Paul Doherty: The Darkening Glass

‘The next morning you ensured that Demontaigu gave the corpse the last rites while you joined us in Rosselin’s chamber. You pretended to collect his possessions into a basket. Once again, in the blink of an eye, you changed one key for another. Your vengeance was now complete. All five Aquilae had been executed in a way that suited their lives, falling from glory to a grisly death. The siege began. You found it simple enough to break the bruised reed. The garrison was unnerved by strange calls and sounds. It was an easy task for a Dominican knowledgeable about witches and warlocks. The well was polluted, the food stocks burnt — all your doing. Who would suspect a Dominican priest, a royal confessor?’

‘You did!’ Dunheved taunted. ‘Surely the Aquilae would have?’

‘No, no!’ I retorted. ‘The Aquilae, in Rosselin’s words, were broken. They had been involved in the most horrid treason. They were trapped in it; there was no going back. Resented by most, deserted by their lord, who could they turn to? Rosselin was even reduced to begging for my help. They were like sheep without a shepherd, alone, vulnerable to the ever-watching wolf: you!’

‘And afterwards,’ Isabella asked, ‘the capture of Gaveston?’

‘God knows, your grace. I have little proof. I believe Pembroke was honest and true enough. Beauchamp of Warwick and the others needed little encouragement to seize Gaveston. Did you, Brother, send an anonymous message to Warwick telling him to follow us? You had the opportunity for such mischief when you took Gaveston’s acceptance to Pembroke. Did you leave similar messages at taverns where we paused before arriving at Deddington to lodge for the night? Warwick would do the rest. He lured Pembroke away, leaving Gaveston vulnerable, but there again, you realised, as I did, that once he’d separated from the king, Gaveston was finished. I am sure you secretly worked to achieve that. Did you advise or encourage the king to choose Scarborough as the best place for refuge, when in fact it certainly wasn’t?’ I glanced quickly at the queen. ‘Though God knows what further encouragement persuaded him to separate himself from his favourite.’

Isabella did not flinch. Ah, I thought, when will she reveal her own role in all of this? Dunheved, tapping his sandalled feet dramatically against the paving stone, abruptly rose and smoothed out his robe.

‘I’m a priest,’ he cleared his throat, ‘a cleric. I claim benefit of clergy. I cannot be tried by the king’s courts.’

‘His grace can certainly be informed.’

Dunheved smiled patronisingly at me.

‘About what?’ He sat down, hands clasped. ‘Did I not tell you, mistress?’ He smiled. ‘I heard the lord Gaveston’s confession.’

‘Which cannot be revealed,’ I taunted.

‘On the night before he was taken, he confessed to me after absolution that he’d killed all the Aquilae in the very same way you have described to me.’ Dunheved chewed the corner of his lip.

‘Check and check again,’ I whispered. ‘Every piece I move, you block. Oh, I know you, Brother. You’ll demand to be tried by Church courts, which are more lenient. You’ll claim your innocence and point to Gaveston, using the very evidence I have now supplied you with. You’ll cause enough confusion, sow enough doubt to nullify proceedings completely, and of course, the king would not like to see his confessor being exposed to public shame.’

‘More importantly, mistress,’ Dunheved pointed at me, ‘you could become a laughing stock, the wench who laid false accusation against the king’s own confessor.’

‘Be careful, Brother,’ Isabella whispered hoarsely. ‘Be very, very careful.’

‘Your grace,’ Dunheved murmured, ‘I’m simply saying what others would say. Gaveston killed his own for his own selfish reasons. He was totally bound up with himself. We all agree on that. He was evil and has now gone to his just reward. A man, your grace, let me remind you, who tried to betray you to the Scots, the king’s mortal enemies; who put your life and that of your unborn child at risk.’

‘And how will you account for Brother Eusebius?’ I accused. ‘Strange,’ I gestured at him, ‘in all our meetings you rarely asked me about him. At Tynemouth when I mentioned his death, you ignored me and abruptly asked about Kennington. Why, Brother? Did you feel guilty, or were you cautious lest any discussion might betray a mistake on your part? After all, you were nearly trapped when I went down to the charnel house. You had to flee, locking that trap door behind you. Brother, you were dismissive of me; I was someone to be patronised. A stupid snooping maid who could be frightened, as you tried to do when I went into the belfry after Lanercost’s death. You began to sound those bells.’

‘Brother!’ Isabella hissed. ‘Mathilde is of my household, my chamber!’

‘Poor Eusebius,’ I continued. ‘You considered him a fool, but he was sharper. He, in fact, gave you the idea for that mocking verse about the Aquilae flying so high. He mentioned to me how Theobald the lovesick novice tried to fly like an eagle. You befriended Eusebius, but he glimpsed things out of place. He nourished his own suspicious about you. Perhaps he hoped for more silver from you. He referred to himself as the bat and asked his prior if a bat could be more cunning than a dog. He was making a play on the name of your order: Domini Canes — Dogs or Hounds of the Lord. He also talked of lux et tenebrae — light and darkness — a reference to your secret ways, as well as to the black and white garb you wear. Eusebius thought he was safe. He revelled in the game. He etched a drawing on the wall of his closet in the bell tower: a bat and what looked like a hairy dog or leopard. In fact it was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A reference to you, because Eusebius was sure he’d glimpsed you hurrying through the Galilee Porch on the day Leygrave was killed. He turned menacing. You gave Leygrave the last rites. Eusebius was close by. He babbled to me, intimating that he knew more than he’d confessed. In fact he was secretly threatening you. You overheard and decided to silence his chattering tongue. You followed him down into the charnel house and crushed his skull with a bone. You removed from his tray any coins or medals you’d given him, including a button on a shard of cloth from the livery of the Beaumonts, and left that as a distraction.’ I shrugged. ‘The Beaumonts were a mere irritation, fearful of being distanced from the king and what he might be plotting regarding their precious estates in Scotland. They were only concerned about themselves. I nearly caught you that day down in the charnel house. Little wonder you joined me and Demontaigu to judge what progress I was making. Very subtle! To be the hunted who could join the hunters whenever he wished and discover what was being plotted.’ I sighed. ‘So, Brother, how do you plead about poor Eusebius?’

‘You have no real proof.’

‘True,’ I conceded, ‘as I have no real evidence you murdered the Pilgrim. He came here disguised as a Franciscan. He wanted to tell me a secret. You saw me talking to someone garbed as a friar. We later left the Priory and went down Pig Sty Alley to the Pot of Fire. Believe me, Brother, the murder you committed that evening was most callous. You considered the slaying of the Aquilae as just punishment. Brother Eusebius had to be silenced because of what he might have seen and heard, but the Pilgrim was mere chance. You were concerned lest some Franciscan here, apart from Eusebius, might also have seen or heard something untoward. You dared not strike at me or mine because of her grace, but the Pilgrim was a different matter. You took a crossbow and waited for us to return, to step into that pool of light. You killed the Pilgrim and slipped away. You murdered another human being for no other reason than just in case. .’