Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) (11 page)

It was a marvellous forest. The tree trunks were so numerous, they blocked out the view, and the men’s passage was silent: the ground was covered in a thick layer of leaves. But when they rode further in, they found the woods less easily passable. Tendrils of wild rose drooped from the trees, tearing at their faces; hawthorn,
blackthorn and holly scratched at the men and their mounts. And then, in a hollow, they were ambushed.

Most of the outlaws were themselves trained by the King in how to fight, and they used every aspect of the woods to defend themselves while inflicting casualties on the posse. Arrows hissed through the air, hitting their mark with a hollow, sucking sound. In the midst of the mayhem, Despenser heard the ringing of steel on steel, the shrieks of men, the whinnying of horses. It was a short, fierce encounter, in which several of the posse were wounded. Luckily none of them were especially valuable, but it was still a loss to him. One good groom was killed, which was an inconvenience and a source of annoyance for some little while.

Afterwards, while he and the rest of the men rested, he had seen Jack atte Hedge.

The man was among the captured felons. At first sight, he was not particularly prepossessing; his face was pretty unremarkable, as was his clothing. In fact, there was nothing special about him at all – except for his eyes. They were extraordinary. In them there was a coolness, a steadiness of purpose, that Despenser had never seen before. When he thought about that first little glimpse of Jack, he could still see those cool brown eyes again, even now.

Later, he had come to realise that Jack was more than just some handy warrior or man-at-arms to keep in his entourage. Men like those were ten a penny – fellows like Ellis and William Pilk. The country was full of churls like them, who were capable of killing a man as easily as a rabbit or a hog. They were like good alaunts, hunting
dogs which would attack any prey they were launched against, but which were often more trouble than they were worth, fighting amongst themselves or attacking the wrong animal. But Jack wasn’t like that. He was more of a hawk. Once he was directed, he would disappear into the air before suddenly launching himself at his prey. Often, his target would not know that he had come, so swift and fierce was his attack. No one could tell when he would appear. Not even Despenser.

Yes, he had seen the difference between that man and the others, and at the trial, Despenser had bribed the judge and some witnesses to have the fellow released into his custody. And then he had made Jack atte Hedge his own. An assassin who could be relied upon.

However, his latest commission was not any common murder. Jack had to do it correctly, or Despenser would see to it that he was punished.

Sir Hugh heard light footsteps approaching outside. He snorted, then placed his elegantly booted foot on the table in front of him. The door opened and he smiled. ‘Hello, wife,’ he drawled.

Eleanor de Clare, his wife, stood in the doorway a moment, then moved aside and bowed to let in the other woman.

‘My Lady,’ Despenser said with a courteous duck of his head, but not removing his boot, as the Queen entered.

‘I would speak with you, milord,’ she said.

Richard Blaket had been a guard for the King for more years than he wanted to remember now. He ached in the chill of the corridor outside the Queen’s chambers,
grunting to himself, flexing his fingers every so often, pacing up and down as the flags imparted their deathly chill to the flat soles of his feet. The leather was no protection for a man standing still, not at this time of year.

Time was, he’d have been out there in the open with his bow and quiver ready. There was good money to be made in those days, knocking a pigeon from its perch. All a lad needed was an arrow with a blunted tip, and the birds would fall nice and easy, straight to the ground. A fellow had once seen him dulling his arrow, cutting it flat and fitting a thick leather patch to it, and had laughed. He’d said Richard was wasting his time. Richard was content to take his word, and passed him a new arrow.

‘But if you kill a bird, you eat it, and if I kill one, I eat mine,’ he said. ‘Unless you want to pay a forfeit instead.’

Out in the woods near his home at Epping, the fool drew and let loose his arrow. It passed through the bird and stuck in the tree’s limb above. The arrow was lost forever. At least the bird fell, but the arrow had passed up from beneath, piercing the guts. The slamming force of a yard of English Ash did not merely puncture the bird’s bowels, it burst them, squirting the contents through the entire carcass. The creature was ruined. Richard Blaket took his own arrow and walked on a short distance. At the top of an oak he saw another pigeon. He drew, loosed his arrow, and the heavy, padded tip snapped into the pigeon’s throat, breaking its neck and sending it and the arrow toppling to the ground.

