Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) (35 page)

The King was scared that someone could try to remove his Despenser as they had taken his Piers, his lovely Pierrot. Sweet Jesus! And now Edward had been told that, last night, someone had tried to do so.

Sir Hugh smiled grimly to himself, recalling the sight of Pilk rushing forwards, bellowing something incomprehensible, while that useless tub of lard Ellis stood gaping … and then the thrumming through the air as the bolt flashed past, so close it almost felt that the fletchings must cut his temple, and Ellis knocked him to the ground. Christ’s bones, it had left him entirely confused: he scarce knew whether to be furious or shit himself, the bolt had come so near!

At one long side of the hall a series of tables had been set out with cups and horns. Next to these were racks of ale and wine. Sir Hugh beckoned a servant, who nodded, drawing off a pint and hurrying to bring it to Sir Hugh. The strong red wine made his belly warm and he felt a voluptuous shudder run down his back and into his buttocks.

He had thought that no one would dare to stand in his path – not since they’d seen how traitors and those who’d fallen out of favour with the King were likely to be treated. Since Boroughbridge, the King had launched a series of relatiatory attacks against all those responsible, and the ferocity of his revenge had been a lesson to all those who’d ever considered thwarting him.

Hugh le Despenser had been secure in the patronage of the King, unassailable, feared by all. The fact that someone had dared to attack him left him furious – and feeling strangely impotent. His problem was, if people
thought others would dare assassinate him … more might take up the challenge.

Which made him still more angry to think of that innkeeper. The man should have come to him, told
him
about the horse, not gone shooting his mouth off to those other men.

And the knight Baldwin would have to be persuaded to mind his own business. His investigations into the death of the bitch killed in front of the Queen and Jack’s murder were exercising him a little bit too much. He was starting to poke his nose into affairs that were none of his concern.

Perhaps the fate of the innkeeper would be a lesson to him.

Simon entered the hall with a feeling of awe.

He had grown up knowing rich and powerful men – his father had been steward to the Baron de Courtenay at Okehampton and Tiverton, and it was not as though Simon could be daunted by the sight of a man wearing a coat-of-arms, but as he stood in the entrance to the screens passage, he felt the weight of the authority in that enormous chamber oppressing him. It was as though the wealth and power of the entire realm had accumulated in that one spot. Lords and Earls, Bishops and Archbishops stood in their finery, and Simon was aware only of the shabbiness of his jack and hosen, his stained gipon and worn boots. In this company, he felt as out of place as a nun in a brothel.

‘Can we go home now?’ he whispered to Baldwin.

‘If only that were possible,’ the knight responded. He
walked in, glancing back at Simon and beckoning him with a tilt of his head.

Simon took a breath and nodded, walking in. The Bishop was already there, talking to some other churchmen, and Simon bowed as he saw one of them looking his way.

It was then that he saw Despenser. The knight was standing in a small group; to Simon’s eye it was a curiously fawning little assembly. All were clearly trying to win the approbation of the man who scarcely listened to any of them.

Despenser said something, and the men about him turned as one to stare at Simon and Baldwin, and then guffawed with sycophantic laughter. Each, though, was laughing with one eye on Simon, the target of their mirth, while the other eye was on Sir Hugh. In those circles, Simon thought, no one would feel safe. Their backs were always waiting for a metaphorical – or literal – dagger.

Baldwin snapped his fingers at a servant and soon he and Simon had large cups of wine. Baldwin sipped cautiously – he knew that in the past, the King had provided strong wines, and this was no exception. At his side, Simon was similarly careful. He had no desire to make a fool of himself here with the magnates of the realm watching him.

Yet he soon realised that no one was terribly interested in Baldwin and himself. All eyes were on the Despenser, who stood in all his finery, and yet whose face was mottled, like a man who had not slept well. Simon would have said that his features reflected the dissipation of his soul and the repellent arrogance that led him to believe
that he could capture, torture, or even murder with impunity.

‘Have you seen his expression?’ Baldwin grunted. ‘Either he is sorely tormented with constipation, or he has something to fear.’

