Paul Doherty - The Darkening Glass

Dunheved shook his head and made to leave. Isabella whispered something hoarsely in a patois I could not understand, but I am sure she told him to go. The Dominican had lost some of his quiet arrogance. He rose and bowed to the queen.

‘Your grace, I beg you to excuse me.’

‘You are certainly excused, Brother.’

‘I would like words with Mistress Mathilde.’

‘If she wishes words with you alone, Brother, you may both withdraw, but Mathilde must return unscathed.’ She gestured quickly at me as a sign to go with Dunheved.

I did so, following him into the next enclosure of the rose garden. Behind me I heard the queen calling for her squires. Dunheved walked over to the wicket gate leading towards the Galilee Porch of the friary church. It was twilight, the hour of the bat. Flittering black shapes darted through the half-light. Dusk time, when the demons walk and the gargoyles and babewyns allegedly turn to flesh so as to prowl through the world of men. A fitting time to confront an assassin with a fair face and foul heart. Dunheved turned abruptly at the gate and peered at me.

‘What I did,’ his words came as a hiss, ‘was for the king, the Crown and the welfare of this realm.’

‘True, Brother, but it could have also been done by usage of law. The Aquilae might have provoked God’s vengeance, but helpless Eusebius, the poor Pilgrim, Kennington’s two retainers? More importantly, Brother,’ I stepped closer, ‘you relished your role. You enjoyed it. I doubt if this was the first time you’d killed. I am sure it will not be the last.’

‘The king would never believe you.’ Dunheved was now blustering. ‘Nor will any court, be it the king’s or the pope’s.’ He shook himself as if casting away any doubt or guilt. ‘I did God’s work.’

‘Which makes you truly dangerous, Brother. No man is more sinister than when he decides that God has selected him to deal out death and judgement according to His whim. You can go,’ I continued. ‘The king will not know, but God knows. You, Brother, revelled in wielding the power of life and death. You have moved from strength to strength, exulting in what you do and what you have done. You walk a gorgeous path of power, or so you think, but those you murdered glide through the dusk either side of you. One day they will hold you to account.’

‘Mathilde,’ Dunheved smirked, ‘you should have been a religious.’

‘Like you, Brother?’

Dunheved shrugged, mockingly blessed me and was gone.

I walked back to the queen. She dismissed her squires and patted the seat next to her.

‘Mathilde. You do have questions? I know you are brimming with them. Did I know? Dunheved told me in confidence what he’d learnt from Lanercost. He said for me to watch, as God would punish the Aquilae. I did not really care.’ Isabella played with a ring on her finger. ‘I could not voice, even to you, my worst suspicions. Was Gaveston really plotting my destruction? Above all,’ tears brimmed in those beautiful eyes, ‘was my husband? I decided to resist, to turn the king’s heart from Gaveston and his coven.’

‘They admitted as much,’ I intervened. ‘Both Rosselin and Gaveston said you were more subtle than a serpent. Gaveston confessed I had saved him from great sin, namely your death and that of your unborn child. Rosselin and the rest also came to regret their plotting, but it was too late. They must have been mystified as to who was their hidden enemy. You? Gaveston? The king?’

‘My fears haunted me,’ Isabella murmured. ‘In the end it came down to power. Edward had to decide to save either himself, me and our child, or Gaveston. He made his choice.’

‘Your grace could have taken me into her confidence.’

‘What about?’ Isabella whispered. ‘That Dunheved was a killer? I only began to suspect him after Scarborough. For a while I thought Gaveston was killing his own. I became absorbed with him. I could not believe he would plot such wickedness; well, not till Tynemouth, and that was proof enough. I questioned Dunheved on his return from Warwick about whether he had had a hand in the death of the Aquilae. He denied it, blaming Gaveston. Dunheved will never admit his crimes, not to me or to the king. You he despises as some kitchen wench not worth bothering about. I did not really care for the Aquilae. After Tynemouth I was concerned only about my child. I confronted Edward.’ She turned blue eyes brimming with tears. ‘He did not deny that it was possible Gaveston might wish to hurt me.’

‘Did you threaten the king?’

‘Yes, Mathilde, I threatened the king my husband, the father of my child. I taunted him with the allegation that Gaveston knew about the changeling story. Was Gaveston, I screamed, blackmailing him? Edward remained silent.’ She sighed. ‘Now, as you know, French ships, alerted by the growing crisis, appeared off the coast. In Whitby I communicated with the seigneur of the flotilla; the master of the The Wyvern was my emissary. He brought letters from my father offering assistance. I responded that, if necessary, I would flee England on board a French ship.’

‘But you decided against that.’

‘Yes, Mathilde, I travelled to York. I pleaded with my husband to separate from Gaveston and allow him to go to Scarborough Castle. Anywhere, just away from us. I urged Dunheved to support me, and he did. I also told my husband that if Gaveston did not go into exile, I would.’

She smiled at my surprise.

‘I threatened to take sanctuary in Holcombe church, then ask to be escorted to the nearest port to take ship to my county of Ponthieu. Once there, I would don widow’s weeds, enter a nunnery and claim that, until Gaveston left England, I had no husband.’

‘And Edward would have been publicly humiliated?’ I declared.

‘True,’ Isabella agreed. ‘Both I and his son would be beyond his power. What else could I do? Gaveston had been with us for four years, Mathilde.’ The queen’s lips grew tight, her words coming out in a hoarse whisper. ‘For four years I put up with his foolishness, his arrogance, his provocation of the earls. I let him wine and dine, dance and strut, but I watched his eyes. As I grew older, he began to resent me. He feigned great pleasure that I was pregnant, but he didn’t hide it so well. Lanercost’s confession to Dunheved simply confirmed my own deep suspicions. My husband was deeply shocked. Mathilde, his love for Gaveston never really threatened me, but when he saw it might. .’

‘So the king let Gaveston go to his fate?’

‘Yes, Mathilde, you have it in one. I begged him to let God dispose. Edward grew more malleable after Tynemouth. To be truthful, he was also tired, eager for change, for a respite, wary of Gaveston’s growing obsession. In the end,’ Isabella pulled a face, ‘the king simply did nothing. He let events manifest God’s will.’

‘But now Gaveston is dead, the king may change?’

‘No, no,’ Isabella declared. ‘Edward takes great comfort from the thought that Gaveston wove his own fate. He recognises that, as he does the fact that I had no choice but to defend myself. So. .’ She turned away.

‘And Dunheved?’ I asked.

‘Brother Stephen will no longer be my confessor, Mathilde. I never suspected he was a killer until I heard what happened in Scarborough and afterwards. I shall distance myself from him. He remains the king’s confidant. God knows, no action will be taken against him. Edward will simply not want to know. Moreover, the king will be eager to test his new freedom, rejoice in his power, exult that his lovely wife bears his heir. As for the future. .’ She grasped my hand. ‘Mathilde, ma fille , finish your business here, then join me at the abbey early tomorrow after the Jesus mass. Let this matter rest.’