Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) (17 page)

‘To set her loose could be an interesting solution,’ Despenser said mildly.

‘Yes. You would like to have her out of your reach, wouldn’t you? You would be content to see her go across the Channel and tell her brother all that has happened here?’ Kent said, openly scornful. ‘You think that the French King would be happy to learn that you have advised the King to take away her lands and give her only a pittance as an allowance? What is it she is permitted? One pound each day?’

‘That is nothing to do with me,’ Despenser said smoothly.

‘And I suppose the despatch of Robert Baldock and Thomas Dunheved to petition the papal Curia for a divorce, that is not your working either? I fear, my friend, that my sister-in-law believes you may have been responsible. What did she say? Ah, yes, that her husband could never have been so vindictive or cruel to her. Her brother Charles will be fascinated to hear that.’

‘What he likes or dislikes is none of my concern.’

‘Perhaps. Not yet.’

‘You should be more careful of your tone, Earl Edmund,’ Despenser said with a hint of steel, but then he added, ‘you don’t understand. I have already had a talk with Bishop Drokensford and discussed the idea of the Queen being sent as ambassador on behalf of the King. I don’t know where people get the idea that I’m against her. I have promoted the idea as vigorously as I dare. I only hope that he and I and others of a similar view can persuade the King that it would be in the best interests of the realm for her to be sent.’

Kent gaped. ‘But how could you suggest her, when you …’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You have a scheme, don’t you? You think we’re all churls with nothing but shite between our ears, but some of us are bright enough to see through your little plots, Sir Hugh.’

He ignored Despenser’s easy smile and pressed past him – not so close as to offend, for Despenser was an undoubted expert of sword and lance and it was best not to push your luck – and stalked off towards the Old Palace Yard.

Sir Hugh le Despenser watched him go with his lip curled. The man was contemptible. Even his threats were wasteful of breath. If he wanted, Despenser could have him bent about his little finger in an instant. But he did not wish it yet. No. Better to keep him as a source of confusion for a while longer. That way there would be a point of concentration for any malcontents, and by keeping a watch on him, Despenser and his men would have an accurate register of all those who were his enemies.

It was at that moment that he heard the scream from the Great Hall. Immediately, he looked up at the shingled roof, thinking that there must be a fire within, for the most common fear in a great building like this was that the roof might catch fire. But there was no sign of smoke, no flames, nothing.

And then he saw a man lurch from the Exchequer’s door – a clerk, who gripped at the door-frame, staring wildly about him like one who has lost his mind.

‘Sweet Christ’s cods! Now what?’ Sir Hugh swore foully, and marched off to see what was wrong, just as the little cleric bent and spewed all over the cobblestones.

Baldwin and Simon were marching over the gravel to find Rob and their horses just as the cry came, and as soon as they heard it, there was a general rush towards the source, men with polearms running full-pelt, one hand gripping their long weapons, the other grasping their scabbards or horns to stop them clattering against their thighs, while others: merchants, servants and visitors alike, hurried along in their wake.

‘Murder! Murder! Murder! Out! Out! Out!’

‘It’s none of our concern,’ Simon said pointedly, grabbing Baldwin’s arm. ‘The King has Coroners and Keepers for just this sort of eventuality. He doesn’t need us.’

‘True,’ Baldwin said, ‘but there is an issue of professional pride involved. I wonder what could have caused such a commotion?’

‘Oh – did you miss his shout?’ Simon said with heavy sarcasm. ‘I believe he may have said that there has been a murder.’

‘Oh? Well, it can do no harm to see who has died, can it?’

‘I didn’t come all this way just to …’ Simon muttered rebelliously, but followed in his friend’s wake.

As they approached the rear of the crowd that encircled the entrance, they heard the beginnings of the rumours.

First was a tranter, shaking his grizzled head. ‘Dead, sitting on the King’s throne!’

‘He was the King’s food-taster, and they say he was poisoned,’ a tavern slut was gabbling earnestly.

A palace servant sneered, ‘Poisoned with steel, most likely. Blood everywhere,
I
heard.’