His voice was not quiet enough. A man behind them overheard his words. ‘Sir Knight, you are quite right. Have you not heard about the attack on him last night? As he was leaving the Green Yard, an assassin tried to shoot him with a bolt. The assault failed – just. It was a close thing, though.’

‘Ah. And who was the assassin?’

‘No one recognised him. He wore no arms.’

‘Has he said …’

‘He was struck dumb by three or four arrows. They had to shoot him to keep him from harming others,’ the man shrugged.

Baldwin nodded. No one would be very likely to live after being hit by three clothyard arrows.

‘So that would explain his temper today,’ Simon whispered.

‘Yes. And whoever had the guards silence his attacker ensured that the fellow would never speak about who had hired him to try to kill Despenser,’ Baldwin noted.

There was an excited chattering from the door, and then the room was hushed. A herald entered, slammed his staff on the floor three times and bellowed, ‘My Lords, the King!’

Baldwin nudged Simon as he bowed low, going down on his knee. Simon was unused to court etiquette, and the last thing Baldwin wanted was for his friend to be arrested for a failure of simple manners before the King.

It was many years since Baldwin himself had needed to worry about such things. The last time he had seen the King had been in that small chamber with only a few men about. This was different. A failure of protocol here could result in a painful chastisement, and Baldwin had no desire either to suffer that nor to see Simon do so. He had to remind himself, though, of the rules of such encounters: never look the King in the eye, keep the head bent, always face him: even when leaving the King a man should walk backwards, head bowed, until out of The Presence.

He should have warned Simon, he reflected with irritation.

The King was walking at a stately pace along the hall. He nodded occasionally to those whom he wished to acknowledge: his brothers, a Bishop here or there, and the Despenser.

Sir Hugh was the only man who bowed but did not
kneel, Baldwin saw. For some reason that struck him as the most appallingly conceited action of the man. Sir Hugh was clearly so settled in his power that even in public he felt no need to show his respect to the King or the Crown. Instead he walked over to the King and led him to the throne.

There was a ripple that passed through the crowd as the King took his seat, resting his hands on the throne’s arms. At last he lifted a hand, palm uppermost. The men in the hall stood straight once more, and the council was begun.

‘My Lords.’

Baldwin was slightly shocked, for it was not King Edward who was talking, but Despenser, standing beside the throne and reading the King’s words from a parchment.

‘There are matters pertaining to the Crown and the security of the realm which require that you advise me. I am your leader, and have supreme responsibility for the protection of our realm and Crown, doing all necessary to save them with your help, advice and guidance and all your strength. I have never acted without your counsel, and think that I have shown that I have always listened to your advice. I have asked you all here today to discuss matters affecting the realm, and I ask that you all individually speak at your peril to let me know your minds.’

Baldwin felt his own mind wandering. There was a great deal more in a similar vein, telling the assembled men that King Edward wanted their views, point by point, both from the laity and the clergy, and that they should be
put in writing too, so that no man could deny his advice later. There would be no covering-up or evasions.

‘My Lords, the King of France has demanded that I go to him to swear allegiance for the provinces which I hold in France as Duke. I wish to hear your thoughts and deliberations.’

One after another, different Lords spoke, and all was quite civil until at last a man near Baldwin cleared his throat and cast a look on all sides.

‘My Lord King, my Lords – we are in this position because the French King illegally and unreasonably began to undermine our King. We all know what’s been going on. Any petitioner who comes to listen to our King’s justice and doesn’t like it can then go to the French King to demand his aid – and King Charles always sides with them against our own courts. And he used that as a pretext to make demands of us. He took our lands by devious and unreasonable means, my Lords, and he will take more. He will take over all our King’s possessions if he can, and none of us will be able to keep our lands. Make no mistake, that is what he intends, my Lords: to remove all our estates, and then, perhaps, to expand over here and take our country as well. At present our King is expected to go to France every few years to swear allegiance to their King for the lands he holds in fief. But if we leave him an opportunity, if he has an excuse, he will eventually be here, sitting there in that throne, demanding allegiance for
all
our lands.’