The man had to pay Richard a penny not to eat his bird. Richard gave it to a fox that had been raiding his chickens at night, and when the animal was scoffing the
bait, he slew it with another arrow he had not modified.

Memories such as that were a delight when a man was standing in such misery. Not so warming, though, as the memories of last night, of Alicia’s soft, warm lips against his own, or the feel of her hips under his hands, the sweet roundness of her breasts …

This was the trouble. A man was plagued with the most delicious thoughts when he was standing guard in the middle of the night. And yet he had reason to be extra watchful. All knew that the Queen’s life was in peril, in God’s name, and it was his solemn duty to protect her. He must concentrate on that, not keep harking back to Alicia’s gorgeous body in the candlelight, the orange glow making her form so beautifully shadowy before the fire. The feel of her arms about his neck, her breath against his mouth, her throaty chuckles, her gentle fondlings and squirmings under him …

There was a rhythmic swishing sound, and his attention was brought instantly to the present, all memories of last night flying from him as he recognised that obscene noise. It was coming from the chapel itself, and he turned to listen, his polearm levelled even as his eyes narrowed.

It was instantly recognisable, of course: the sound of a stone sweeping along a sword’s blade. Except there should have been no such sound here.

Gripping his staff firmly, he walked silently towards the sound.

There were some who said that they cared nothing for the woman, but so far as he was concerned, the Queen was his own mistress. It wasn’t that he was in love with
her – God’s teeth, no! His Alicia would have something to say about that! – but he felt some compassion for her. She had been a powerful, wealthy woman for all her life, and now she was brought so low, and yet she suffered all the indignities with stoicism. As her household was broken up and dispersed, she joked with them about when they would all be free to meet again; when the King reduced her income, she laughed that soon he would have her as a pauper living in his hall and would have to save his alms for her. Never did she bemoan her fate before Richard, and that made him warm to her courage. He would do anything for her.

The noise was louder. Standing outside the chapel, he peered around the door which stood ajar, and took a deep breath, preparing himself. Steady, steady, deep breath … and shove the door wide! All at once the timbers creaked, hinges complaining, and he was in the chapel’s vestry.

‘What is it, guard?’ Peter of Oxford peered up at him with a bemused expression on his face, the sword on his lap, the hone in his hand. ‘Well?’

‘Chaplain, I heard a sword being sharpened, and thought it could be someone here to hurt the Queen.’

‘Do I look like a God-damned assassin?’ Peter said testily. ‘Get out – and close the door after you!’

Richard obeyed him, but for a long moment he stood outside, his hand still on the latch. After some while the sweeping rasp of the hone began once more, and he left the door to return to his post.

He would keep an eye on that Chaplain, he told himself.

Despenser eyed the Queen dispassionately. It was strange. The woman was so beautiful. Elegant, fair-skinned, and with a body that any man would adore to pull to him, and yet she was so cold. The frigid bitch had frozen his advances, all right. Christ, he had wanted her so much, long ago … once he’d even contemplated taking her by force. He’d even suggested … but that was all in the past now. Since then, her enmity had deepened and strengthened. It was a pity, he thought. Destroying Isabella would be like smashing a perfect ivory carving. So wasteful. But necessary.

‘Speak then, my lady.’

‘In private, if you please.’

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, then shrugged at Eleanor. She gave him a close-lipped nod of agreement and went out, quietly closing the door behind her. ‘Yes?’ he said abruptly.

The Queen walked to a chair and stood behind it as though needing the support. She still had problems with her arms, he knew. They had never properly healed after the fire at Poissy, when she had been badly burned. Sweet God, that was twelve years ago now, he realised with a shock. It was fearful how time hurtled by.

‘Milord, I have heard dreadful rumours. Some say that there are men who wish to see me dead.’

‘Your Royal Highness, please …’

‘I believe it. That is why I bend my mind to see who could wish this thing. And I wonder, as I look about me, who could be willing.’