Baldwin looked at Simon with wry exasperation. ‘Very well, I agree. There is nothing sensible to be gleaned here. Probably they are all wrong and it was merely a serving-maid who tripped and stubbed her toe! Let us return to our mounts and wait there for the Bishop to come to us. We should repair to his house and make ready for the first of these consultations we have heard so much about.’

Simon was happy to agree, and the two walked over the yard to Rob, who stood peering at the crowds with bitter disappointment to be missing whatever was happening.

Seeing his mood, Simon tutted and sighed. Then: ‘Rob, if you’re so curious, work your way up there and see what all the excitement’s about, eh?’

The boy was off like a greyhound after a hare.

‘He is keen enough on some trails, then,’ Baldwin observed, grinning.

‘At least he’s only interested in simple matters at present,’ Simon said. ‘Soon it’ll be maids, and then I’ll be worried.’

‘So you should be,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘That young fellow will be breaking a few hearts before he settles himself.’

‘If he ever does,’ Simon grunted. ‘There’s little enough sign of it yet.’ He pointed with his chin. ‘That was quick.’

Rob was soon back with them, smiling and enthusiastic. ‘The Bishop wants you to join him in the Great Hall,’ he panted.

‘The Bishop does?’ Baldwin repeated.

‘I suppose they
do
still have Coroners here in the King’s household?’ Simon asked rhetorically.

The first thing that struck Simon was just how enormous the Great Hall truly was. It towered over them as they marched in, more like a cathedral than a hall.

Rob had taken them by the side way, leading them through a gate into the Green Yard, and thence to the Old Palace Yard. There was a door into the Lesser Hall, and from there they could enter the screens passage. In the middle was the door that led into the hall itself. It was blocked by two guards who stood with polearms crossed, their faces anxious, and the younger man oddly pale and waxen. At a snapped command from inside, the two allowed Simon, Baldwin and Rob to pass.

Simon gaped as he stared up at the gaily painted pictures on the great oak baulks. They were curved in a series of ribs that passed along the length of this massive hall, and Simon found himself studying the rows of
columns, hoping that they were strong enough to support the weight of all that timber. It seemed to defy logic. There was an arcade all around, and he was sure that there would be a broad walkway set inside the wall.

The whole was richly coloured, with flowers and faces decorating every surface. Lower, when Simon could bring his gaze down, the walls were designed to prove how magnificent the English King was, and how wealthy. Flags and pennons dangled, moving gently in the draught; where there were no hangings or tapestries, the plaster was painted with brilliant scenes. Each column had shields set about it, their decorations glinting in the meagre light.

When he brought his attention down to the ground again, he was taken with the sight of an immense marble table. ‘What’s that for?’

Baldwin threw a disinterested glance at it. ‘The great courts meet here in King William Rufus’s hall,’ he said. ‘The marble table is for the Chancery, where the king’s clerks work. Over there,’ he pointed, ‘is where the Court of Common Pleas meets, and over there is the King’s Bench. This room is usually in uproar when all the judges are here.’

Not today, though. Only small groups of men stood huddled about, a larger congregation at the farther end of the hall, where another group stood huddled over something behind a chair. And then Simon felt a thrill as he realised. Before him was no ordinary chair:
this was the throne of England!

It stood upon a dais reached by a small series of steps, and Simon eyed it with surprise as well as interest. It was
a great deal smaller than he had expected, somehow. He had thought to see a towering seat, more along the lines of the Bishop of Exeter’s throne in the Cathedral – an immense, towering construction with rich ornament – but this was nothing more than a well-made, wooden chair with panels in the sides and the back, while beneath it a large rock was set onto a platform. It made him want to go nearer and study it, but already his attention was being drawn to the rear of the chair.

They walked around the fireplace in the middle of the floor, dead just now, the ashes all cleared away, and joined the men standing near the chair, a little way behind it. In the cold, their breath formed long streamers, and there was an unwholesome odour of unwashed bodies.

The Bishop turned as Baldwin and Simon approached. ‘My friends, you have some experience of matters such as this. Can you help?’

‘What has happened?’ Baldwin asked. He pushed his way forward, Simon in his wake, until he reached the wall some distance behind the throne.

Bishop Stapledon was distressed. ‘To think that a man could be cut down here, in the King’s chief hall!’

