‘My Lord, if Despenser had supplied me with the men promised to us …’
‘Oh yes, it always comes down to others, does it not? If not Sir Hugh, who would you blame then? Perhaps a French Constable? A Sergeant in your army? You are pathetic, but I have remained loyal to you and the memory of our father all this time. But no more. The gross insult you gave me when you murdered that man — and had his blasted head delivered to my own hall…’ Edward forced himself to sit back again, willing his fingers to release their grip on the arm of the chair, trying to breathe more easily.
‘My Lord, I was forced to do that. The man was a black traitor.’
‘You think you can murder with impunity?’
That stung. ‘You allow your lover to! He slaughters up and down the country and you do nothing! You smile on him, because …’
‘Yes? Because of what, brother?’ the King asked silkily.
Edmund curled his lip. Then he held out his hands, wrists together. ‘So, you wish to have me gaoled now? You want to have me taken to the Tower?’
‘No. But I will not have your face here in my court. You will go now, Earl. Leave me and do not come back. I will not have flagrant murderers here.’
Edmund made no more defence. He let his hands fall to his sides, and curtly nodded, walking backwards from the room as protocol demanded, and when he was gone, the King let his breath sigh from him.
At least the fool had gone quietly. Now darling Hugh and he would be alone. The King could reign, and rely on his lover without fearing that the jealousy of that half-wit would get in the way.
He stood, and as he did so, he caught sight of the darkened mess on his carpet. An assassin was repellent, but his blood was still more foul. Especially now, some days after the event.
Shouting for his steward, he pointed at it. ‘Have that carpet burned.’
Blaket was still smiling after the previous afternoon.
He had met Alicia outside the gate to the Abbey, just a short distance away, but far enough to be free from watchful eyes, and they had made their way over the bridge, past the mill at the Tyburn River, and thence southwards towards Chelchede.
It was cold, and he had pulled off his cloak to offer it to her, but she refused with a pained expression. Still, when they reached the little hovel which he had borrowed for the afternoon, she was happy enough to disrobe, and the pair had made love wildly beside the hearth on a bed of clean straw with rugs and skins laid atop. The memory of those kisses were with him still, along with the scratches on his back from her nails.
When he saw the two men approaching him, he had a premonition of trouble, and when they stopped and fixed him with serious expressions on their faces, he felt his heart begin to thump noisily. He could still remember the pain and anguish on Arch’s face after the ‘questioning’ he had endured.
‘You can’t go in there, my Lords,’ he said. ‘The Queen is resting.’
‘Why did you do it, Blaket?’ Baldwin said.
‘Do what?’
‘Kill Mabilla.’
Blaket took a deep breath, a diver taking his last before a plunge. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Simon himself breathed a little more easily now. ‘So you admit killing her?’
‘Someone had to. She was a danger to my lady the Queen. Our Queen.’
‘What made her so dangerous?’
‘That I cannot tell you,’ he said.
‘Cannot or will not?’ Simon pressed him.
‘He cannot, messieurs,’ said the Queen as she pulled open the door.
Simon glanced at Baldwin, and then the two walked past the guard and into the room with the Queen.
‘You have been here before, I hear,’ she said.
‘You have a most devoted guard,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘He caught us in here.’
‘He said that you had been seeking the murderer of that assassin.’
‘And of your lady-in-waiting,’ Simon said pointedly.
‘I know nothing of the death of the assassin. All I do know is, he was sent here to kill me. It was not possible to forgive such an act. It will never be possible.’
‘The maid?’ Baldwin asked. As he spoke, he saw the blonde woman behind the Queen. It was Alicia, the woman who Peter had said was in love with this guard, Blaket. She sat at a stool with her hands in her lap, listening to every word. ‘Mabilla?’ Baldwin prompted. ‘You ordered her death, Your Majesty?’
The Queen looked at him very directly. ‘You think me evil, monsieur? Mabilla was a spy. She watched me all the time — every hour of every day. It would have been pleasant to have ordered her to be removed from my side, but I am much dissipated in my authority of late.’
‘Your husband would surely have …’
‘What? Taken away Mabilla to please me? My husband has another lover now. A third person has come between us,’ she said bitterly. ‘You know this. All know it. And I have to endure the shame.’
‘What made it so necessary that she die?’
‘She knew that I was trying to write to my brother, the King of France. She watched over me constantly.’
‘So why did you order her death?’ Baldwin asked. ‘She had been watching you for some little while, I suppose. So why have her killed just then?’
‘Because she was attempting to have me killed. What, you are surprised? You knew that the assassin had been sent to kill me, did you not? How would he have been able to do that, without knowing what I would be doing at different hours of the day? He needed someone to tell him — and Mabilla was the one who did so. She told him all that I was doing — when I went to my chapel, when I would be at prayer, when I returned, when I would be eating, when I would be sleeping, and where, too. She had sold me to my executioner.’
‘So you ordered Blaket to kill her?’
‘Yes. I wanted no more spies in my home. Removing her means no one else will be so keen to commit petit traison against me.’
‘But what of the assassin?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Him?’ The Queen smiled. ‘Ah, for that you must ask my Lord.’
‘The King?’ Baldwin asked. ‘He and Despenser would hardly have a man killed and then make it appear that sodomy was involved, setting the body behind the throne to make it obvious that the dead man was the power behind the King …’
Isabella laughed. At first Baldwin thought it was a reaction of horror at the thought of the barbaric treatment of the corpse, but then he realised that it was genuine amusement.
‘Monsieur! Monsieur! Did you think that? No! It was merely to say that the man should have no children. He who has dared to try to attack the wife of the King should not be permitted to sire his own children. Any traitor would receive the same punishment.’
Baldwin sighed. That was not a construction he had put on the punishment of the man. Yet it was a normal punishment for the worst traitors, along with hanging and drawing. And yet … ‘But if, as you allege, Your Majesty, the Despenser killed this man, surely he would not cut off his tarse and thrust it into his mouth? To him, the man was honourable and faithful.’
‘You think that there is a limit to that loathsome man’s behaviour?’
Baldwin held her gaze for a while, and then nodded. ‘I understand. Now — Blaket. What should I do with him?’
The Queen was very calm. ‘Monsieur, you could have him arrested. You have his confession, you have my admission of complicity. All you need do is denounce us.’
Baldwin could feel her stillness as she spoke, and he eyed her closely, seeking a clue as to her real feelings. Simon, he saw, was enthralled by her tale. He was looking at her with that contemplative expression which Baldwin knew so well.
And yes, truth be told, Baldwin had a deal of sympathy for her. She had fallen from such power to a position of humble subservience. Her toppling had brought her as low as any poor ward protected by an unjust and unpredictable master. Here she was, a beautiful woman, mother to the King’s children, honourable and faithful, and because her husband had discovered he loved another man, she was all but destitute. All her servants had been replaced with those more easily bent to the King’s will, her Chaplain even had been removed.