‘My lady, I am no judge. I am concerned with the truth, and now I think I know it. I am anxious to see that no man suffers injustice, and I confess, I see injustice here, but only in the actions of others towards you — not from you towards other people. And your guard, I believe, has acted in good faith, if in a deplorable manner.’
‘What would you have done?’ Blaket said. ‘I killed her in order to protect my Lady.’
‘Plainly,’ Sir Baldwin said. And did she recognise you?’
‘No,’ the Queen said. ‘I did not.’
But Baldwin had not meant the Queen. Behind her he could see the blonde woman, still watching carefully. Alicia was not eager to see her man punished for protecting the Queen. Perhaps she was in truth an honourable, devoted servant.
In his mind’s eye Baldwin saw that little corridor again. The flickering light, the women passing along it from the chapel towards the Queen’s chamber, the sudden shock as the man leaped out, his blade flashing, and stabbing Mabilla in the breast while the others all recoiled, screaming, fainting, and one alone being bold enough to move forward. Why? To show her man that he had killed the right woman?
He might never know for certain, but that seemed the most likely tale.
‘Your Highness,’ he bowed, and he and Simon took their leave.
The King was expecting the second knock, but when the door opened, he found himself confronted by the serious faces of Bishop John of Bath and Wells, and Walter Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter.
‘My Lord Bishops — please, enter and take some wine with me,’ he said graciously enough.
‘I thank you, King Edward. It is good of you to be so kindly towards your humble subjects.’
As humble as two of the richest clerical thieves could be, the King told himself, but he smiled and inclined his head as though he believed the honeyed words. ‘And to what do I owe this visit, my Lord Bishops?’
It was Drokensford who spoke. ‘My Liege, as you know, it is a matter of great debate among your council as to who should be sent to France to undertake your mission. In an affair of such delicacy and concern, only a most trusted ambassador could be chosen.’
‘I know that. We have discussed the topic at such length, I am grown tired of the whole thing. In God’s name! What must I do to protect my Crown? There is no one safe enough.’
‘Apart from your wife, of course,’ Stapledon reminded him.
‘Yes, yes. That is what was concluded.’
‘And yet, if you send her there in the guise of a beggar, it will hardly reassure the French King that your intentions towards her are to be kindly upon her return.’
‘She is French, and our realm is in a state of suspended war with France,’ the King said harshly. ‘You expect me to reward the sister of my enemy?’
‘My Liege, of course not. But it would not be necessary to reward her, merely to return to her some of the estates and income which are presently denied to her. Elevate her to her correct station before sending her, or the service which she alone can do you might be irreparably damaged before she sails.’
‘She is unfaithful to me, her King!’
‘There is no evidence of that,’ Drokensford said repressively. All knew that his tone implied that there was much fault on the King’s part.
‘And what if she turns faithless while she is there?’
‘Hold back your son,’ Stapledon said. ‘Keep him safe here, and only when all is agreed do you send him to join her so he may swear fealty to King Charles. And when he goes, I shall go with him as your eyes and ears in the French court.’
‘You swear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let it be so!’
Chapter Forty-One
Baldwin left Blaket at the door to the Queen’s rooms and stood a moment deep in thought. ‘Come with me, old friend,’ he said at last, and led Simon back the way which they had taken earlier in the day.
Simon wondered what was making Baldwin frown so. ‘Blaket killed Mabilla, then?’
‘Apparently so — in order to provide a service to his mistress the Queen, and incidentally, perhaps, to protect his relationship with the Queen’s other maid: Alicia. Did you observe how closely that woman watched and listened all through the Queen’s speech just now?’
‘I only had eyes for the Queen,’ Simon admitted. ‘But what of it? At last we know who killed the girl.’
‘And we know who killed the assassin, Jack.’
‘You may. I do not.’
‘Oh, Simon. It must have been Despenser.’
‘Perhaps. Yet Bishop Walter was most insistent. I think he knew something. Perhaps the confessional … No matter. I am not convinced it was Sir Hugh.’
‘If it were not, then it was surely the only other man who had easy access to that room,’ Baldwin said.
‘There is only one such man.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘And I wish to see him briefly to ask him about that stain on his carpet.’
As they crossed a passage near the King’s chamber, they met a couple of servants carrying a rolled rug.
Baldwin stopped them. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘The King. He said it has been stained and must be burned.’
‘Good fellow! You do not need to do that. Let me buy it from you.’
So saying, he dug in his purse for some coins and pressed them into the men’s hands. ‘Could you take the thing to the small hall out in the Green Yard?’
The two looked at each other. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Then do so, and I should be grateful if you could also seek out the Coroner to the household, a knight called John.’
That, it appeared, was still more easy to arrange.
‘What are you planning, Baldwin?’ Simon asked as they strode forward along the passage to the door to the King’s chamber.
‘Who is it now?’ King Edward demanded.
He had only just disposed of the two Bishops, and now there was another man come to visit him. As the door opened and his steward peeped out, he felt a rising resentment.
If he were at glorious Eltham or Winchester, or up in York, he could have entertained himself happily, traipsing about the land with peasants, helping them with their annual tasks of hedging and ditching, and joining in their little festivities afterwards. There was no one who understood the common people like him.
But no. Here in Thorney Island, he was a prisoner, held here in his cell while those who despised him dropped in to goggle at him and make their demands, while he must sit and nod and make polite conversation until they would leave him and the next ones would appear. He was no better off than Isabella, his Queen. At least she had all semblance of responsibility taken from her. In some ways he would be happy if their positions were reversed, if she were in power and authority, and he was resting in a small, quiet cloister with no one to pester him.
‘Who is it now?’ he repeated as his servant glanced back at him.
‘The Keeper and Bailiff Puttock, my Lord.’
The two rascals entered a moment later, both with their faces to the floor in a wholly respectable display.
‘Well?’ he demanded of them testily. Where the Bishops had been offered wine and seats, these two could remain standing.
‘My Lord, you asked me to tell you when I had successfully concluded my investigations into the murder of the assassin and the lady-in-waiting Mabilla.’
‘What of the attempt on my friend’s life?’
‘That we have resolved,’ Baldwin said. ‘Your friend is content, I believe, that there will be no more attacks from that quarter.’