Paul Doherty - The Cup of Ghosts

‘My lords, I beg you, listen to me. Let me take any oath you wish on the pyx holding Christ’s blessed body or the sacred book of the Gospels.’

‘My lady, what is this?’

‘We have reflected on the deaths of Baquelle, Sandewic and Rossaleti.’

Her answer provoked a response. Edward and Gaveston looked agitated and worried.

‘Listen, my lords,’ Isabella urged. ‘Listen well to Mathilde.’ She turned and pointed at me. ‘Tell them.’

I repeated word for word everything I’d told the queen. I spoke direct. At first both men pulled faces and shook their heads, but my sentences, like arrows, were loosed in a hail. I did not describe the villainy in detail but, having stated my hypothesis, moved ruthlessly to its logical conclusion. Edward, slightly pale-faced, sat back in his chair, gesturing that Isabella too should take her place. The queen, however, shook her head. I continued. Gaveston interrupted me with a spate of questions which I answered. Once I’d finished, Isabella again stretched out her hands.

‘ Mon seigneur , my husband, please listen to me. I have played your game but now it is ended. I beg you, my lord, to tell me the truth. Tell me you had no hand in the deaths of these men, Pourte and the rest.’

‘Of course not!’ Edward shouted, banging the table. ‘They were, despite their opposition to my lord here, loyal and faithful subjects.’ He took a deep breath. ‘At first I thought they were mishaps, but Sandewic, Baquelle. .’ He shook his head. ‘Secretly in my heart I blamed the great earls.’

‘Listen, mon seigneur ,’ Isabella moved swiftly on, ‘I beg you. I will take an oath on whatever sacred thing you wish. I speak the truth, I am giving you wise counsel. I may be ignored because of my tender years, my inexperience, but, as le bon seigneur is my witness, on one thing I will not be moved.’ Isabella’s voice grew hard. ‘I know my father. Please, I beg you, whatever he has secretly promised on oath, whatever vow he has sworn, whatever hidden design he nurtures, do not, I beg you on my knees, believe him. Tell me, my Lord, as I love you, what he has said to you in hidden corners, in letters dispatched under the secret seal, by word of mouth through Marigny and the other Secreti.’ Isabella paused. ‘I assure you, my lord, whatever he has promised are lies set to trap you, to bring you and the Lord Gaveston to total destruction.’

‘My lord Gaveston,’ I turned to the favourite, ‘you visited Paris secretly. You met Monsieur de Vitry. You now have his painting of St Agnes.’ I paused. ‘You travelled around the time the Templars were arrested. Monsieur de Vitry made a reference to a visitor, so, on reflection, it must have been someone important. You, mon seigneur , joked about Dover being an ideal place to slip out of our kingdom.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Gaveston was no longer the popinjay, but hard-eyed, even fearful. ‘I visited de Vitry to receive monies disbursed by King Philip; it had to be done that way. I saw the painting. Monsieur de Vitry gave it to me as a gift.’

Edward rose to his feet. He paced up and down, gathering his thoughts.

‘For a hundred years,’ he began, ‘the great earls have fought against my family, our line of honoured kings. My great-grandfather was pursued the length and breadth of the kingdom, losing his treasure in the Wash. My grandfather Henry faced civil war, capture, imprisonment; even my father, the great warrior,’ Edward could not keep the sarcasm from his voice, ‘was brought to heel with this or that, forced to sign this charter, that charter, making promises, conceding his rights. Parliament and councils, rebellious church-men and great earls forced him to go cap in hand to beg for money as his treasure chests held nothing but cobwebs.’ Edward sat back in his chair. ‘Your marriage alliance, my lady, offered another way. Last summer, as you know, my father forced Lord Gaveston into exile. He went to France and was welcomed by King Philip, who pointed out that my illustrious father would not live for ever. Philip promised that if I married you, he would help me crush once and for all any opposition in England. My father died in July last year. Months later, Lord Gaveston returned secretly to France to continue our negotiations. That is when Monsieur de Vitry gave him the painting. Philip offered military assistance; he would finance this with the wealth seized from the Templars.’

I sat back on my heels, nodding in agreement. I recalled de Vitry wishing me to be gone because he expected another guest. Little wonder he was so agitated, torn between me and the machinations of princes.

‘The Enterprise of England?’ I asked. ‘ Mon seigneur ,’ I held up my hand, ‘I do apologise.’

‘Don’t apologise, Mathilde. Would that change anything? Yes, the Enterprise of England, the true reason why Philip attacked the Templars: he needed their wealth. After Lord Gaveston returned to Paris last December, our secret treaty was confirmed. I would marry Isabella. Our oldest son would be called Louis; our second son would be given Gascony but under complete French suzerainty. Philip would help me crush opposition here and in Scotland. We would make a permanent peace alliance. His enemies would be mine. Above all,’ Edward picked up his goblet of wine and drank, ‘there would be no opposition here.’

‘Of course,’ Gaveston intervened, ‘ mon seigneur would act differently in public, opposing Philip in everything as long as he could.’

‘And me?’ Isabella asked.

‘Your grace,’ Gaveston bowed, ‘and I wish you would sit, you are part of the pretence even if you didn’t know the true cause. Once spring comes Philip will move.’

‘So that’s the real reason,’ I asked, ‘for the great game? You were misleading your earls with a show of insults to your wife, her relatives and the power of France. A cat’s-paw,’ I continued, ‘as you secretly prepared their destruction?’

Gaveston nodded.

‘Your enmity to France,’ I continued, ‘was false. You misled your earls who might make the mistake of conspiring with Philip. You’d learn of their plans as well as collect evidence of their treason.’

Edward and Gaveston smiled like gamblers conceding a game of hazard.

‘You asked us to cooperate, thinking we were hurting Philip, but all the time Philip knew the truth, be it about your treatment of his daughter or the giving of her wedding presents to Gaveston.’

‘Are you so intent on provoking your great lords?’ Isabella asked.

‘Of course.’ Edward gestured to a chair. ‘My lady, please!’

Isabella remained resolute. ‘And the deaths of Pourte and the others?’ she asked.

‘At first,’ Edward replied slowly, ‘we considered they were mishaps, or even the work of our enemies here in England, but-’

‘We thought,’ Gaveston interrupted, ‘Pourte and Baquelle could deliver London for us, Sandewic the Tower, Wenlok Westminster. So we suspected they were removed by the great earls.’

‘My lord, you are correct, but there are other reasons.’ Isabella rose and moved to the chair close to her husband, gesturing that I sit next to her. ‘My lord, you are now bereft of wise councillors, men of the peace party who might control this and that but might also advise you to pursue a middle way, peace with both Philip and your earls.’ She paused. ‘That is why my father removed those men. Please, I beg you.’ Isabella joined her hands. ‘Philip is behind their deaths, as is Marigny. They will invade this country, they are already far gone in their preparations. My father may well destroy your earls, but he will also destroy you once I have given birth to a son. You will die and Philip, in my name, will establish a regency whilst his troops overrun Gascony and any other territory the English crown holds in France. My father’s spies are already swarming here. Alexander of Lisbon, leader of the Noctales, hunter of the Templars? He’s been busy in the West Country spying out castles, ports, harbours. Once the invasion begins, you will not control it. My father will dictate the terms.’