And the worst of it was, Hugh had absolutely no idea who had killed Mabilla, nor who had executed Jack. Jack was an old comrade, when all was said and done, and his loss was hurtful. Sir Hugh did not like to lose his servants. It was the sort of thing that could easily get out of control if people thought that they could kill his men with impunity.
‘Where is Ellis?’ he asked as soon as the servant returned with his wine.
‘I think he is in the main hall,’ Pilk said.
‘Bring him to me.’
Ellis was soon with him. Pilk had brought another horn for him, and once Ellis was standing before Sir Hugh, Pilk passed him the drink, retreating almost immediately to the door.
‘I was looking for you today, Ellis.’
‘I was busy,’ his henchman said shortly.
Despenser peered into his goblet. His voice was mildly pensive, as though he was ruminating on a new idea. ‘I had thought you worked for and served me. Perhaps I misunderstood. When I want my servants, I expect them to be there for me. But you were “busy”.’ He looked up from his drink and stared at Ellis.
Pilk felt that look in his bowels. No man came here to work for the Despenser without realising that he was entirely ruthless. Pilk could kill — he often had — but always there was a faint feeling of remorse afterwards. It felt as though each death niggled away at him, and someday there must be a reckoning.
Not so with Sir Hugh le Despenser. When he killed a man, there was no compunction at all in his face. Pilk had seen it. He had been there when Madam Baret had been captured by Despenser. The reason was simple: her husband had died and Despenser wanted to acquire all his lands. That meant Madam Baret must give them up, for she was not powerful enough, now her husband was dead, to demand compensation. Not that such a demand could have helped her.
She had been savagely tortured, to the extremity of sanity, and in the end her mind had been broken along with her body. And what had Despenser done? He had found the sight of her ruined figure stumbling away extremely funny — had laughed out loud. All he cared about was his own purse, and nothing and no one else.
‘I went to see my sister’s body, Sir Hugh.’
‘Who?’ Despenser appeared genuinely surprised. ‘Oh, the wench. I had forgotten she was your sister.’
‘Mabilla, yes. She married Sir Ralph Aubyn some years ago.’
‘I remember him. Huge man. A good fighter.’
‘My sister was murdered by the man who killed Jack.’
Despenser sipped his wine. ‘I am concerned. Whoever this killer is, he knew how to offend me. There was a message in the way that they did that to Jack. Cutting off his tarse and shoving it in his face like that was meant for me. It is a challenge, Ellis, and I don’t like to be challenged by those whom I do not know.’
‘How did he know Jack was going to be there last night? Did you know?’ Ellis asked.
‘No one knew. You know how Jack worked. He was always alone. Never trusted anyone else. Not even me, his paymaster.’
‘Was there anyone else could have known?’
‘No! Hell’s teeth, man! I’ve already said — Jack was always close.’
Ellis glowered at the floor. ‘It must have been someone at the palace.’
Despenser was tempted to throw his goblet in the fool’s face. ‘Is that so?’ he spat. ‘So, someone at the palace found a suspected assassin and killed him, and then chose not to take a reward for his discovery and for thwarting the attempted regicide.’
‘If he knew you were behind Jack, he’d probably prefer to remain anonymous. Most men know what you would do if you found out they had stood in your path or killed one of your servants.’
Especially if they knew I was seeking to assassinate the Queen, Despenser confessed to himself. Aloud he said, ‘How could someone have learned about Jack last night?’
‘I don’t know yet, but if it is your will, I’ll find out.’
‘It is my will. And when you have done so, come and report to me. Tomorrow I will ensure that this Keeper of the King’s Peace does not go anywhere near the Palace. I will have him and his friend come here for the Feast. That will be easy enough to arrange, with the help of the Bishop. Yes, it would be good to know what went wrong for Jack last night. Especially since it would help us to learn whether someone else has uncovered Jack’s attempt on the life of Queen Isabella.’
Sir Hugh yawned. ‘One last thing, Ellis. Do not let people know more than you have to. I don’t want the King’s officers coming here for me because you’ve been talking too freely. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now — remind me. At Monkleigh last year there was some trouble, wasn’t there? We were attempting to take over another manor, and someone prevented us. Sir Geoffrey Servington sent us a full report on the whole affair, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Find it. I have a feeling that the name Furnshill is in there somewhere, and I’d like to make sure. I suspect that this Sir Baldwin has been a thorn in my side before — and you know what I do with thorns? I pull them out and crush them.’
Chapter Twenty
The Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary1
St Clement Danes
The morning Mass was a very special affair, and Baldwin and Simon were up before dawn on the Saturday with the main part of the Bishop’s household. To the knight’s surprise, Simon’s servant Rob appeared quite overwhelmed with the magnificence of the chapel, reverently gawping at the decoration all about.
After prayers in the Bishop’s chapel, Walter Stapledon led the way to the great gate at the Straunde, and he and his familia strode out into the road.
St Clement Danes was a delightful church just inside the Temple Bar, and Simon immediately felt at home there. It was one of those friendly churches where the congregation greeted strangers warmly. The priest himself was very proud to welcome the Bishop to his little church and urged him and his guests to enjoy their service when he met them at the door on the way inside.
Simon watched the priest with a mind empty of all except the beauty of the service, and a certain wariness about Rob’s behaviour, but as he stood watching, he began to grow aware of Baldwin fidgeting at his side.
The knight seemed to be spending much of the time peering ahead at the altar. It was only after they had finished the candlelit procession that Simon could edge nearer and speak. ‘You look upset, Baldwin. Is there something I can help with?’
‘No. It is nothing.’
He refused to discuss the matter further, but Simon saw his eyes moving towards Bishop Walter several times during the rest of the service. He seemed no more comfortable when they left the church and walked out into the crisp, wintry air.
‘Bishop, if you do not mind, I shall walk on to the Cathedral,’ he said. Bishop Walter graciously acquiesced, and Baldwin set off eastwards towards the city, Simon a little way behind him. After a while, he stopped at a great bar set across the road. It was a short distance from the church, and a man had pulled it aside so that it would not hinder traffic, but at night it would lie across the roadway, blocking it.
‘That,’ he said to Simon as the Bailiff and Rob caught up, ‘is Temple Bar.’
‘Yes?’ Simon gazed at it, seeking inspiration.
Rob said. ‘Yeah? It’s … big.’
‘Quite,’ Baldwin said, but this time with a twitch of his mouth that told Simon he was amused. ‘There are bars like this at every main junction outside the city’s gates. The city set them up to stop traffic during the night, and each day they’re pulled back so that people can use the roads again. They’re only tokens, really. A determined force could easily remove them. But they’re useful as symbols of the extremity of the authority of the city itself.’