‘My Lady, I fear there are many who would be glad to see you … It is not a palatable thought, I know, but while
your brother rattles his sword and lances across the Channel, many see any French men or women as possible traitors.’

‘Their Queen? People dare to suggest I could be faithless to my husband?’

‘Some people are terribly gullible.’

‘And you? Do you think this?’

‘No, of course not,’ he lied smoothly.

It was easy, this verbal fencing. Sir Hugh le Despenser had been brought up in the court of the old King, when Edward I’s powers were on the wane. To survive in his household in that period, a man had to have acute political instincts. And, under the new King, Despenser had risen to become the richest and most powerful man in the kingdom. Perhaps second to the King – but since he controlled the other man’s heart and mind, that was little qualification. A woman was no trouble after such a studenthood.

‘Of course,’ she continued, ‘the idea that an assassin could enter the King’s palace with the intention of murdering me is ridiculous, when there are so many guards, eh? Who is responsible for the guards posted about my chambers?’

‘Well, I suppose I have nominal responsibility,’ he admitted. ‘One of my men posts them.’

‘Ah yes. The one called Ellis,
non
? He is a very loyal man, I consider.’

‘I have none better.’

‘Good, because naturally, if any man were to harm me, the King of France, my brother, would never rest until the man who had ordered my death were brought to justice.
He would use all his powers and wealth to hunt the man down.’

‘I would expect nothing else, my Lady,’ Sir Hugh said. And it was natural enough. Isabella’s death would be a grievous insult to the French Royal Family. That was the marvellous second incentive for having her removed. Not only was she a magnet for all the disaffected barons in the country, her death would make it difficult, if not impossible, for King Edward to go to France. News of Despenser’s ‘close’ relationship with the King was bruited abroad. Many would therefore conclude that the King himself might have had a hand in her death. No guarantee of safe conduct would make Edward feel secure in France.

He smiled at her, but her next words caused his smile to disappear.

‘I have to say, Sir Hugh, it would be terribly sad if your protection was to fail. My brother is known to hold a grudge. Any man who plotted to harm me would be considered his own mortal and particular enemy. And I fear I may have indicated to him that you and I have not always agreed.’

He liked the sound of that rather less. ‘I do not think I understand you.’

‘Oh, I think you do,
Sir
Hugh.’

Her face was as cold as marble as she emphasised that word, and he comprehended perfectly. He might be wealthy, he might be powerful, but to her, his lowly birth was reason for contempt. And she had already managed to hint to her brother somehow that, were she to die, it would be down to Sir Hugh. A leaden weight settled in his belly.

‘And another matter,’ the lady continued, ‘one of my maids is very slapdash. I would be glad if she could be replaced.’

‘Then you should have mentioned it to my wife.’ He felt a rage building. The arrogance of this bitch – to try to threaten
him
!

‘I have not felt the need, milord. I leave the affair up to you. I am sure you know which lady I mean.’

‘I cannot imagine. The ladies-in-waiting were all carefully picked by my wife.’

‘One in particular is not in the same mould as these others. I would be grateful, were you to see that she was replaced by someone a little more … ah,
sympathique
?’

He allowed a freezing smile to crack his features. ‘My Lady, please do not worry yourself,’ he said smoothly, pleased to see her anger and frustration.

‘I have a brain. I choose to use it, Sir Hugh!’

‘I mean no disrespect, Your Highness. It is only that if a man were to try to harm you, the guards would stop him. And this lady you refer to – we shall have her removed.’

‘Please do so. I would not like to have to be forced to take matters into my own hand.’

‘I have little experience of such things, Lady. My wife will see to it.’

‘Good. And you may see to the guards about me: I would have them increased. Otherwise,’ she gave a light laugh, ‘some may suggest that
you
could wish me to be removed.’

‘My Lady! Why should I want that?’

She turned and looked him very directly in the eye.
‘We both know where we stand, I think. I am not so foolish as to believe that I am safe, but I will swear this to you: if you aid me in this, I will shield you from accusations too. My brother, the King of France, would be pleased to learn that you had helped to protect me. As pleased as he would be enraged and vengeful against any man who sought to harm me.’