Isabella laughed sharply at that.
‘Something or someone is uniting them; that is the cause of our present troubles.’ Edward shrugged. ‘Who, what, why, we don’t know. Is it the Poison Maiden?’ He pointed at Isabella. ‘You told me that you once heard your father, in secret council with his coven in the gardens of the Louvre, talk of La Demoiselle Venimeuse, the Ancilla Venenata.’
‘Just words,’ Isabella warned. ‘I also listened to the chatter of the clerks of my father’s secret chancery; even they wondered who this Demoiselle Venimeuse really could be.’
‘As did my father,’ Edward added bitterly. ‘About seven or eight years ago he was here at Westminster. One night I came to his chambers. My father’s rages were famous. On that occasion, he was furious. He tore at the servants’ hair, beat them and threw them against the walls. He was ranting and screaming. I dared not enter the chamber. Later, a retainer told me how the cause of this rage was someone called the Poison Maiden. My father said that great damage had been done by her, but what he meant, no one understood. On my accession, I asked the clerks if they knew, even men like Drokensford of the secret chancery. They replied how they’d heard passing reference to the Poison Maiden, but nothing more.’
‘Your grace?’
‘Mathilde, ma cherie?’
‘Would Langton know?’
‘Perhaps.’ Edward’s smile faded. ‘But we will come to our perfidious bishop and your visit to him in my own good time.’ He left the threat hanging in the air. I recalled my words to Demontaigu, how Chapeleys had died in our care.
‘We believe,’ Gaveston said brusquely, ‘that the Demoiselle Venimeuse meddles in our present troubles, but that is suspicion only; we have no firm evidence.’
‘Perhaps you are just casting about.’
‘My lady,’ Edward wagged a finger at Isabella, ‘I wish to God that was true. Pax-Bread,’ he smiled thinly, ‘has assured me I am not.’ The king chewed the corner of his lip, staring at me as if challenging me to ask who Pax-Bread was. I kept silent. Edward was fickle. He could sit and argue with a groom about a brass buckle as if the man was his born brother, only to change abruptly, demanding all the rights and appurtenances of kingship. I stared past him at the weak sunlight pouring through the lattice window, and prayed quietly that I would be able to meet Demontaigu later that day.
‘Pax-Bread?’ Isabelle asked softly.
‘If Philip has his spies, so do we,’ Gaveston explained. He eased the folds of his cotehardie, undoing the clasp of the cambric shirt beneath. ‘Pax-Bread’s true name is Edmund Lascelles, a Gascon, a close friend of my family. One of the finest pastry cooks under God’s heaven. He is also the most subtle of spies. He hates Philip and did good work for the old king exploiting one of Philip’s few weaknesses.’ Gaveston paused at Isabella’s sharp gasp.
‘Your father, my lady, is well known for his sweet tooth: he relishes tarts, blancmanges, pastries, jellies, creams and sugars. Pax-Bread soon rose to prominence in Philip’s kitchens as a man who would serve delectable dishes when the claret and osier had been drunk. Tongues eventually turn loose, even in the French king’s private chambers, especially when Philip dines with Marigny and others of his ilk. Of course, no bird flies free for ever. Pax-Bread. .’ Gaveston smiled. ‘An appropriate name, is it not? The bread passed between friends at the osculum pacis, the kiss of peace during the mass. Anyway, Pax-Bread fell under suspicion and was forced to flee to our garrison at Boulogne; that was at the end of February. He spent a great deal of time trying to cast off his pursuers. In case he never reached London, he sent us a letter.’ Gaveston dipped into his cotehardie and drew out a parchment. He gave this to Isabella, who undid it, read it, pulled a face and, when Gaveston nodded, passed it to me.
The letter was well written. It began: Monsieur Pierre s’avisera — ‘Monsieur Pierre, be well advised.’ It then delivered a list of pastry, herbal and other items. These were written in sentences of eight words, every third word now underlined in green ink. The words thus scored were: s’avisera, demoiselle, venimeuse, ageant, grande, damage, parmi, seigneurs’, employa, ombres, Jean, Haute, Mont, ‘a’, verite, Secrete, Solomon, Annonciation.
‘The emphasis is mine,’ Gaveston explained, ‘a code Pax-Bread and I often used. Put these words together and Pax-Bread is advising us to be aware that the Poison Maiden will do great damage amongst the Lords.’
‘Les ombres, the shadows?’ I asked.
‘More precisely,’ Edward intervened, ‘they like to be called Tenebrae — the Darkness: that’s the Latin translation. They are professional assassins skulking in London, one of the more vicious gangs that can be hired by the city fathers to settle grudges with each other.’
‘And Pax-Bread is claiming the Poison Maiden will use these?’
‘Of course.’
‘Against whom?’
Gaveston coughed and stared full at me.
‘You, my lord,’ I breathed. ‘Yes, that would be logical. If your opponents took up arms, they could be called traitors, but an attempt on you by some secret, silent assassin couldn’t be laid at their door.’
‘We should move,’ Isabella declared, ‘not stay here.’
‘Not yet.’ Gaveston held up a hand. ‘The palace is secure, Burgundy Hall even more so. This game has to be played out. You understand that? The problem is to be dealt with immediately. To retreat now would mean defeat. The king must show he is master in his own home.’ Gaveston spread his hands. ‘Westminster is the royal palace, its abbey the royal mausoleum. If he cannot rule here, where else?’
‘And the other references, such as Solomon and the Annunciation?’
‘The Secret of Solomon is a tavern in an alleyway off Cheapside. Pax-Bread is saying he’ll be there today, the Feast of the Annunciation. Mathilde,’ Gaveston breathed out noisily, ‘royal messengers are watched; Isabella’s household not so closely. After all, her grace,’ he pulled a face, ‘is supposed to detest me as much as Winchelsea does. You, Mathilde, can be trusted. We want you to meet Pax-Bread at the Secret of Solomon.’ He smiled lazily. ‘Demontaigu, the queen’s clerk, can go with you. He is acceptable, yes?’
I stared back, determined not to blush or be disconcerted. ‘Anyway,’ Gaveston plucked a sweetmeat from the dish, ‘you can go and discover what Pax-Bread really knows.’ He fished in his wallet and slipped across an impression of his seal. ‘Show him that; he will trust you.’
‘When, my lord?’
‘When I am finished.’
‘My lord,’ I was determined to question those other items mentioned in Pax-Bread’ s letter, ‘Jean Haute Mont a la verite — John High Mountain has the truth. What does that mean?’
Gaveston shook his head. ‘I cannot tell you, Mathilde; Pax-Bread will. Now Chapeleys? Her grace has told us already, but you must relate everything that happened.’
I did so. Edward and Gaveston heard me out. The favourite kept still, now and again staring up at the rafters as if weighing the worth of what I said. I also described the murder of Rebecca Atte-Stowe and my faint suspicion that her death was part of the mystery surrounding Chapeleys’ murder. At the mention of Robert’s attack on Ingleram Berenger and my plea that the king should show mercy, Edward raised a hand.
‘Undoubtedly Chapeleys’ death is most regrettable. He apparently had something to say. However, unbeknown to you, Mathilde, he had already written to me, asking to be relieved of his duties at the Tower. He declared that he was innocent of any charges and asked why he had been punished along with Langton. He then made the most surprising confession: that Langton had hinted at the true identity of the Poison Maiden.’ Edward paused for effect.