Paul Doherty - The Darkening Glass

‘And how was this to be done?’ Isabella demanded.

‘Why, your grace,’ I replied, ‘easy enough with the court vulnerable in the north and Bruce’s forces ready to cross the border in lightning raids as they did at Tynemouth. But I hurry on. Did Dunheved tell you, your grace, what he’d learnt from Lanercost?’

Isabella stared glassily back: no smile, no coquetry, just a hard, cold look. Beside the queen, Dunheved shifted rather nervously.

‘You, Brother Stephen, were furious. Determined that these men who threatened her grace would pay for their treason. You relished that: judge and hangman. Your cause was certainly right. What Gaveston plotted was horrid murder and heinous treason.’

‘To which my husband was not party,’ Isabella repeated.

‘My lady, no, I do not think so, and neither do you. Gaveston just wanted to rid himself of you and your child. You, Brother, decided not to strike directly at the favourite but to weaken him, as well as to punish him and his coven for their crimes. Lanercost was first. He had to be removed swiftly lest he had a change of heart and confessed to his master about what he’d said and to whom. Above all, punishment had to be carried out. Brother Stephen, you have a mordant sense of humour. You decided to bring Gaveston and his so-called eagles crashing to the ground. Just like Simon Magus, the magician who could fly, cast out of the sky by St Peter. You referred to that legend. What better place for it than the belfry of this friary, supervised by the witless Brother Eusebius, whom you had befriended? You could go up and inspect the great bells, the chimes of which you listened to. Do you remember, I was sitting here? You came over to discuss matters and made some passing remark about the chimes not being in accord, but that does not concern us now. You had decided the belfry was the ideal place for punishment: isolated, a sanctuary haunted only by someone you regarded as fey and witless.’

‘And Lanercost would go up there?’ Dunheved jibed.

‘Of course! Why shouldn’t he go with his father confessor, the friendly Dominican priest who only wanted to help? He trusted you so much he took his war-belt off to climb those steps.’

‘I was celebrating mass when he fell.’

‘I know that, Brother, I was also there, but you killed Lanercost much earlier that morning, just after Brother Eusebius had scuttled off to break his fast in the refectory or buttery. You and Lanercost went up to the bell tower, an ideal place where no one could see you or eavesdrop on a conversation. You struck him a killing blow to the back of his head that shattered his skull. By the time his corpse fell, bouncing off the brickwork and the roof of the nave to smash against the ground, it simply became one injury amongst many.’

‘And how was that done,’ Isabella asked, ‘if Brother Stephen was celebrating mass?’

‘The ledge of the belfry window overlooking the friary yard is broad, slightly sloping. It had been raining, so it would also be slippery. Lanercost’s corpse was laid there, an easy enough task that cannot have been observed from below. Dunheved then left. Later the bells were tolled at the end of mass. Brother Eusebius told me to be careful when I climbed into the belfry. He explained how the belfry shuddered with the noise and the echo. That alone would make the corpse slide. More importantly, the thick rim of one of those great bells skims the ledge.’ I used my hand to demonstrate. ‘Sooner or later that bell, together with the sound and the shaking, would shift Lanercost’s corpse along that slippery, sloping edge to fall in a hideous drop, hitting the roof of the nave before crashing on to the cobbled yard. I agree, you were with us when that happened. As you were when the same fate befell Leygrave.’ I glanced quickly at the queen; she sat staring at the ground. Dunheved turned slightly away, face screwed up in concentration as he listened to me.

‘Surely,’ the Dominican turned back, joining his hands, ‘Leygrave would be suspicious, especially after the death of his close comrade Lanercost?’

‘Why should he be, Brother? Lanercost trusted you; so did Leygrave. Perhaps Leygrave knew all about the ghostly comfort you’d given his comrade. I cannot say how you sprang the trap. Did you tell Leygrave you wanted to see him privately — the same reason you gave Lanercost — in a place where the crowded court could not learn what was going on? Why should Leygrave suspect the holy-faced Dominican, so earnest in his help, so comforting in his words? An innocent invitation, a visit to the place where his comrade died, perhaps to search for something suspicious?’ I studied that hard-hearted priest, who betrayed no shame or guilt, not even a blink or a wince. ‘You lured Leygrave to that belfry. You killed him and arranged the corpse as you did Lanercost’s. You made one mistake. To create the impression that Leygrave might have committed suicide, once you had killed him with a blow to the back of his head, you pulled off his boots and made a muddy imprint on that ledge. You then put the boots back on the corpse and left it as you did Lanercost’s. At the next peal of bells the corpse would slip over silently like a bundle of cloth. That’s how the fire boy described it: no scream, no yell, just dropping like a bird stunned on the wing.’ I turned and gestured at that fateful tower rearing up against the evening sky. ‘My good friend Demontaigu, much to the surprise of Father Prior and the brothers, took up a man of straw clothed and cloaked. He left it on that ledge.’ I smiled thinly. ‘Eventually, during a bell-tolling, it fell, confirming my suspicions. Indeed, it’s the only logical explanation. As I said, who’d fear an innocent unarmed Dominican? But of course, Brother, you weren’t always that, were you?’

Dunheved grinned as if savouring some private joke.

‘You told me how you performed military service as a squire. You are as much a warrior and a killer as any of those you murdered.’

‘You said I made a mistake,’ Dunheved asked, ‘about Leygrave?’

‘I never told you,’ I declared, ‘about the muddy imprint left by Leygrave’s boots on that ledge, not in such minute detail. Yet when I discussed his death with you and Demontaigu, you mentioned it. How did you know?’

‘I. . I think you did. .’

‘Mathilde.’ Isabella’s voice held a sharp rebuke. ‘Finish what you have begun.’

‘And so to Duckett’s Tower at Tynemouth,’ I declared. ‘A place of intrigue and terror. I always wondered, Brother, why the king’s confessor should accompany us. Undoubtedly you persuaded the king that his queen needed you. His grace was so distracted, he would have agreed to anything.’ I paused. ‘I understand your concern, but murder was your principal motive. Undoubtedly at Tynemouth the Aquilae, unbeknown to any of us, had been in secret, treasonable communication with Bruce’s raiding party. They were responsible for those signals sent from the night-shrouded walls of the castle, as they were for loosening the postern gate. They looked shamefaced enough on that war-cog, and so they should have been. They’d plotted to be safely aboard when the Scots launched their ambush. You had already moved against those malignants. You would have loved to have killed them all, but that was not possible. So you struck at Kennington, one cold, windswept morning long before dawn. Rosselin and Middleton had completed their watch; they’d be cold and tired, even fearful. They and their retainers would be fast asleep.’ I shrugged. ‘God knows if you drugged their drink and food.’

‘I tell you. .’ Dunheved seemed angry, not so much at being accused but more that it was by me a woman. I recognised that arrogance in his soul. I’d glimpsed it before in men who regard women as the weaker in every respect. ‘I tell you,’ he repeated, ‘I know nothing about your potions and powders.’