Paul Doherty - The Poison Maiden

‘What do you mean?’

‘In a while. Continue, Mathilde.’

‘The Great Lords and Langton were delighted by your secret sustenance and comfort. You reached an unwritten agreement with them.’ I paused, watching those hate-filled eyes. Margaret’s hands fell to the cord around her waist, and I wondered if she had a knife concealed.

‘You would act as mediator but advise them on as much as you could about the king’s secret councils.’

‘But surely in time the Great Lords,’ Margaret jibed, ‘would inform Edward about my so-called deviousness? I was vulnerable to any of them betraying me.’

‘Nonsense,’ I replied. ‘What proof did they have? I suspect you dealt with only Langton, Pembroke and Lincoln and no one else.’ I paused. ‘You would negotiate with them individually. Why should Langton expose you as the Poison Maiden? No one would believe him, whilst he would lose a valuable ally. As for Lincoln and Pembroke — oh, you’d play the wise woman who wanted to help your stepson, whom you so admire, whilst fully understanding the Great Lords’ aversion to the favourite. Moreover, why should Lincoln and Pembroke confess to plotting against the king? They would hardly wish to incriminate themselves, so they scarce would mention you. They would understand your role. You portrayed yourself as the pious queen dowager, deeply concerned by her stepson’s actions, alarmed at the rise of the Gascon favourite. Of course, Langton’s fall from grace, his sudden arrest, the attack on the Templars, the seizure of their estates, particularly New Temple Church, was an obstacle. However, you clearly tried to resolve that by pleading with your stepson to cede New Temple to Winchelsea so the Lords could gain control over Langton’s secret hoard. They could then have continued their opposition indefinitely whilst working hard for Langton’s release.’ I paused, planning my next words carefully. ‘Now the royal prosecutors,’ Margaret started at the implied threat, ‘will argue that your ultimate plan was to weaken the king and his kingdom, make it more malleable for your brother to eventually subdue. The Lords might sense this but, of course, blinded by their hatred for Gaveston, tolerate such meddling. In truth they were unaware of your real plot.’ Guido muttered something in the patois of the Paris slums. A prayer? A curse? I could not say, but those few words assured me I had struck to the heart.

‘Plot? Real plot?’ The queen dowager was flustered, her face snow white, eyes desperate.

‘Oh yes! The Great Lords and Langton did not fully understand Philip’s subtle moves on the chessboard. He dreams, doesn’t he, of being the new Charlemagne, dominating kings, princes and popes? He hopes to control everything through marriages. My mistress married her husband and Philip used Lord Gaveston’s rise to meddle more deeply in the affairs of this kingdom. In the beginning he hoped Edward would become his client king, but now to the real plot.’ I leaned forward. ‘What if both King Edward and his favourite disappeared, were killed in a fire or assassinated soon afterwards? To whom could the Lords turn? Which prince has Plantagenet blood? Edward has no sons; that only leaves, madam, your infant offspring, Edmund of Woodstock and Thomas of Brotherton. My mistress, if she survived the plot, would be dispatched back to France, the poor widow. You, however, madam, would enter your glory. The queen mother of future kings, possibly regent of the kingdom guided, of course, by brother Philip and his minions! Little wonder you became so agitated at the possibility that your niece might be pregnant; that would have posed problems!’

Margaret sat tense, shaking her head.

‘Sweet kinswoman,’ Isabella’s voice thrilled with sarcasm, ‘is that why I was to die as well?’

Margaret refused to meet her gaze.

