Mathilde 02 - The Poison Maiden (29 page)

I leafed through the manuscripts, taking careful note of certain entries. I then decided to go to my own small herbarium in one of the palace gardens. Now Burgundy Hall has gone, and Westminster has changed as if it is some living thing. However, in those spring days of 1308, the king’s private palace, guarded by its own curtain wall, consisted of a long hall with buildings added on so small courtyards and gardens were formed. Edward had entertained ambitious plans for these, hoping to develop orchards, vineyards, lawns for peacocks and sprightly herons, and a rabbit park, build small watermills and dovecotes, as well as sink fish and stew ponds to house fine pike and whiting. All, of course, remained unfinished. Parts of the garden were fox-ridden, with weeds and gorse growing almost waist high. Now according to Albertus Magnus, a sophisticated herber should include a trellised loggia, a walled area of square herb beds, a flowery mead with arbours and a hedged garden containing a fountain. There were none of these. My physic garden did not have the required sixteen beds; it was makeshift and rough. I had dug the soil myself and planted what I could.

I left my chamber and went out through a small postern door into the garden. Ghostly smells of both summer and autumn greeted me, the sweet odour of rotting apples mingling with the fragrance of wild flowers thrusting up beneath the blackthorn hedges, which heralded the change in season with their own whitening flowers. I had brought a list of the herbs I needed: the rich, mildew-like blue gromwell, which flowered on limestone walls and was so useful in curing irritations of the skin; ground ivy, found winding its way about the orchard trees, so healing of congestion and the rheums; harebell, which flourished in the long wild grass, very valuable for staunching bleeding and compressing wounds. I stared round that wild overgrown place, the birds skimming over bush and grass, the flowers flashing in colour, the full richness of spring making itself felt. I walked over to my herber and stared down in desperation at the weeds clogging the soil, clawing around it like the fingers of a miser would precious stones. All about me the palace lay silent. The garden, however, was alive with the chirping of birds hunting among the fertile foliage. Small insects hovered noisily over a weed-encrusted carp pond. I glanced up abruptly and glimpsed a shadow at one of the arrow-slit windows. I smiled to myself, looked again, but there was nothing. The garden lay beneath the royal quarters. I wondered if the shadow had been that of Isabella, or even the king, but why the mystery?

I decided to calm my agitation by weeding the soil before I went searching for herbs. A derelict outhouse built against the palace wall was used to store picks, hoes and shovels. I went in and grasped a hoe that was standing in a cobweb-filled corner. As I pulled it out, I glimpsed the leather sack pushed hard against it. I cut the cord around its neck and peered in. The sack contained three arbalests, heavy Brabantine crossbows. I pulled one out. The wood was thick and polished, its powerful twine cord supple, the lever oiled and easy to move, the groove smooth, ready for the barbed bolts, pouches of which lay at the bottom of the sack. Alarmed and curious, I hid the sack away and hurried back into the palace.

Ap Ythel had gone into the city, but I found his lieutenant, a sandy-headed Welshman named Ap Rhys, dicing with some of his comrades in the small guardroom near the gatehouse. I begged him to come with me. His companions whistled and joked in their lilting voices. Ap Rhys was about to refuse, but he caught my fearful expression so he shrugged, put his dice back into his wallet and followed me across the garden to that small outhouse. I pulled the sack out, Ap Rhys helping me. He emptied the contents on to the soil and crouched down.

‘Arbalests,’ he exclaimed, ‘and pouches! Do you know how they got here, mistress?’

I shook my head. ‘Do you?’ I asked.

Ap Rhys made a face.

‘Tell me.’ I crouched down beside him. ‘If I was to attack the king or this palace, how would I do it?’

He scratched his head. ‘Mistress, I’m an archer, a bowman, not an assassin. You think these were left here for such mischief?’

‘Perhaps.’ I recalled Robert the groom’s words and that sinister reference to the Tenebrae.

‘Don’t be alarmed.’ Ap Rhys put the pouches back into the sack and tied the twine around the neck. ‘I will take these.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll not tell anybody.’ He caught my curious look. ‘Mistress,’ he grinned, ‘this may not be the work of some enemy hostile to our king; more likely a thief. We have stores here. It is not unknown for soldiers to try to make a quick profit. They steal bows, daggers, crossbows, hide them away, then take them into the city markets.’ He kicked the sack, then picked it up. ‘You’d get a pouch of silver for these.’

‘Ap Rhys?’

