu was staring at me strangely. I voiced my suspicions. He walked around the wooden platform and stretched out a hand.

‘I cannot help you, Mathilde, but come, come.’ He grasped my fingers and escorted me back to the ladder.

We reached the storey below, but instead of continuing down, Demontaigu took me into a shadowy, crumbling corner that stank of wetness and bird droppings.