Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) (21 page)

To Baldwin, he looked much like the Celtic men of Cornwall, with his almost coal-black hair and small, brown eyes. There was a hardness about him, a whip-cord strength, for all that he was short and moderately plump. Baldwin nodded to him, and absently took up Mabilla’s right hand, studying it closely with a frown.

‘Put her hand down. Stop pawing at her!’ The Chaplain entered now and passed Baldwin and Simon, looking down at the woman’s body as he did so. ‘Rest in peace, daughter.’

There was a kind of naturalness about him in the face of this death that was oddly endearing to Baldwin. The fellow clearly did not look upon Mabilla as a mere corpse ready to be thrown into the ground; he was treating her as a woman still, a person with feelings and a soul, and doing so naturally, without affectation.

‘Chaplain, I am sorry if it feels as though we are intruding here,’ Sir Baldwin said. ‘It was not our intention to be annoying to you, but we have been commanded to
come here by the King himself, to learn what we may about this poor child’s death.’

‘The King himself, hey?’ It was plain that this man was not impressed. ‘Well – what more do you need to know? The poor chit was slaughtered only yards away from my chapel here, and then her killer – God be praised! – was found by another man, who killed him. It is as simple as that. There is little more to be learned.’

‘Could you tell me anything about this lady?’

‘Mabilla? Her surname was Aubyn, but I suppose you know that already. Well, as to other things, she was born and bred in a little manor just outside London, a place called Iseldone, I think.’

‘Her family?’

The priest looked at him with some exasperation. ‘If you need that sort of information, ask Lady Eleanor. Mabilla was one of her ladies.’

‘Aren’t they all?’ Simon murmured. He was standing over Mabilla and peering down at her sadly. She had a pretty enough face and slim body. He could imagine her smiling and laughing, flirting. She had that sort of cheeky look about her.

‘Most, yes. The poor Queen has no rights, it would seem,’ the Chaplain agreed.

‘So all the women are regulated by the Lady Eleanor?’

‘Not all. One or two perhaps may be bolder than others.’

‘In what way?’

‘A household is run almost entirely by men. Yet the Queen has women about her. It is not unnatural for them
to form relationships with some of the men about the place.’

‘Are you thinking of any in particular?’

‘Ach! It is not concealed. Lady Alicia, the same who stood between the killer and the Queen, she has an affection for one of the guards.’

‘Which?’

‘A man called Richard Blaket. But he is a good, loyal man to the Queen, and I think Alicia has proved her own devotion from her behaviour in the corridor.’

‘You have been Queen Isabella’s Chaplain for long?’ Baldwin asked after a moment.

The man looked at him, and then shook his head. ‘What of it? No. I have only come into her service since her previous chaplains were removed. It’s a disgrace, the way that they were treated, too. Both of them arrested, and when the Queen offered sureties so that they could be released into her custody, she wasn’t even allowed to do that!’

‘It is always hard in time of war, Brother um …?’ Baldwin let the question hang in the air.

‘I am Brother Peter. I was asked to come here by my Bishop, Drokensford of Bath and Wells. Naturally I was delighted to help him – and my Lady the Queen herself.’

‘Naturally,’ Baldwin agreed smoothly. ‘Now, should I assume that you yourself have any enemies who may take it into their heads to come here in the dead of night and slay you?’

‘I do hope this is merely your sense of humour,’ Peter said without amusement.

‘I take that as a negative. In that case, is there anyone you can think of who would dare to attempt such a foul attack on Her Majesty?’

Peter rolled his eyes. ‘You want me to give you my neck?’

‘I am not allied to any Lords. I do not have to tell anyone where I have heard my information. All I ask is that information. If I am to protect her, I need to know who may be thinking to harm her.’

Brother Peter left them and walked to the altar. He stood there with his head bowed, silently considering, and then turned slowly to face them again. ‘I will tell you all I may, but if you dare to vouchsafe any of this to enemies of the Queen, I pray that you will have a slow death and that you may spend a thousand thousand years suffering the torments of the devil! Do you agree?’

Baldwin blinked. It was tempting to recoil, for as the priest spoke, he slowly raised his arms as though calling upon God to hear his oath and enforce his punishment. ‘I do.’

