Mathilde 02 - The Poison Maiden (34 page)

‘Plot? Real plot?’ The queen dowager was flustered, her face snow white, eyes desperate.

‘Oh yes! The Great Lords and Langton did not fully understand Philip’s subtle moves on the chessboard. He dreams, doesn’t he, of being the new Charlemagne, dominating kings, princes and popes? He hopes to control everything through marriages. My mistress married her husband and Philip used Lord Gaveston’s rise to meddle more deeply in the affairs of this kingdom. In the beginning he hoped Edward would become his client king, but now to the real plot.’ I leaned forward. ‘What if both King Edward and his favourite disappeared, were killed in a fire or assassinated soon afterwards? To whom could the Lords turn? Which prince has Plantagenet blood? Edward has no sons; that only leaves, madam, your infant offspring, Edmund of Woodstock and Thomas of Brotherton. My mistress, if she survived the plot, would be dispatched back to France, the poor widow. You, however, madam, would enter your glory. The queen mother of future kings, possibly regent of the kingdom guided, of course, by brother Philip and his minions! Little wonder you became so agitated at the possibility that your niece might be pregnant; that would have posed problems!’

Margaret sat tense, shaking her head.

‘Sweet kinswoman,’ Isabella’s voice thrilled with sarcasm, ‘is that why I was to die as well?’

Margaret refused to meet her gaze.

‘And you,’ I turned, ‘Guido the Psalter, Pierre Bernard – you are no fugitive from French justice. You are no supporter of Edward, whatever you pretend. You are a high-ranking member of the Secreti, Philip’s coven of spies and assassins, dispatched to England to assist Queen Margaret. You know a great deal about murder, and such skills were certainly needed. You pretended to be Marigny’s enemy when you are, in fact, close to his heart. You act the jester when in truth you’re a Judas. You are here to protect, sustain and nourish Philip’s great enterprise. However, nothing under the sun goes as smoothly as we would wish; obstacles and problems afflict even princes. You were here to remove such obstacles. Chapeleys was the first. He wished to be free of the Tower, to negotiate with the king. I doubt if he knew the full plot, but he’d learnt where Langton had hidden his treasure hoard and, perhaps, that the queen dowager was not to be trusted. When he came here, Chapeleys brought some proof of his allegations but that was burnt by his assassin. Whiling away the hours, however, he took out a scrap of parchment, and using what he thought was a secret cipher, carefully made note of his intended revelations.’

‘But . . .’ Guido stumbled over his words.

‘Listen,’ Isabella replied harshly, ‘don’t plead, don’t lie. You, sir, had me marked down for death!’

‘You accompanied Demontaigu and myself to the Tower. You are your mistress’ messenger to Langton, who, of course, denies all knowledge of Philip’s plot though he would bear witness to your treachery. On that day you acted the skilled physician, a leech conversing with Langton while tending to his leg, but as Langton was talking loudly, you crept back to the door, where you overheard Chapeleys pleading with me. After that clerk had left, you followed me to the Chapel of St John the Evangelist. You were probably already suspicious of Demontaigu. On that day you made a discovery: not only was Demontaigu a Templar, but he was planning to meet with his separated brethren the following evening at the Chapel of the Hanged.’

‘I never overheard you,’ Guido stammered.

‘Oh yes you did,’ I mocked. ‘I returned to the Tower, as you well know. I left Langton’s chamber, re-entered that chapel and recalled the events of that day: talking to Chapeleys, then moving into St John’s to converse with Demontaigu. You’re an accomplished spy, Master Guido, used to eavesdropping, to listening secretly, as you did that day. I would wager you were suspicious about the preacher on the Tower quayside. The way he approached Demontaigu, who whirled round to face him.’ I never waited for an answer. ‘You’re a clerk from the secret chancery – you would recognise a cipher, a hidden message, when you heard one. In the end you hastened back to warn Marigny. He and Alexander of Lisbon plotted the attack on the Templars at the Chapel of the Hanged. You would take care of Chapeleys and immediately . . .’ I paused, listening to sounds outside, and took a deep gulp of fresh spring water from a cup.

