‘No, nothing.’
‘So he must have known his way about the palace in the dark, surely?’
Baldwin and Peter were both frowning at him. It was Baldwin who nodded slowly, and murmured, ‘A very good point, Simon.’
‘He must have been someone who knew the passageways as well as knowing where the Queen would be,’ Simon said.
‘Did she walk along that corridor at the same time every night?’ Baldwin asked.
‘The same time?’ Eleanor gave a sharp little laugh without humour. ‘She would have us up at all hours of the evening. She has needed the consolation of her priest every night since … well, since her children were taken from her.’
‘We have heard about that,’ Baldwin said, and his tone was colder.
Simon was still thinking about the corridor where Mabilla had died. ‘That means it could have been anyone in the Palace guard.’
‘Or someone who bribed a guard to learn where she might be,’ Peter offered helpfully.
‘True,’ Baldwin agreed.
Eleanor put in, ‘It could have been one of my husband’s men, too. I told him all about the Queen’s nocturnal wanderings. Any of his men could have overheard. No doubt Mabilla could have done, too.’
‘What of the assassin himself — the man found murdered, this Jack atte Hedge?’ Baldwin said. ‘Did you know him?’
‘The name is known to me.’
‘There is no need to be wary,’ Simon said bluntly. ‘We found one of your husband’s horses at the inn where Jack was living. The innkeeper told us it was the horse which Jack rode in on.’
She let her head fall a little. ‘Yes, I think Jack atte Hedge was a man whom my husband knew. They would meet occasionally. Only occasionally, though. Not often.’
‘How often would your husband have had need of a murderer?’ Baldwin asked pointedly. ‘This man Jack — do you know whether he was used to kill many people?’
‘That is not the sort of topic my husband would discuss with me,’ Eleanor told him. She trembled. It was hard to lose the conviction that her husband had been attempting to kill her when the figure jumped out at Mabilla that night. Alicia’s words had brought all that home to her.
‘I believe that this Jack was hired to come here to kill the Queen,’ Baldwin said. ‘I think that someone knew he was coming, and was determined to stop him. To do that, he stabbed and murdered the man, hiding him. And then he decided to kill Mabilla too. But my difficulty comes from this: if your husband chose to hire an assassin such as this Jack atte Hedge, I do not think he would be foolish enough to tell many people. He would surely try to prevent anybody from learning about it. And so whoever killed Jack must either have been enormously lucky, and guessed that the man might enter the palace to attempt to murder the Queen … or it was someone very close indeed to your husband who sought to frustrate his plan.’
‘Someone close?’ she repeated.
‘Only a man very close to Sir Hugh would be able to learn his mind, I should say. I only know him slightly, but that much is clear enough.’
‘Yes,’ she said, but her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘There is one aspect that confuses me, though. The man clearly knew that the Queen would pass by that corridor. Would your husband know that?’
‘He knows that the Queen regularly passes by there, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I have told him.’
Yes, since you are her gaoler and spy, Baldwin thought. Still … ‘But the man was not there as you walked to the chapel? Only when you returned? Or could he have been there, but so well concealed …’
‘No. He was not there as we walked to the chapel — we should have seen him.’
‘Strange,’ Baldwin said. ‘That would almost seem to imply that the killer was warned of the right time to be there. He was told beforehand, or heard people’s steps — or perhaps he knew that the Queen walked there most nights and was simply lucky that one evening. But that would mean that Jack atte Hedge and Mabilla’s deaths were simple coincidences that night, and I do not believe in such things.’
‘One of my husband’s men,’ she said again, and then she looked scared.
‘You can think of someone?’ Simon pressed her.
‘There are only two men who could have known and attempted to do something like that: William Pilk and Ellis. But it could not be Ellis. He was Mabilla’s brother. He loved her, and would never have laid a finger on her.’
Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look. Baldwin’s face was carefully devoid of all emotion, but Simon could not dissemble so effectively. On his was a savage delight.
‘William Pilk.’
As they learned his name, William Pilk had other concerns. He was wearing a bruise that was growing nicely under his right eye. His shin was sore, his kidneys felt as though he’d been kicked by a donkey, and his ballocks were swelling — they felt like they’d grown to twice their normal size. He couldn’t remember half of the wounds being inflicted, and he only prayed that Ellis felt as bad as him.
There was a deep-seated sense of resentment as he limped, careful to protect the more tender aspects of his anatomy, from the gate towards the Green Yard. The place was filled as usual, because whenever there was a council meeting or parliament here, all the traders turned up from miles around. They wanted to make as much money as they could while the realm’s magnates were all collected here on this muddy little island by the Tyburn.
There were some he recognised, and some who were less familiar, but one face in particular stood out as soon as he saw the man. It was the black-haired fellow who had been in deep discussion with his master Sir Hugh on the night that Jack atte Hedge first appeared at the Temple. Here he was again, sitting on a bench, supping a cup of ale. William was intrigued. If the man was here, he must be someone of more importance than Pilk had realised at the time.
Retaining power in the Despenser’s household was often a question of being more astute than others, more aware of what was happening, and then keeping any information you gleaned from that to yourself. Well, Ellis had plainly succeeded in that, because William knew bugger all about the man.
Without thinking, he bent his legs towards the fellow. He would buy him another ale, he decided, and learn all he could; but even as he limped towards the fellow, the latter rose and began to make his way from the court. As Pilk watched him, disappointed, he saw the dark-haired man glance back towards him. But not directly at him. No, he was staring at someone nearby …
Finishing his drink, Piers de Wrotham rose and set off towards the main gate. He had no more business here today, so far as he knew. He had ostensibly advised his master, Earl Edmund, and then been well rewarded for it by his other, secret master, Sir Hugh. Now, since catching sight of the Earl, he had a strong desire to leave here. Urgently. There was something in the look on Edmund’s face that spoke of danger. Had he seen Piers with Sir Hugh? That would account for it. Perhaps he should make a run for it now. It would be easy enough — he could either just disappear and make his way homewards to Kent, or perhaps return to Despenser and offer his services on a more permanent footing? Sir Hugh was definitely the man to keep friendly with.
The great gates were wide, and he reached them with a sigh of relief. Premature, as it happened, as with an inward groan, he saw the Earl, standing near where he had been before and casting about as though seeking someone. The moment he spied Piers at the gate, he strode up to meet him.
‘I am glad to see you. I need to talk to you,’ he said shortly.
‘Of course, my Lord.’
‘Outside, then. Not in here. Too many ears flapping.’
Piers nodded sagely, and the two made their way out and up King Street, the Earl all the while gazing about him as though the whole area was new to him.
‘How much?’ he demanded.
‘My Lord?’
‘How much did he pay you?’