Paul Doherty - The Darkening Glass

‘Gaveston is dead,’ she declared. ‘God give him true rest, but God be thanked.’ There, in that short phrase, Isabella confessed the truth. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at me, then gently patted Dunheved, who sat silently beside her.

‘Mathilde, ma cherie , my friend, you said in your note that you wished to have urgent words with me and Brother Stephen.’

‘My daughter,’ the Dominican smiled, ‘you have much to say?’

I stared hard at that sanctimonious killer.

‘Much to say,’ I whispered, ‘much to judge and much to condemn! Your grace,’ I turned to the queen, who was still leaning back, her thick veil pulled away from her face so she could see me clearly. Never had she looked so glorious. Regina Vivat! Regina Vincit! Regina Imperat! — The Queen Lives! The Queen Conquers! The Queen Rules!’ Isabella had come into her own.

‘Mathilde,’ she whispered, ‘I wait.’

‘When you came to England, your grace,’ I began, ‘you were a child, thirteen summers old but with a heart skilled in politic and subterfuge.’

Isabella laughed girlishly, covering her mouth with her bejewelled fingers, the silver froth of her cuff snow white against her golden skin.

‘Your husband entertained a deep passion for his favourite. God only knows the truth about their relationship, but you, your grace, did not object. You bent before the storm lest you break, and so you waited. One crisis followed another. Your husband the king was baited and harassed, and so were you, yet you remained faithful, loyal and serene. Earlier this year, four years on from your marriage, you became pregnant, the bearer of an heir. The possibility that you could produce the only living grandson of both Edward I and Philip of France became a reality. Your husband was delighted. Through you, he had silenced all the taunts and jibes of those who mocked his manhood. He was a prince who had begotten an heir on his loving wife. The dynasty would continue. Gaveston, however, had always viewed you as a threat. Even more so now. What did the king call Gaveston? Brother, but also son. You were about to change that.’

Isabella wafted her face with her hand. ‘Continue,’ she demanded softly.

‘By the spring of this year, Gaveston had emerged as a real threat to the Crown. Because of him, from the very first day of his succession, Edward had known no peace. Did the king, your husband, despite all his love for Gaveston, come to regard his favourite as increasingly irksome, especially when his love for you deepened and you became pregnant? Did Gaveston turn on the king, reminding him of those secret, malicious rumours about Edward being a changeling, the son of a peasant?’

‘Nonsense,’ Dunheved intervened. ‘Such stories do no harm to the king. Gaveston would not dare-’

‘Nonsense, Brother,’ Isabella mockingly echoed. ‘I must correct you. At this moment in time, such stories would do great damage to his grace. Gaveston would have done anything to save himself, to protect his position with the king. Four people knew the true Gaveston: the king, and we three. Mathilde, do continue.’

‘Gaveston grew desperate. He had isolated the king. No help came from the earls, France or the papacy. Only the Beaumonts, for their own selfish reasons, planted their standards close to Gaveston’s camp, but they could not be trusted. In the end, Gaveston was captured because he was defenceless. He was imprisoned and executed because he lacked any guard. More importantly, during the last months of his life he was reduced to treating with the likes of Alexander of Lisbon and his Noctales. Gaveston was desperate for troops. Lisbon could be useful, whilst it would also be a sop to both your father and the pope. In return the Portuguese would help — as long as there was no real threat. At Tynemouth that changed. The castle came under threat from both within and without. Lisbon left to meet his fate, but by then, the real damage had been done. Gaveston had given Lisbon secret information about a troop of Templars coming out of Scotland to York: specifically the day they would reach Devil’s Hollow. Lisbon set his trap. He massacred those Templars then plotted to murder those who went out to meet them.’

‘And Gaveston learnt that through Lanercost’s brother, a Templar serjeant?’ Isabella asked.

‘Of course. Lanercost the Aquilae gave his master such information, never dreaming it would be used to kill his brother. We, of course, told Lanercost what had truly happened. Undoubtedly he confronted Gaveston, who was horrified, probably for the very selfish reason that he had alienated one of his closest followers. Matters might have stopped there. Lanercost was furious; he became inebriated. He confided in his close comrade Leygrave how he felt betrayed.’ I pointed at Dunheved, who sat so placidly, hands tucked up the sleeves of his gown. ‘He also confided in you, Brother Stephen. Mere chance, yet on the other hand, what better person? A Dominican friar, the king’s own confessor, a man who could be trusted. The shrewd, ever-listening priest! Where did you meet him, Brother? Here in a lonely garden, a corner of the cloisters, with only the gargoyles, babewyns and stone-faced angels and saints as your silent witnesses?’

Dunheved removed his hands from his sleeves and threaded the tasselled end of the cord around his waist. For a heartbeat I wondered whether he’d ever used that to strangle a victim.

‘You are an accomplished man, Brother Stephen. Demontaigu made enquiries about you here in the Dominican house in York. You are the brother of Lord Thomas Dunheved from the West Country, a former squire, a man once harnessed for war.’ I paused. ‘A scholar deeply interested in the peal of bells. You wrote De Sonitu Tonitorum — Concerning the Peal of Bells . Understandably you became a visitor to the belfry here. You befriended poor Brother Eusebius, whom you later murdered.’

Isabella sat up straight. She’d taken a set of coral Ave beads from the silken purse on her waist cord and was fingering the cross. Dunheved, God save him, stared at me as if relishing every word I uttered.

‘Lanercost came to you,’ I pointed to the Dominican, ‘to confess, to confide, I don’t know which. He gave vent to his anger and sadness. Gaveston had betrayed both him and his brother, so in revenge, Lanercost betrayed Gaveston. He would wax hot and lyrical about what he and the others had done for the favourite in Scotland.’

‘Which was?’ Isabella intervened sharply.

‘A blasphemously murderous plot!’

‘To which my husband was not party.’

‘I don’t think so, your grace. Lanercost was sent into Scotland ostensibly to seek help against the earls. Secretly, Gaveston and his Aquilae proposed thier own plot: the capture of Edward’s queen, to be held to ransom or even,’ I paused, ‘killed.’

‘Bruce, a prince?’ Isabella murmured. ‘Party to that?’

‘Mistress, I have heard the same before, yet how many of Bruce’s ladies, as well as those of his generals, Stuart, Murray and Randolph, have not been seized, violated or killed? Bruce himself may have baulked at it, but his commanders would not have. War by fire and sword rages in Scotland. What would they care? It could have happened, as it nearly did at Tynemouth: a stray arrow, an unknown swordsman. After all, one of your grace’s ladies died in that bloody affray.’

My mistress simply tightened her lips and glanced away.

‘Ostensibly,’ I continued, ‘Gaveston negotiated on behalf of the king. Secretly he and his coven were plotting the removal, perhaps even death, of his queen, Edward’s wife.’

‘Why?’ Dunheved’s voice was sharp and taunting.

‘You know that, Brother, as I do. Gaveston was now truly jealous of her grace. He saw her and her child as supplanting him in Edward’s affections. He fiercely resented the expected heir. Gaveston was a spoilt, pampered fop. He wanted to return to the old days when he and Edward were together, isolated from everyone.’