‘You discovered that Chapeleys was lodged in Demontaigu’s chamber. The royal banquet was about to begin. You entered the maidservants’ quarters, a shabby, ill-lit room where they keep their cloaks and other clothing. You stole some of these. You dressed quickly in disguise. You’re a mimer, Guido, able to act different parts. You did not wish to be glimpsed hastening across the palace yards and up darkening staircases. You made a mistake. You were disturbed by a maid, Rebecca Atte-Stowe. You killed that poor woman and continued with your devious plot. You slipped out into the dark; you’d wait for Demontaigu to go into the banquet. Chapeleys would be alone in that chamber and easily fooled. Did you mimic me or declare that Demontaigu or I had sent you? Chapeleys, lonely and vulnerable, was tricked into opening that door. Again the garrotte string was used and Chapeleys was killed. The contents of his chancery pouch were quickly emptied, studied and burnt. You then dragged his corpse across to the window-door. You took the fire rope; one end was tied to a ring on the wall, the other you lashed tightly around Chapeleys’ neck. The rope was thick and coarse; you positioned it so that the weal in the still warm flesh would hide all signs of the garrotte string. You doused all lights, pushed open those window-doors and hanged poor Chapeleys. To deepen the mystery, you locked and bolted the chamber door from inside, compelling proof that Chapeleys simply despaired, burnt his papers and hanged himself. You then used that same rope around the corpse of your victim to clamber down into the darkness. You quickly removed your disguise and hastened to join the banquet in Burgundy Hall. You were the king’s special guest. The guards at the main gateway knew you. People were coming and going. No evidence to show that you had just carried out a foul deed.’

Guido sat staring at me. I noticed he had taken a small scroll from the wallet in his belt. I glimpsed the edges of a purple seal. He followed my gaze.

‘You have no proof for your allegations.’ His voice was quiet, calm, as if that manuscript restored his confidence.

‘Sometimes logic is its own proof,’ I retorted. ‘As I said, nothing goes as smoothly as planned. Edmund Lascelles, Pax-Bread, an English spy in the court of France, had been discovered and had fled to England. The Secreti followed him here. They noted that he’d lodged at the Secret of Solomon, yet they could do nothing and did not wish to provoke suspicion. Instead they passed this information to Marigny and his coven, who informed you, Master Guido. Once again disguised as a woman, with your smooth face and gift for mimicry, you slipped into the night. You approached the Secret of Solomon and inveigled a maid to take Pax-Bread a message. You gave her a copy of Lord Gaveston’s seals—’

‘How would I have obtained them?’

‘Quite easy, Guido: your mistress here has access to all sorts of documents. She has, I know, received letters from Lord Gaveston. You simply detached two of the seals to persuade Pax-Bread to leave that tavern. You sent him a note advising him to flee, taking everything without being noticed. You wanted to make sure that he left no evidence in his chamber.’

‘A note?’ Guido scoffed. ‘In Lord Gaveston’s hand? How could I—’

‘Very easily,’ I said. ‘You’re a spy, an assassin. Lord Gaveston would not write a note; a clerk would do that. Pax-Bread would notice nothing amiss. The note was one thing, the seals were another. In that note you warned Pax-Bread to take everything. He filled his pannier bags, bolted the door from the inside and climbed out of the window, banging the shutters behind him, first the one on his left then the other to his right so the bar inside fell down into the clasp. I have seen that done; it is quite common. There’s a cupboard here in this palace where even a groom could show you how to seal a door by bringing the bar down, as well as opening it by inserting a knife. Pax-Bread thought nothing was amiss. He knew he was being hunted. He was being warned by his patron to leave the Secret of Solomon as quickly and quietly as possible. A spy, he followed that order faithfully, taking all his possessions, fully hoping the king and Lord Gaveston would protect him. I suspect you may have laid a siege ladder against that window to help him climb down. In the darkness, however, you were waiting for him with your garrotte string, and Pax-Bread paid for his mistakes with his life.’

‘Yet I was poisoned!’ Guido blustered. ‘I was ill. You saw that! I drank what was intended for the Lord Gaveston.’

‘Foolishness,’ I replied. ‘Guido, you are skilled in physic and the potency of herbs. I now know all I need about what Apuleius calls
Violata odorata
. What confused me was the fact that there are so many species of this herb, as well as its distinctive smell. Now the violet’s roots and seeds can provoke ill humours of the belly, vomiting, slight breathing difficulties, looseness of the bowels and the occasional skin rash. In a word, sir, you poisoned yourself with a herb that is not malignant but gives every sign that it is. You hoped I would never find out. No wonder you kept asking me if I’d discovered what herb had been used, hinting it must be noxious whilst you used your skills to depict yourself as a very sick man.’

