Paul Doherty - The Poison Maiden

Ap Ythel had gone into the city, but I found his lieutenant, a sandy-headed Welshman named Ap Rhys, dicing with some of his comrades in the small guardroom near the gatehouse. I begged him to come with me. His companions whistled and joked in their lilting voices. Ap Rhys was about to refuse, but he caught my fearful expression so he shrugged, put his dice back into his wallet and followed me across the garden to that small outhouse. I pulled the sack out, Ap Rhys helping me. He emptied the contents on to the soil and crouched down.

‘Arbalests,’ he exclaimed, ‘and pouches! Do you know how they got here, mistress?’

I shook my head. ‘Do you?’ I asked.

Ap Rhys made a face.

‘Tell me.’ I crouched down beside him. ‘If I was to attack the king or this palace, how would I do it?’

He scratched his head. ‘Mistress, I’m an archer, a bowman, not an assassin. You think these were left here for such mischief?’

‘Perhaps.’ I recalled Robert the groom’s words and that sinister reference to the Tenebrae.

‘Don’t be alarmed.’ Ap Rhys put the pouches back into the sack and tied the twine around the neck. ‘I will take these.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll not tell anybody.’ He caught my curious look. ‘Mistress,’ he grinned, ‘this may not be the work of some enemy hostile to our king; more likely a thief. We have stores here. It is not unknown for soldiers to try to make a quick profit. They steal bows, daggers, crossbows, hide them away, then take them into the city markets.’ He kicked the sack, then picked it up. ‘You’d get a pouch of silver for these.’

‘Ap Rhys?’

‘Yes, mistress?’ He walked back.

‘When Ap Ythel returns, tell him what we found and where.’ I held my hand up. ‘And ask him this. If the three of us were planning to attack his grace the King, or my lord Gaveston, or both, how would we do it? Please.’ I grasped his hand. ‘In this, favour me?’ Ap Rhys nodded, adding that he’d do anything for a pretty face, then sauntered off.

I decided to leave the herbs. I was tired, still agitated. I returned to my own chamber, drank half a goblet of wine and tended to the braziers. I took off my shoes and upper gown and lay down on the bed, wrapping myself tightly in its coverlet. I only intended to sleep for a while but it was dark when Isabella shook me awake.

‘Quick, quick, Mathilde,’ she urged. ‘His grace the king and my lord Gaveston need to see you.’ She was garbed in a fur-lined cloak with a deep hood. She shook me roughly, the capped candle in her left hand dazzling my eyes. I climbed out of bed and made myself ready as swiftly as possible. Ap Ythel and some of the archers were waiting in the passageway outside. Ap Ythel’s expression told me everything. They had found something in the church at New Temple. Isabella confirmed this in hushed, excited whispers as we went along the shadow-filled gallery.

The king and Gaveston were waiting, swatched in costly night robes. Both were rejoicing, sharing a two-handled loving cup between them. The chamber was bathed in candlelight and the cause of their joy was plain to see: coffers, caskets, chests, boxes and bags all open to reveal a king’s ransom in gold and silver coin, jewels and an array of precious goblets, belts, necklaces, rings, pectoral crosses and costly gems, all sparkling in the bright light. Edward and Gaveston had drunk deeply. Once Ap Ythel had withdrawn, Edward roaring at him to keep close guard outside, both men embraced me, hugging me close and smothering me in their exquisite perfume. Edward scooped up a pile of gold and silver coins and pressed them into my hands.

‘What else do you want?’ he asked.

Still sleepy, I went down on my knees as I slipped the coins safely into a pouch on the inside of my robe.

‘A title?’ Gaveston teased.

‘Pardons,’ I answered quickly. ‘Your grace,’ I gestured round, ‘what happened?’

‘As you said.’ The king dragged a chair across; he sat down and waved at Gaveston and Isabella to make themselves comfortable.

‘My lord?’

Edward turned to Gaveston. The favourite took another deep drink and passed the cup to the king. I glanced quickly at Isabella. She sat there all docile, a fixed smile on her face, but I could see anger in those light-blue eyes as she played with the tendrils of her hair. Gaveston whispered to the king, and the loving cup was passed to her. Isabella drank quickly, not taking her eyes off me. Gaveston explained how he and Ap Ythel had arrived at the Templar church.

‘The postern door was sealed and locked. We of course had the key. Strange,’ Gaveston wagged a finger at me, ‘I shall return to that. Inside, Mathilde, well it was the first time I’d ever been there. A solemn place, full of ghosts and ancient memories, beautiful paintings on the wall and nine stone effigies on the floor. At first I was reluctant. I felt as if I was committing blasphemy. Ap Ythel examined the paving stones just beneath each of those effigies which bore the title of Pembroke. We found nothing, and then I remembered what you had told us: sub pede — seven letters in all. I counted the paving stones from the feet of William Marshal, the premier Earl of Pembroke; the seventh stone was loose. To the naked eye, nothing was amiss. We used bars and levers. The paving stone came up, and beneath was a wooden slat expertly placed there to keep it firm. The slat was wedged tightly in. We removed it, and underneath was a rope ladder, neatly coiled. We loosened and unrolled it. Ap Ythel, holding a torch, went down; I followed. The cavern beneath was square, formed on each side by rough ancient stone, airless and musty but definitely used as a treasure hold. We lit the cresset torches in the walls,’ Gaveston gestured round, ‘and found Langton’s hoard. Drokensford and his exchequer clerks calculate a treasure of at least seventy thousand pounds sterling.’

I gasped in astonishment.

‘There could have been more,’ Edward intervened testily, ‘but someone had been there before us.’

I glanced at Isabella. She had curbed her anger and smiled tenderly at me.

‘Who, we don’t know,’ Gaveston retorted. ‘We entered by the corpse door; it was locked and sealed. The other doors were barred and bolted.’ He shook his head. ‘To my memory, the seals were unbroken before we entered.’

‘Was New Temple guarded?’ Isabella asked.

‘A few men-at-arms.’ Edward shrugged. ‘I and my council thought it held no treasure.’

‘Your grace,’ I bowed, ‘how do you know the treasury had been entered?’

‘One coffer had been forced,’ Gaveston replied, ‘two large sacks emptied. Drokensford believes five to six thousand pounds has been removed. But. .’ He handed the loving cup back to the king and rubbed his face.

‘Langton will be beside himself with rage. He must be told.’ Isabella’s voice turned harsh. ‘He may have removed some of that treasure himself after it was placed there.’

‘Yet when he was arrested,’ the king remarked, ‘he proclaimed himself penniless. His chambers were searched, and nothing was found.’

‘He may have given it to someone else. But in the mean time,’ Isabella continued, ‘my lords, I beg you. Be prudent, be cunning! Use this wealth to entice the likes of Pembroke and Lincoln into your camp. To quote the great Augustine: “ flectamur nec flectimur ” — “let us bend before the storm lest we break under it”. We must concede more to the Great Lords, even if it is only for a time.’ Her words sobered Edward and Gaveston, who glanced sheepishly at each other like boys being lectured by their mother.

‘Lincoln and Pembroke,’ Isabella continued, ‘are the most susceptible, or at least so I understand.’ She smiled thinly. ‘They are certainly beginning to baulk at my father’s envoys over their long stay and their meddling in what they call the affairs of the English crown.’