‘No. Neither is enamoured of the other,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Perhaps that has some bearing on the murder.’
Earl Edmund of Kent had been drinking, and seeing the rain falling so steadily outside, he chose to remain indoors with his two henchmen.
Usually he did not bother with guards, especially when he was in the palace grounds, but today he felt jumpy. Sir Hugh le Despenser was a dangerous man at the best of times, but never more so than when he felt himself in a corner — as he must do now. The discovery of the assassin had come as a shock to him, Edmund was sure, and the fact that he lied about knowing him meant little: the Despenser was almost incapable of telling the truth, Edmund knew that. Who else would have considered hiring an assassin to come and murder the Queen? There was no one apart from him who could have been so brazen in their actions.
Mad. Bloody mad. As soon as the Queen died, her brother in France would demand the heads of those responsible, and all knew exactly how much Sir Hugh hated and feared her. He would be the number one suspect.
At that moment, Sir Baldwin and Simon appeared. Seeing the Earl, Simon pointed him out to Sir Baldwin, and the pair crossed the yard towards him.
‘My Lord, would you object to answering some questions?’ the knight asked. ‘As you know, your brother the King has asked us to investigate the murder of the woman Mabilla.’
Simon was eyeing the Earl as Baldwin introduced them, and try as he might, he could not shake the description which Alicia had given them from his mind. She had said young, which was fair enough, but she’d also described a less muscled neck, and shoulders that could not have graced a knight. This man was living proof of his skills with lance and sword. His shoulders were broad as befitted one who trained with weapons every day of his life; his neck was strong enough to hold a man sitting on his head. Still, he could have hired a man to kill the woman, he supposed.
‘If you must,’ the Earl said with a bad grace.
‘We have heard that you knew the woman Mabilla.’
‘Have you?’
‘Is it true that she rejected your advances?’
Earl Edmund coloured with anger. ‘What is that to you? Oh, I forgot, my dear brother told you to investigate this little affair, so naturally you had to come here to me. Well, yes, the brazen little bint did waggle her arse near me once too often, and I succumbed. It was after Christmas, and she was obviously demanding some attention. Christ, you know what some of the bitches can be like. She was on heat, and I was ready. So I chased her out of the hall and into the yard here. It was clear what she wanted, and I was happy enough to supply it. I mean, last year …’
What could he say? That last year hadn’t been his best ever? By the Gospels, that was an understatement. He had been sent out to Guyenne with the King’s host to protect the lands, and then when the French arrived, his military career was shredded. They had the son of the devil himself, Count Valois, there, and that experienced old bastard had trounced Edmund at every turn. There was nothing to do but retreat, and finally Edmund had been surrounded at La Reole. By late September, Charles Valois had conquered all, and Edmund was forced into a humiliating truce.
When he finally returned to England, he had hoped for some sympathy, but no. There was nothing, only contempt for his actions and failings. No one wanted to listen to him or to hear his side of the story. All they cared about, as the King himself had said, was the loss of their lands. Well, so did he!
Mabilla was the only one who ever gave him the time of day during those miserable lonely weeks. She obviously had the hots for him, and he thought she was lovely, although he waited for a signal. And when she seemed to give him the come-on, he rallied, set his lance to the rest and charged.
‘She was a lovely wench, I’ll give her that.’ The Earl sighed heavily. It was dreadful to think she was dead.
‘But she rejected you?’
‘Look, I’m a man, and I’ve had many maids — most willing, some not — and I know when one of them wants to play hide the sausage! She was keen — she made that obvious. And then, when I followed her out from the hall, and tried to grapple with her in the Green Yard, she swore at me, screamed and accused me of rape, God help me!’
Simon said, ‘You’d been drinking?’
‘Oh, you can look at me like that if you want, Bailiff, but you hark to me! That wench knew how to wriggle her arse as she passed by, how to bend just low enough to give me a view of her bubbies, and she would sit so close to me I could hardly put my hand down without resting it on her thighs. That went on for weeks. And then, the first time I gave chase, I got the brush-off and accusations of rape. It was ballocks! Pure ballocks. She’d been drawing me on, and as soon as she had my blood up, she lost interest. She’s damned lucky I didn’t rip her clothes off there and then and give her a good bulling!’
‘Why didn’t you? She deserved it, for being a tease,’ Simon said sarcastically. It was the excuse he had often heard in his own court.
‘I’m no rapist,’ Edmund said hotly. ‘And in any case, if I was found to have done something like that, I’d have had my arse in gaol instantly. My name is no protection — not after last year.’ He said bitterly, ‘Even the King would have been happy to see me, his own brother, out of the way.’
‘Interesting,’ Baldwin said as they walked away. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘The Chaplain told us he thought that there was a gleam in Edmund’s eye towards Mabilla. But surely if he had killed her, he would have denied any flirtation between them. Why should he admit it, and tell us the story straight out like that?’ Simon shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem the act of an ashamed or guilty man.’
‘I agree. Which means that the rest of his tale could also be true. In which case, what was the girl doing, teasing and tormenting a man like him until he felt he had no choice but to bed her? Clearly she did not want that, so why tempt him?’
‘What motive could she have had?’ Simon agreed.
‘I do not know. But it is something I intend to try to understand,’ Baldwin said.
They were almost at the gate to the Green Yard now, but then they heard Baldwin’s name being bellowed, and turned to see a messenger running towards them at full tilt.
Earl Edmund was still at his table when he heard the shouting and saw a rider approaching through the rain. He rode in at full tilt, yanking the reins about as he cleared the gatehouse, so that his beast thrust both forelegs out stiffly; the man was out of the saddle almost before the horse registered that he had stopped.
‘What’s his hurry?’ Earl Edmund wondered aloud.
The man pelted in towards the palace, but before long he was running out again. He grabbed the reins, pulling the horse to a mounting block near the gatehouse, he sprang up into the saddle again, and then sat waiting for someone else.
Men were running about, and two more horses were quickly brought out and saddled. Then Baldwin and Simon hurried over, and in a moment the two and their guide had spurred their mounts and hastened off through the gate, heading west.
Edmund finished up his drink, belched, and wiped his mouth. If they were going, it left much of the palace empty. That was good. It gave him a little time to do a few things himself.
The news that Jack atte Hedge’s lodging had been found gave Baldwin a whole new view on their position. As though this mere snippet of information could protect him and his family, he grabbed at this chance.
Chelchede was the name of the small vill to which the messenger took them. It was one of those places which Baldwin always disliked; built in the loop of the Thames, the area was prone to flooding. It was very damp now, in the middle of the winter, and puddles and mud predominated. The trees which survived were stunted and unhealthful, because of the sodden soil. At least the people looked fit and well. Their diet must include a large quantity of the wild fish that swam in the river, Baldwin guessed.