‘Oh. All right then,’ Peter said amiably, and beckoned them to join him. He took them through the rear of the chapel, and into a small vestry. There he indicated a stool and chest for them to take their rest, and poured them each a cup of very strong wine.

‘One of the perks of the business here is that the King’s undercroft is very well stocked with the finest Rhenish and Guyennois wines,’ he said, smacking his lips appreciatively – but not as appreciatively as the Bailiff, whose frowning countenance had lightened considerably at the sight of the wine.

‘Who could want her harmed?’ Baldwin reminded Brother Peter.

‘Well, the two most obvious ones are the King and Despenser. But you’ll know that, won’t you? That supposes that the killer was trying to get to the Queen but was scared off by a single chit of a woman: Alicia. Brave of her, of course, but I’d have thought a hired assassin would not baulk at her. If he was looking to a suitable reward, he’d have got on with the job, even though all five women stood before the Queen.’

Simon had considered this. ‘Could the man not have mistakenly thought that he had killed the Queen? It is a dark passageway, and in the excitement, perhaps he thought he had struck her down. After all, I should have expected the Queen would walk at the front of any party. Maybe he did too.’

Baldwin glanced at Brother Peter, who smiled back as though taunting him to display his intellect. ‘I think there are two problems with that, Simon,’ Baldwin explained. ‘The assassin had broken into the Palace, knew where the Queen’s chamber was, and even knew that she would pass by that passage at some time that night. So he was very well informed before launching himself on this adventure. If he knew so much, I find it hard to imagine that he would not have learned that she normally walked in the midst of her ladies. Then again, the killer struck Mabilla although she was carrying a candle, so we are told, and could clearly be seen. When you accused me, Peter, of “pawing” at her, I was looking at her hand to see whether there was any evidence of that. There was. On her hand there is a little spattering of wax, such as
you receive when you walk along with a guttering candle. So that means that the killer would have seen her. It is inconceivable, I should think, that the man would not know the Queen by sight.’

Brother Peter nodded slowly, a smile on his face now. ‘I applaud your logic. It is much the same as my own conclusion. Which was why I was intrigued when I heard that the poor child had been killed.’

‘It sounds more and more likely that Mabilla herself was the real target,’ Simon mused. ‘A curious idea, though. Everyone is convinced that someone is trying to kill the Queen – so why should someone attack the lady-in-waiting?’

‘Ah, now that is something for you to learn,’ Peter said easily, leaning back against the wall. ‘I am only a mere functionary, friend, performing a service for the Queen.’

Baldwin and Simon looked at him. It was Simon who broke the doubtful silence. ‘You are very bold for a humble servant, friend.’

‘You think so? Perhaps I ought to learn more humility. I thank you for the suggestion.’

‘Do you know whether Mabilla had any enemies, then?’ Simon tried again.

‘Have you had a look about this court yet? It is a hotbed of intrigues and intriguers, full of parasites, rogues, ruffians and the sort of man you would not trust with your purse, let alone your silver. Under the King, these all fight for position, and try to stab each other in the back – and only sometimes do they try it metaphorically!’

‘That has no bearing on the death of a lady-in-waiting,’ Simon pointed out.

‘When there is unrestrained sexual abandon, when man and wife are likely to couple with others, and ignore the order which God in His wisdom imposed upon us for the good and benefit of all mankind, then yes, there is the potential for murder, even of a young woman like Mabilla.’

‘Was she free with her favours, then?’ Simon asked.

‘Mabilla? I don’t think so. But that in itself could be dangerous for a woman in a place like this. If she was so courageous as to refuse a man who desired her, who can say what she might suffer?’

‘Do you know who could have desired her, then?’ Baldwin asked bluntly.

‘I believe the Earl of Kent was rather infatuated with her. I do not know, you understand, but I saw the way he looked at her on occasion, and judging by the way she did not look back, I should say there is a possibility that he could have wanted more than she was prepared to give.’

‘There have been cases of women who have been captured by those who want them,’ Baldwin began.

‘But to capture a maid in the King’s palace and spirit her away – that would be courageous. The King does not forgive very easily.’

‘You paint a picture of a court that is almost out of control,’ Baldwin said.