‘Yes, mistress?’ He walked back.

‘When Ap Ythel returns, tell him what we found and where.’ I held my hand up. ‘And ask him this. If the three of us were planning to attack his grace the King, or my lord Gaveston, or both, how would we do it? Please.’ I grasped his hand. ‘In this, favour me?’ Ap Rhys nodded, adding that he’d do anything for a pretty face, then sauntered off.

I decided to leave the herbs. I was tired, still agitated. I returned to my own chamber, drank half a goblet of wine and tended to the braziers. I took off my shoes and upper gown and lay down on the bed, wrapping myself tightly in its coverlet. I only intended to sleep for a while but it was dark when Isabella shook me awake.

‘Quick, quick, Mathilde,’ she urged. ‘His grace the king and my lord Gaveston need to see you.’ She was garbed in a fur-lined cloak with a deep hood. She shook me roughly, the capped candle in her left hand dazzling my eyes. I climbed out of bed and made myself ready as swiftly as possible. Ap Ythel and some of the archers were waiting in the passageway outside. Ap Ythel’s expression told me everything. They had found something in the church at New Temple. Isabella confirmed this in hushed, excited whispers as we went along the shadow-filled gallery.

The king and Gaveston were waiting, swatched in costly night robes. Both were rejoicing, sharing a two-handled loving cup between them. The chamber was bathed in candlelight and the cause of their joy was plain to see: coffers, caskets, chests, boxes and bags all open to reveal a king’s ransom in gold and silver coin, jewels and an array of precious goblets, belts, necklaces, rings, pectoral crosses and costly gems, all sparkling in the bright light. Edward and Gaveston had drunk deeply. Once Ap Ythel had withdrawn, Edward roaring at him to keep close guard outside, both men embraced me, hugging me close and smothering me in their exquisite perfume. Edward scooped up a pile of gold and silver coins and pressed them into my hands.

‘What else do you want?’ he asked.

Still sleepy, I went down on my knees as I slipped the coins safely into a pouch on the inside of my robe.

‘A title?’ Gaveston teased.

‘Pardons,’ I answered quickly. ‘Your grace,’ I gestured round, ‘what happened?’

‘As you said.’ The king dragged a chair across; he sat down and waved at Gaveston and Isabella to make themselves comfortable.

‘My lord?’

Edward turned to Gaveston. The favourite took another deep drink and passed the cup to the king. I glanced quickly at Isabella. She sat there all docile, a fixed smile on her face, but I could see anger in those light-blue eyes as she played with the tendrils of her hair. Gaveston whispered to the king, and the loving cup was passed to her. Isabella drank quickly, not taking her eyes off me. Gaveston explained how he and Ap Ythel had arrived at the Templar church.

‘The postern door was sealed and locked. We of course had the key. Strange,’ Gaveston wagged a finger at me, ‘I shall return to that. Inside, Mathilde, well it was the first time I’d ever been there. A solemn place, full of ghosts and ancient memories, beautiful paintings on the wall and nine stone effigies on the floor. At first I was reluctant. I felt as if I was committing blasphemy. Ap Ythel examined the paving stones just beneath each of those effigies which bore the title of Pembroke. We found nothing, and then I remembered what you had told us:
sub pede
– seven letters in all. I counted the paving stones from the feet of William Marshal, the premier Earl of Pembroke; the seventh stone was loose. To the naked eye, nothing was amiss. We used bars and levers. The paving stone came up, and beneath was a wooden slat expertly placed there to keep it firm. The slat was wedged tightly in. We removed it, and underneath was a rope ladder, neatly coiled. We loosened and unrolled it. Ap Ythel, holding a torch, went down; I followed. The cavern beneath was square, formed on each side by rough ancient stone, airless and musty but definitely used as a treasure hold. We lit the cresset torches in the walls,’ Gaveston gestured round, ‘and found Langton’s hoard. Drokensford and his exchequer clerks calculate a treasure of at least seventy thousand pounds sterling.’

I gasped in astonishment.

‘There could have been more,’ Edward intervened testily, ‘but someone had been there before us.’

I glanced at Isabella. She had curbed her anger and smiled tenderly at me.

‘Who, we don’t know,’ Gaveston retorted. ‘We entered by the corpse door; it was locked and sealed. The other doors were barred and bolted.’ He shook his head. ‘To my memory, the seals were unbroken before we entered.’

‘Was New Temple guarded?’ Isabella asked.