Guido shook his head in disbelief.

‘You are a liar!’ I accused. ‘You peddle stories as it suits your whim. You spread confusion and lies – as you tried to when you took me out into the gallery. You wanted to muddy the waters with your own theories. Langton did the same by declaring Gaveston was really the Poison Maiden, a public insult to the favourite whilst concealing the Poison Maiden’s true identity. You also concealed the truth. You depicted Langton as dismissive of Chapeleys. You misrepresented what Chapeleys believed. You were desperate. You said you’d been sent back to the Tower to treat Langton after Chapeleys was killed.’ I shook my head. ‘You were reporting back to him about Chapeleys’ death—’

‘I was sent there.’

‘No, sir, you, or rather your mistress, asked the king for you to be sent back. Edward, thinking it was of little importance, agreed. What harm was there in that? A clever deception like your so-called poisoning.’

‘Lies!’ Guido gasped. ‘I was ill.’

‘You were pretending,’ I retorted. ‘You needed to stay here in Burgundy Hall. As I said, violet causes stomach cramps, rashes, a loosening of the bowels but nothing dangerous. You pretended it was something more malignant. Your mistress, the queen dowager, persuaded Gaveston to take your chair. You put the violet in the water glass near the favourite’s chair and drank it. You were in Burgundy Hall and intended to stay there.’

‘But I was the queen dowager’s messenger.’

‘So?’

‘I could come and go as I wished.’

‘Master Guido, so you could! Ap Ythel made a strange remark about you. He called you the lord of the garderobes. When my suspicions were quickened, I asked him what he meant. He explained how, when you came into Burgundy Hall, you often visited the garderobes. He thought you might have suffered some stomach ailment. I don’t think so. You used hidden cloths, broken pottery, any rubbish at hand which could be concealed to block the holes of the latrines and cesspits, which in turn would provoke foulsome odours.’

‘And why should I do that?’

‘Master Guido, it would not be the first occasion that latrines, cesspits and sewers have been used against the very place they serve. The Surveyor of the Royal Works was brought in. The cleaning of cesspits and latrines is unsavoury work. He hired labourers. A coven of assassins known as Tenebrae –
les ombres
, the shadows – used this to infiltrate their own members into Burgundy Hall as workmen. Days passed. A stream of labourers went backwards and forwards. The assassins mingled with these, outlaws and wolfsheads recruited from the sanctuary of Westminster. They brought in sacks, covered barrows that concealed skins of oil and barrels of fire powder. Even if these were checked, a Welsh archer might conclude they were simply commodities to be used in cleaning the latrines. I doubt if the wolfsheads themselves realised the full significance of what they were doing. The vigilance of the guards was relaxed. His grace the king, with his well-known love of mixing and talking with labourers, worthy though it might be, did not help matters. The oil and powder were secretly stored in the cellars of Burgundy Hall.’ I stared hard at Guido, who was now fumbling with the parchment held in his hand. ‘I do not know the full truth,’ I continued. ‘Arbalests, swords and daggers were also found. I thought they’d been placed to divert suspicions. I now believe I was wrong. You didn’t want anyone to discover what was being planned. I suspect those powerful arbalests were hidden away for the assassins to use against anyone who escaped from Burgundy Hall, powerful weapons, deadly bolts and quarrels that could be loosed in the dark at some unfortunate staggering out against the light of the flames.’

‘I know nothing of this,’ the queen dowager declared. She moved her chair a little away from Guido, a gesture not lost on her servant.

‘Madam,’ Isabella accused, ‘that is why Guido acted the way he did, pretending to be poisoned, his life at risk; you wanted that!’

The queen dowager stared bleakly back. Isabella turned and nodded at me.

‘Madam, you would arrange to leave Burgundy Hall, but Guido would stay. He was recovering; in time he would become accepted. One night he’d prepare a grease wick, as you would for a lamp, only longer and thickly coated with oil. One end would be placed against the fire powder, the other lit by him. The ensuing conflagration would devastate Burgundy Hall. God knows what other devilry he was planning during his stay here: stairwells blocked, doors wedged shut. Master Guido would escape to plot whatever mischief was required afterwards, including the death of any survivors.’