Peter waved his mazer in an encompassing gesture. ‘Spend a little time here and see what you think afterwards. For me, it is a view of hell. And that is as a relatively safe outsider. For you? You will both be in danger the whole time.’

Simon and Baldwin left him in his vestry cordially waving to them, and made their way out of the chapel. Baldwin paused a moment at the woman’s body, and then shook his head with a frown and walked out.

‘You want to have her unclothed and study her wounds?’ Simon asked.

‘I considered it, but unless we propose to suggest that the Queen herself and all her ladies-in-waiting have lied about the incident and the murder, which I think could be foolhardy, I think we should take their evidence at face value.’

‘I agree,’ Simon chuckled with a hint of nervousness. ‘I would like to live to see my wife again.’

‘So would I. And that means we should do all in our power to learn the truth about these deaths.’

‘Do you believe that Mabilla was the target, then?’

‘I believe it is more probable than this story of an assassin who was trying to kill the Queen and then got cold feet after striking another lady by mischance. That is, to me, highly unlikely. So, let us note that point and now go and see what we may learn about the man who was found dead.’

They made their way to the Great Hall, but when they reached it the body had been removed. Baldwin had to stop two servants before he learned that the King’s Coroner was returned; Simon and he were given directions back out to a stone building in the Old Palace Yard.

Inside, they found a pair of servants with their sleeves rolled up, undressing the corpse. Behind, craning his neck to see by the light of a small candle that burned with
a smell of beef fat, was a short, dumpy little man with a beardless chin and gleaming blue eyes set in an almost perfectly circular face. ‘What d’you want?’ he grunted rudely.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and this is my friend Bailiff Puttock of Tavistock. We have been commanded by the King to investigate these two deaths so far as we may, and to report back to him.’

‘You are, eh? Excellent!’ In an instant all his snappishness was gone, and the man walked round, holding out his hand. Simon, glancing at it, saw that it was stained with blood, and winced as the man gripped his hand before repeating the exercise with Baldwin.

‘You must excuse the mess in here. It’s not usually occupied by a corpse, but where else can we store him, eh? No, better to keep him out of the way, that was what I thought. So out here he came. Trouble is, it’s damned dark in here, eh? Still, a candle will serve where the sun won’t! Did you see him in the hall? Nasty business. Who’d do a thing like that to a man, eh? Cut off his tarse and shove it in his mouth. Barbaric, eh? Oh, by the way, I am Coroner John of Evesham, at your service.’

Baldwin was already at the victim’s head, and stood looking down the length of his body. Simon, having a less resilient stomach, had taken up his own station nearer the doorway, where the obscene protrusion from the dead man’s mouth was hidden by Sir John’s thick little body.

‘Was there anything at all about this man that could indicate where he came from, what his usual trade was, or anything of that nature?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Nothing. All deny ever seeing him before, which is
hardly surprising, but the porters say that they haven’t seen him before either, which is odd. If one of them had seen him enter the New Palace Yard, they would surely have said so, and it’s not as if there’s been too many people for them to notice recently. No, if they say they didn’t see him, I believe them.’

‘I shall wish to walk about the perimeter of the Palace, then, just to see whether there’s an obvious place where he could have gained entry,’ Baldwin said. ‘Tell me, how easy would it be for a man to learn what the Queen’s movements are?’

‘The Queen’s? Probably very easy. How many hundreds of servants are there here, eh? Any one of them could have been bribed, I dare say. It’s all too common.’

‘And the Queen has a fairly rigid structure to her day, I suppose.’

‘Ah,’ Sir John said, smiling and tapping his nose. ‘Not all that structured, no. All too often she rises at the oddest hours to go and hear Mass, I’ve heard. She likes to keep her people on their toes.’

That made Baldwin frown, but before he could continue, the two assistants had pulled off the last of the dead man’s garments and Baldwin and John leaned forward with professional enthusiasm.

‘Clearly his own tarse, then,’ John said with detachment. Simon felt his belly lurch.

‘Dead first, I’d think,’ Baldwin said.

‘Oh, definitely, definitely. He must have had a blow to the heart which killed him, and then the murderer removed his, um, and shoved it into his mouth. It could have indicated disapproval of the assassin’s way of life,
say, if the killer knew him and resented him for being a sodomite?’