Once she had dismissed them, she sent a page boy for the supervisor of the king’s works, the clerk responsible for the cleaning of the latrines and cesspits. The man came all nervous and fell immediately to his knees. Isabella assured him all was well.
‘I have one question, sir. You must keep that and your answer confidential until I speak to my husband.’
The man swallowed hard, nodding vigorously.
‘What was the cause of the blockage to the latrines and sewers?’
The clerk shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Mistress, you know how narrow the runnels are; they become easily clogged. What is lying down there is rotting but bulky enough to create a blockage.’
‘And?’ Isabella asked imperiously. ‘What did you find? Sir, I do not wish a full description of what you dragged from the sewers and cesspits; just what caused the blockage, the foul smells in this palace.’
‘Simple enough, your grace,’ he replied quickly. ‘Cloth, coarse wool, some wire, hardened parchment-’
‘Except,’ I intervened, ‘surely it is rare for so many sewers and latrines to become blocked at the same time, unless they feed into the one pit?’
‘Yes, I did wonder about that,’ the clerk mumbled, ‘how different latrines became blocked at the same time, but there again, it can happen. Page boys, squires, maids,’ he smiled nervously at me, ‘they could do it deliberately. Now they are cleared and run clean, flushed with water.’
My mistress thanked and dismissed him. After he’d gone, she asked me to help her undress. Once finished, she stood on a turkey carpet in the centre of her chamber dressed only in a bed-robe, her long hair falling down almost to her shoulder blades. She looked older, her face drawn; the way her eyes kept moving from left to right to left betrayed her agitation, her nervousness at what she had to do.
‘Mathilde, it is best if you retire to your chamber. I wish to be alone.’
I bowed and left. Of course, I visited Guido, but he was now out of bed, dressed and shaved, his hair oiled and crimped. He explained how the queen dowager and her children had returned to their own quarters in the Old Palace. I asked him about Agnes. Guido raised his eyes heavenward.
‘My mistress sent her to Marigny on some errand; that was yesterday evening, and she has not returned. Why do you ask, Mathilde?’
I replied that I wished to speak to her, thanked him and left. He called after me how he hoped to visit me, as he would soon be joining the queen dowager. I returned to my own chamber, locked and bolted the door, prepared my chancery desk and started to write down my thoughts, this time more coherently, in a logical form, like a peritus in the chancery drawing up a bill of indictment.
Demontaigu and I had returned to Westminster as the bells rang the Angelus, so it was late afternoon before a page boy asked me to join my mistress in her chambers. She seemed more calm and poised.
‘Mathilde, we must wait upon Ap Ythel and Demontaigu. If they discover what we suspect, then I must approach the king, not you. It is my hour, my day. So tell me again.’
I did so, sitting opposite her as if telling a story, my words no longer stumbling. I had hardly finished when Ap Ythel and Demontaigu, dirt-marked, their clothing all stained, asked for an audience. Once the door was closed and both were seated on stools before the queen, Demontaigu glanced at Ap Ythel, who nodded.
‘Your grace, Mathilde, I must apologise. We found other weapons in the gardens, daggers and swords, but nothing else until we came to the cellars. In Burgundy Hall,’ Ap Ythel used his hands to demonstrate, ‘the cellars are dug deep and stretch virtually from one end of the building to the other. They are small rooms, each cut off by a jutting wall; they not only serve as storerooms, but also support the building above. Wine casks and other provisions are kept there. We found something else: bulging skins, sacks full of oil tied tightly at the neck, pushed behind barrels or wedged tightly into corners.’
I closed my eyes and murmured a prayer.
‘There was more,’ Ap Ythel continued. ‘Small casks of saltpetre, fire powder, your grace. I served with the late king four years ago when he besieged Stirling. I saw him use such oil and powder to crack the hardest stone.’
‘And these lie throughout the cellar?’ Isabella asked.
‘Yes, your grace. Once sworn to secrecy, the master of the stores, the cellarer, and the master of the pantry and the kitchen were questioned, but no one knew anything about these things. In fact, as we interrogated them, I could tell they were concerned. One candle, one torch. .’
‘And what would have happened?’ Isabella asked.
‘Burgundy Hall would have been turned into a roaring inferno,’ Demontaigu replied. ‘The oil and powder together with the dry wood, wine and other stores in the cellar would create a fire hotter than a furnace. Some of the hall is built of wood. The flames would simply roar up, bursting through one floor after another whilst draughts would sweep the fire the length of the building. Within a few heartbeats, your grace, and I do not exaggerate, Burgundy Hall would become hell on earth. I have seen such fires spread; it doesn’t wait, it actually leaps, the smoke itself can choke you.’
I stared at the tapestry on the walclass="underline" a gift to the queen from the scholars of St Paul’s. It described the legend of Medusa, who lived in the furthest extremes of Africa where the hot earth is burnt by fire at sunset. Medusa cradled her own severed head whilst from her neck swarmed hissing serpents, their flickering tongues spitting blood. Vipers hung loose around her body as those awful eyes in that severed head glared out. The picture caught my mood of horror.
‘They meant to kill us all,’ I whispered. ‘If that cellar was lighted at the dead of night, the fire would spread, and the king, my lord Gaveston. .’ I stared at Isabella. She sat, face hard, eyes bright with anger. ‘No one would have survived, or very few.’
‘I thought of that,’ Demontaigu murmured. ‘Your grace, every man and woman would have had to look after themselves. Can you imagine his grace the king, Lord Gaveston, yourself, Mathilde? Even if you did escape, stumbling out, shocked, burnt, coughing and spitting, any assassin lurking in the dark would find it easy to strike.’
‘And these hellish cellars?’ Isabella asked sharply.
‘They are now being secretly cleared,’ Ap Ythel declared, ‘the oil and powder loaded into carts. Tonight these will be taken into the meadows south of the abbey where they will be closely guarded. My men are under oath, no one is to know!’
‘Good.’ Isabella rose to her feet; immediately we all did the same. ‘I have learnt enough.’ She turned to me. ‘If a hypothesis be true in one part, then it is probably true in all its aspects. Mathilde, gentlemen, I shall return.’ She swept out, shouting for pages and squires to escort her to the king.
Demontaigu and Ap Ythel went out into the gallery. I followed, closing the door behind me and summoning a page to stand on guard. Ap Ythel shook his head.
‘The enemy within,’ he murmured, ‘that’s how my people were conquered by the great Edward, the enemy within!’ He and Demontaigu left, determined to conduct one more final search and ensure that what Isabella had called those ‘hellish cellars’ were clear of all danger. I returned to my own chamber, locked the door and crouched over a small brazier, gathering warmth from the glowing coals. I picked up a coverlet and wrapped it around my shoulders. I found myself cold, shivering as the horror of what could have happened dawned. My uncle had told me about fire powder. Even a farmer’s lad would know the danger of blending oil, wine, dry wood and saltpetre; the flames would have raced through those cellars and up, turning Burgundy Hall and all within it into a living torch. Eventually I calmed my soul. I heated some wine, drank the hot posset and returned to my own studies. There was a gap, one piece of evidence I needed, but for that, I would have to wait. I dozed for a while; the abbey bells tolling for Vespers woke me. Shortly afterwards Ap Ythel, now dressed smartly in the royal livery, knocked on my door. The king had summoned me to his own chambers, where the queen was waiting.