At this a Bishop began to shake his head emphatically. ‘That is nonsense, and my Lord of Norfolk knows it! The French King has justified claims upon those who attacked
and murdered his officials. He has every right to ask that our King should go to France to give homage. He has done so to other members of the French Royal Family in recent years. Why should this one be any different?’

Bishop Stapledon had joined Baldwin and Simon, and now he whispered softly, ‘That is Bishop Orleton. He is most unhappy about the recent disputes and wishes for peace.’

‘What of that man?’ Simon asked, nodding towards the first to have spoken.

‘He is the King’s brother, Earl Thomas of Norfolk. He is distressed to think of the damage being done to our lands in France, for if the King should die, they would come to him,’ the Bishop said drily.

Another man had started to speak, and as he subsided, so another took over, and thus the debate rolled about the Great Hall, while the sun moved slowly across the sky and the shadows from the great windows roved across the faces of those present.

The Bishop who had spoken already, Orleton, spoke again, scowling about the room. ‘My Lords, the King has already given homage to this King’s brothers, and to his father. What is so different now? If our King were to go to France, surely Charles of Valois could at last see how he means the French Crown no ill-will, and their friendship could swiftly be renewed.’

Earl Thomas lifted his eyes to the heavens. ‘You mean that, my Lord Bishop? You think that this French King would be satisfied with our Liege’s apology and humble homage? He has Aquitaine already. We have lost Normandy, we have had Guyenne overrun – all on a
pretext that will not hold water – while he gives sanctuary and friendship to our most hated enemy, Lord Mortimer. You really think it makes sense for our King to go there under those circumstances?’

‘I think it would be better for our King to be proved honourable!’

‘Honourable!’
the Earl sneered. ‘I suppose you would think any defeat for our King, for our Crown, for our
honour
, to be preferable to fighting for them.’

‘I would see blood preserved and not shed needlessly,’ Orleton said, his own voice rising.

‘And I say, a pox on that!’ This was Earl Edmund. He had been standing at the side of the chamber out of Baldwin’s view, but now he crossed the hall to stand before the King. ‘The French have invaded our lands and say that they are forfeit because our King has not paid homage. Charles laid siege to Saint Sardos and then to Montpezat, because he said there was no one in Guyenne for him to treat with. He is false, I say, and we should not allow our King to be sent into a land where he may be in danger.’

It was Sir Hugh le Despenser himself who finally opened the new line of discussion. ‘My Lords, there is one possible alternative to our King’s dilemma.’

His intervention caused a certain surprise. The men all about turned to him.

‘My Lords, we know that here in the King’s household there is one who could be sent as an ambassador to the French King. Perhaps we should consider this as an alternative.’

‘You mean to send the Queen?’ Earl Thomas was
disbelieving. ‘How would that help us?’

‘Queen Isabella is a skilful negotiator. She could perhaps find a way to her brother’s heart and appease him without costing us further hardship. If she were to go to France, I am convinced that the French King would permit the return of the King’s territories in France. And that has to be our aim.’

Baldwin frowned with some surprise. He would have expected Sir Hugh to be less favourably disposed to such an idea. But when he looked at Bishop Stapledon, all he saw was dismay – and he realised that this had come as a complete shock to him too.

It was a relief when a halt was called to the proceedings. Throughout the morning, arguments had flowed forwards and back, the protagonists bellowing at each other, then cooler voices taking up the gauntlet and putting forth new, calmer points of view until one of the hotheads again raised the temperature of the debates.

Simon was surprised at the rowdiness. ‘Baldwin,’ he whispered as the two stood back and let the Lords and Bishops leave the room, ‘in my court at Lydford there are often blazing rows between different parties, but when that happens, I separate them myself, or have other men do it. It’s too dangerous to have tempers fray when everyone carries a knife or a sword – matters can so quickly escalate. Yet at no stage did the King even speak to stop the arguments from developing into a battle.’