‘A few men-at-arms.’ Edward shrugged. ‘I and my council thought it held no treasure.’

‘Your grace,’ I bowed, ‘how do you know the treasury had been entered?’

‘One coffer had been forced,’ Gaveston replied, ‘two large sacks emptied. Drokensford believes five to six thousand pounds has been removed. But . . .’ He handed the loving cup back to the king and rubbed his face.

‘Langton will be beside himself with rage. He must be told.’ Isabella’s voice turned harsh. ‘He may have removed some of that treasure himself after it was placed there.’

‘Yet when he was arrested,’ the king remarked, ‘he proclaimed himself penniless. His chambers were searched, and nothing was found.’

‘He may have given it to someone else. But in the mean time,’ Isabella continued, ‘my lords, I beg you. Be prudent, be cunning! Use this wealth to entice the likes of Pembroke and Lincoln into your camp. To quote the great Augustine: “
flectamur nec flectimur
” – “let us bend before the storm lest we break under it”. We must concede more to the Great Lords, even if it is only for a time.’ Her words sobered Edward and Gaveston, who glanced sheepishly at each other like boys being lectured by their mother.

‘Lincoln and Pembroke,’ Isabella continued, ‘are the most susceptible, or at least so I understand.’ She smiled thinly. ‘They are certainly beginning to baulk at my father’s envoys over their long stay and their meddling in what they call the affairs of the English crown.’

‘I suspected that,’ replied Edward, cradling the loving cup, ‘but how do you know it?’

‘My lord, they have spies in Burgundy Hall. I certainly have mine amongst them. My lord Mortimer has listened to the chatter; a few more days and the cracks will appear, but,’ she clenched her hands in her lap, ‘we must be cunning. We must plot, use this treasure to our advantage. However, rewards to those who have earned them. Mathilde has asked for pardons.’

‘For whom?’ Gaveston leaned forward.

I took a deep breath.

‘The truth as always.’ Isabella glanced warningly at me.

I confessed my help and assistance for Templars, the true identity of Demontaigu and others. Gaveston nodded in approval. Edward, in truth, didn’t really care. My mistress confirmed Demontaigu’s loyalty, his hostility to Philip and all the power of France. Edward, however, was bored, eager to return to his revelry. Since Demontaigu was loyal, the enemy of his enemy, and patronised by his queen, there was no need to discuss it. I stared at a glorious tapestry hanging on the wall behind the king. It showed scenes from the Romance of Alexander, the great conqueror on the battlefield or in his pavilion receiving the spoils of his enemy. The silence deepened until Edward softly clapped his hands, a common gesture to show he had reached a decision, and shrugged lazily.

‘Demontaigu is no threat to me or mine. I cannot issue a pardon to him or others for being Templars; that would go against the pope’s instructions.’ He bared his teeth like a dog. ‘However, I will issue general pardons, letters of protection at the behest of the queen, so Demontaigu and two of his comrades can be brought into the king’s peace.’ He gestured at me. ‘The clerks of the chancery will draw these up, to be issued under the Privy Seal.’ He clapped his hands again and whispered to Gaveston. The favourite rose and crossed to the huge chancery table. He brought back a thin scroll, which he thrust into my hands, then stood over me and stroked my hair. I held his gaze; those lazy, good-humoured eyes were marble hard, as if he was assessing my loyalty. He stroked my hair once again, tipped me lightly under the chin and rejoined the king.

‘John Highill,’ Gaveston sighed, taking his seat, ‘that scroll tells you all. Highill was a master from the schools of Cambridge, a principal clerk in the office of the secret seal in the old king’s reign. He and Chapeleys were a pair, both apparently trained for the priesthood, knowledgeable in Latin, Greek and other tongues. Anyway, in 1299, after he had passed his sixtieth summer, Highill became witless. He was given a pension and dispatched to Bethlehem Hospital outside Bishopsgate.’ Gaveston leaned forward. ‘You know the place, Mathilde? Good.’ He flicked his hands. ‘Take your silver and gold. Collect your pardons and go. But first, tomorrow morning, discover what Highill knows, or might have known.’

Isabella, as if to emphasise her own authority, asked me to wait outside. The gallery, despite the late hour, was packed with Ap Ythel’s men waiting for orders about the treasure. Its find had caused great excitement amongst them, as the archers realised they were not only to be rewarded but would also receive their long-awaited wages. Ap Ythel plucked me by the sleeve and took me away from the rest.