‘Where is the King’s Coroner?’ Baldwin asked, eyeing the corpse.

‘He is not here at present. I think he must be in London.’

Baldwin grunted. He preferred not to take command when it was another man’s responsibility, but if the fellow wasn’t around he supposed he could indulge himself. First he gave himself up to a study of the scene.

The man had been laid on his side like a discarded
sack of beans, as shapeless as he was lifeless. He was clothed in dark material, a pair of long brown hosen, a brown tunic and a black hood and gorget. There was no purse about his belt, but he did wear a long knife, and when Baldwin crouched and pulled the blade part way from the scabbard, he saw that it was slick with blood.

Baldwin then turned the man over slightly to look at his face, and almost dropped him. ‘Dear God!’

‘That was why we called for you, Sir Baldwin,’ the Bishop explained faintly. ‘Who could have done such a thing to him?’

‘Does anyone know who he is?’ Baldwin asked. There was no one who would admit to knowing him, so Baldwin let the body slump forward, and then stood considering for a moment or two, his chin cupped in the palm of his hand, his other hand supporting his elbow as he surveyed the fellow. ‘I would ask that all those who have no business here, leave the room. And do not discuss this affair with
anyone
! Is that clear? Any man who tells about this body may be arrested. My Lord Bishop, could you have all removed from here other than Simon and me, and the first-finder, of course.’

It took some little while to have all the people ushered out. There were not many, but they were reluctant to leave, and Rob was the most vociferous at protesting that his master might need him. Eventually Baldwin gave into him, on the basis that he might indeed have need of a messenger.

When there was relative silence, Baldwin beckoned to the remaining man, a clerk from the Exchequer. ‘You found him?’

‘Yes, sir. I had no idea …’

Baldwin watched him as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He was only young, perhaps in his early twenties, one of those men who would be an asset to a counting-house, but whose pasty complexion and nervous manner spoke of an insecure mind. He had fingernails bitten to the quick, and his eyes were constantly darting hither and thither. ‘Your name?’

‘Ralph le Palmer. I work in the Exche—’

‘Where’s that?’ Rob asked.

Baldwin snapped, ‘Shut up, Rob, or I’ll have you thrown out. Ralph, I can see that you’re one of the clerks. You are sure you do not know this man?’

Baldwin was walking about the corpse as he asked his questions. Ralph tried to follow him with his eyes, but all the while his horrified gaze was drawn back to the body.

‘No, never before, I am—’ He swallowed.

‘Quite so. Kindly tell us what happened.’

‘I had been sent through here to fetch some wine, and I was returning to the Exchequer when I saw that the tapestry there was all lumped, and I wondered what could have happened to it. I thought that the roof might have been leaking, as the material was sodden and misshapen, you see. It has happened before, although the roof is really quite new. All the shingles were replaced only a …’ He caught sight of Baldwin’s face and abandoned any further explanation of the roofing. ‘When I touched the tapestry, I felt this man behind it. I lifted the cloth …’

‘So he was lying
behind
the drapery?’

‘He could hardly stand, could he?’ Ralph said with an attempt at lightness, but then his eyes returned to the man,
and his frivolity melted away. ‘Sorry, Sir Knight. I shrieked, and ran from the room. Others started coming in then, and I vomited. I suppose I have raised the hue and cry?’

Baldwin nodded. If a first-finder didn’t raise the hue and cry by the manner which was accepted in that part of the country, he would be fined. ‘Has anything been taken from him since you first found him?’

‘I don’t think so,’ the fellow said tremulously.

Baldwin attempted a calmer, gentler manner. ‘Was there anything you noticed about him in particular?’

‘What, other than the way his prick had been hacked off and shoved in his mouth, you mean?’ Ralph blurted out, and he had to clap a hand over his own mouth and run from the hall again, almost knocking over Earl Edmund as he entered.

Earl Edmund of Kent was unused to being thrust from the path of a lowly cleric, and he turned to bawl at the man, but Ralph had already fled.

‘What is the matter with
him
?’ he demanded. He pushed his way through the crowds, and entered the Great Hall, then stopped dead when he saw the body on the ground. ‘What in God’s name is this?’