‘Hush now. Please.’ I gestured at the corpse. ‘Cover that.’
Spit Boy, disappointed at not being able to view the macabre sight more closely, came and stood by Hawisa.
‘Tell her,’ he hissed, ‘what you know. You’ ll get another coin!’
‘He,’ Hawisa pointed at the sheeted corpse, ‘was in the tavern. I was in the kitchen. I was hot, so I came out into the yard, you know, towards the rear gate. This woman came out of the dark. At first I thought she was some apple squire, a pimp or a whore.’
‘Describe her.’
‘Mistress, I’ve told you it was very dark. She looked like a nun.’
‘A nun?’
‘Yes, there was a wimple round her face. In the faint light her skin looked smooth; her voice was soft. I said, “Mistress how fare ye?” and she replied, “I have a message for him.”’ Hawisa pointed at the corpse. ‘She gave me his name. I replied, “How will he know, what are you called?” “Agnes,” she replied. “Give him this.” She handed me a coin and thrust a leather pouch into my hand. I ran back into the tavern, went into a corner and opened the pouch. I thought it might be coins, but it was a roll of parchment. Very thin, with some letters on it.’ She shrugged. ‘I cannot read. The pouch also contained two waxen seals.’
‘What mark did they carry?’
‘A large bird: a hawk, maybe an eagle. Anyway, she said that I would be rewarded by him, he’d give me another coin. So I ran up the stairs; the taproom was very busy. I knocked on the door. Master Pax-Bread was lying on his bed, boots all off. I think he’d been drinking. I told him what had happened and gave him the pouch. He read the parchment, took the seals, examined them carefully, then nodded, saying he would be down shortly. I stayed until he tossed me a coin, then I left. I returned to the kitchen, and that was the last I saw or heard of him.’
I thanked both Hawisa and Spit Boy, and they disappeared.
‘So,’ I grasped Mine Host’s arm and walked him over to the sheeted corpse, ‘I have given you money for his burial, sir. You claim he came in from his pleasures and went up the stairs to his room. A short while later that kitchen wench brought Pax-Bread a message asking him to meet a stranger, a woman, outside the rear gate. But after that, nothing?’
‘Nothing,’ Mine Host agreed, wiping his hands on his jerkin. ‘Mistress, it wasn’t until his corpse was brought in and the coroner made his judgement that Hawisa told me. .’
Demontaigu and I left the tavern. Out in the street it was quieter now. Somewhere a night bird screeched. Doors opened and shut. Shutters banged and clattered. A dog barked up an alleyway. Shadows flittered across the pools of light. Demontaigu grasped me by the arm and led me down the street, then into the comfortable warmth of a small alehouse. The taproom was noisy, with two men shouting at each other about an impending cockfight. The ale master looked us up and down and led us into a small chamber beyond smelling sweetly of apples. He waved us to a table in the far corner. Demontaigu ordered stoups of ale, some bread freshly baked and a pot of butter. We ate and drank in silence. Demontaigu was obviously despondent. For a while he kept his head down, more intent on his food and drink. Now and again his lips moved as if he was having a quiet conversation with himself, then he began to speculate on Pax-Bread’s murder.
‘Undoubtedly the wench Agnes!’ he murmured, biting into the bread, then gestured at the eerie painting hanging against the far wall. It showed a cat dressed as a bishop shepherding a flock of sparrows clothed in the red garb of whores.
‘Agnes d’Albret?’ I mocked. ‘Slipping along the dark alleyways of London to a common tavern, enticing Pax-Bread into the shadows, then garrotting him? I don’t think so. Bertrand, you are tired!’
‘Whoever it was,’ he retorted heatedly, ‘carried Gaveston’s seals.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose the favourite could disguise himself, even though he is a warrior. There is talk of him having a woman’s heart in a man’s body. Gossip and chatter cast him as a king’s catamite, his lover a male bawdy-basket.’
‘The malicious clacking of tongues,’ I retorted, ‘chaff in the wind!’ I paused. Isabella and I often reflected on the true relationship between Edward and Gaveston. They undoubtedly loved each other, but as Isabella had whispered in my ear, had they ever lain together like man and wife? I always viewed it as a matter of no concern to myself.
‘Anyway. .’ I spoke up, then remembered where I was, and drew closer and whispered in Demontaigu’s ear. ‘Why should Gaveston kill his own man?’
‘To silence him on other matters. Think, Mathilde! Pax-Bread arrives at the Secret of Solomon, he rests and relaxes. He expects a meeting with Gaveston or someone the favourite will send. He visits Alvena at the Domus Iucundarum; he returns only to be lured out by that woman and murdered.’
‘True, according to Alvena, Pax-Bread was very wary. He would only meet someone he could utterly trust, and that’s not the end of the mystery,’ I continued. ‘Whoever murdered Pax-Bread somehow walked into the Secret of Solomon, slipped into his chamber and removed all Pax-Bread’s possessions, though how he, she or they came and left without being noticed is a mystery. The room was locked and bolted from the inside. Why? Of course,’ I whispered, ‘they wanted to seize anything Pax-Bread had brought; they were also determined to create the impression that he had fled. But why all this mystery? Pax-Bread told Hawisa to go and that he’d be down shortly, yet no one saw him leave.’ I shook my head. ‘We do not know what was written in that parchment note, and those seals? Only Gaveston, or someone close to him, would be able to produce them.’
‘Shadows,’ Demontaigu breathed. ‘Parvae substantiae — of little substance.’ His voice turned bitter. ‘What is it to me? What do I care about pompous princes who fight other pampered lords so they can do what they want for themselves without any thought for others? For the likes of my brethren, the Templars, rotting in dungeons, facing scandalous allegations, denied even a fair trial-’
‘And why should I care,’ I interrupted angrily, ‘for men who once lorded it over others?’
‘Does that include your uncle?’
‘He was my uncle,’ I retorted. ‘Whatever else he was is, as you say, parvae substantiae. I mourn my uncle, Bertrand, because he was my uncle, because he loved me. I loved him, yet he was murdered in a barbaric, ignominious fashion.’
Demontaigu sighed and put his face into his hands. He took a deep breath and let his hands fall away.
‘Pax-Bread was murdered,’ he declared. ‘This business of the Poison Maiden, all I’m saying. .’ He shook his head. ‘I want to break free of it, look after my own.’
‘Bertrand,’ I seized his hands between mine, ‘there is a right and wrong here. Philip of France is truly wicked. He made his daughter what she is and, to a certain extent, what you and I now are. We are here because of what he did. I agree Edward and Gaveston are no saints. I do not wear their colours and neither do you. Both are fickle-hearts and would betray us if it so suited them.’ I paused. ‘Bertrand, I study the world of herbs. Some, like belladonna, are pure poison; others, such as broom, contain some good if used correctly. So it is with us. I agree with the psalmist: all men are liars. I also accept his advice: put not your trust in princes. However, in this vale of wickedness, Edward and Gaveston are our best protection against the malice of Philip. My world has come down to this: to care for and protect my mistress, you and myself; to me that’s all. The rest?’ I shrugged. ‘God knows I did not want it this way, yet God only knows why that’s the way it is. Philip is a noxious plant. He has poisoned my life and those I care deeply for. If I can, I will do all in my power to uproot him and his. True, what I say is nothing to do with the love of Christ or the virtue of religion. Yet I do take comfort in the fact that God may wish to use me to achieve his own mysterious purposes.’ I punched Demontaigu playfully in the arm. ‘I believe the Poison Maiden, whoever he, she or they may be, is of Philip’s making. They threaten us so I will threaten back. We have to be prudent and cunning. Put on our masks to face their masks.’