‘And you,’ I turned, ‘Guido the Psalter, Pierre Bernard — you are no fugitive from French justice. You are no supporter of Edward, whatever you pretend. You are a high-ranking member of the Secreti, Philip’s coven of spies and assassins, dispatched to England to assist Queen Margaret. You know a great deal about murder, and such skills were certainly needed. You pretended to be Marigny’s enemy when you are, in fact, close to his heart. You act the jester when in truth you’re a Judas. You are here to protect, sustain and nourish Philip’s great enterprise. However, nothing under the sun goes as smoothly as we would wish; obstacles and problems afflict even princes. You were here to remove such obstacles. Chapeleys was the first. He wished to be free of the Tower, to negotiate with the king. I doubt if he knew the full plot, but he’d learnt where Langton had hidden his treasure hoard and, perhaps, that the queen dowager was not to be trusted. When he came here, Chapeleys brought some proof of his allegations but that was burnt by his assassin. Whiling away the hours, however, he took out a scrap of parchment, and using what he thought was a secret cipher, carefully made note of his intended revelations.’

‘But. .’ Guido stumbled over his words.

‘Listen,’ Isabella replied harshly, ‘don’t plead, don’t lie. You, sir, had me marked down for death!’

‘You accompanied Demontaigu and myself to the Tower. You are your mistress’ messenger to Langton, who, of course, denies all knowledge of Philip’s plot though he would bear witness to your treachery. On that day you acted the skilled physician, a leech conversing with Langton while tending to his leg, but as Langton was talking loudly, you crept back to the door, where you overheard Chapeleys pleading with me. After that clerk had left, you followed me to the Chapel of St John the Evangelist. You were probably already suspicious of Demontaigu. On that day you made a discovery: not only was Demontaigu a Templar, but he was planning to meet with his separated brethren the following evening at the Chapel of the Hanged.’

‘I never overheard you,’ Guido stammered.

‘Oh yes you did,’ I mocked. ‘I returned to the Tower, as you well know. I left Langton’s chamber, re-entered that chapel and recalled the events of that day: talking to Chapeleys, then moving into St John’s to converse with Demontaigu. You’re an accomplished spy, Master Guido, used to eavesdropping, to listening secretly, as you did that day. I would wager you were suspicious about the preacher on the Tower quayside. The way he approached Demontaigu, who whirled round to face him.’ I never waited for an answer. ‘You’re a clerk from the secret chancery — you would recognise a cipher, a hidden message, when you heard one. In the end you hastened back to warn Marigny. He and Alexander of Lisbon plotted the attack on the Templars at the Chapel of the Hanged. You would take care of Chapeleys and immediately. .’ I paused, listening to sounds outside, and took a deep gulp of fresh spring water from a cup.

‘You discovered that Chapeleys was lodged in Demontaigu’s chamber. The royal banquet was about to begin. You entered the maidservants’ quarters, a shabby, ill-lit room where they keep their cloaks and other clothing. You stole some of these. You dressed quickly in disguise. You’re a mimer, Guido, able to act different parts. You did not wish to be glimpsed hastening across the palace yards and up darkening staircases. You made a mistake. You were disturbed by a maid, Rebecca Atte-Stowe. You killed that poor woman and continued with your devious plot. You slipped out into the dark; you’d wait for Demontaigu to go into the banquet. Chapeleys would be alone in that chamber and easily fooled. Did you mimic me or declare that Demontaigu or I had sent you? Chapeleys, lonely and vulnerable, was tricked into opening that door. Again the garrotte string was used and Chapeleys was killed. The contents of his chancery pouch were quickly emptied, studied and burnt. You then dragged his corpse across to the window-door. You took the fire rope; one end was tied to a ring on the wall, the other you lashed tightly around Chapeleys’ neck. The rope was thick and coarse; you positioned it so that the weal in the still warm flesh would hide all signs of the garrotte string. You doused all lights, pushed open those window-doors and hanged poor Chapeleys. To deepen the mystery, you locked and bolted the chamber door from inside, compelling proof that Chapeleys simply despaired, burnt his papers and hanged himself. You then used that same rope around the corpse of your victim to clamber down into the darkness. You quickly removed your disguise and hastened to join the banquet in Burgundy Hall. You were the king’s special guest. The guards at the main gateway knew you. People were coming and going. No evidence to show that you had just carried out a foul deed.’