Dispensation of Death: (Knights Templar 23) Page 19

  He continued talking as they walked up the road until they reached the bridge over the Fleet River, and there Simon’s eyes opened wide to see the huge wall.

  It extended northwards in a straight, unimpeded line, with a vast ditch before it. The wall was beautiful, too. There were strings of red tiles that made a pattern of lines going diagonally across it, and it had beautifully maintained castellations, a rebuke to the tatty condition of the walls at Exeter.

  But it was not merely the wall that caught his attention. Beyond was the cathedral, standing clear in the grey morning light on its hill.

  ‘Saint Paul’s,’ Baldwin said.

  They entered the great city by the gate, and were soon making their way up Ludgate Hill, Baldwin speaking about the port which supplied so much of the population’s needs.

  For Simon there was an especial thrill in standing before the enormous church. Peering at the two towers, the statues and decorations, he was lost in wonder. When Baldwin interrupted him, he was quite startled.

  ‘I think we ought to get a move on, Simon. Here comes Bishop Walter and his retinue.’

  ‘Oh? Oh, yes.’ Simon was excited at the prospect of seeing the interior. It was surely not so vast as Exeter, with its massive length of nave, nor as well decorated as the fabulous cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, but for all that, it was a splendid sight.

  Except that for the second time that morning, he gradually became aware that Baldwin was very jumpy: his eyes were roving about the people in the street, watching them carefully.

  ‘What is it, Baldwin?’ he asked a trifle testily. Only then did he himself grow aware of the terrible tension in the crowds about the Cathedral. There was an almost palpable hatred in the air. As the Bishop’s party approached the Cathedral, the babble had dulled, and now the people were glaring at him with sullen faces.

  As Simon registered the mood of the people there, a stone was hurled. It flew high over Simon’s head, and he heard it smack into the flank of one of the men-at-arms’ horses. The mount gave a snort and jerked his head, bouncing up and down. And then there was another missile, this time some ordure from the kennel, and it splattered into the wall of the church not far from the Bishop’s head.

  Bishop Walter kept calm, and merely clattered on, but there were shouts now on all sides, and curses and imprecations were thrown at him as he passed towards the hitching posts. A couple of urchins stood there, taking the reins for all those who were attending the service, and they gleefully took the Bishop’s, gazing about in the hope of boys everywhere that they might see some excitement.

  When he had given away his mount, he stood and surveyed the crowds. There was more shouting, and Baldwin distinctly heard someone berating Stapledon about the ‘Eyre’.

  The Bishop held up his hand and glared about at the people in front of him. Baldwin nudged Simon, and began to walk towards him, pushing through the crowd with an increasing sense of concern. The guards from his party were looking from one side to another with increasing alarm, their hands on their swords. In the whole space before the Cathedral, the only man who appeared calm and collected still was the Bishop. He held up both hands now, in a gesture of mild reproof.

  ‘Wait, my friends,’ he called. His answer was a small hail of pebbles. It was all Baldwin needed. He saw a young man, probably an apprentice, levering a cobble from the roadway with a metal bar. Before the lad could heft the rock, he was aware of a bright blue blade under his chin.

  ‘Drop it.’

  The lad not only dropped it, he took one look at Baldwin’s face and bolted.

  But scaring one man was not sufficient to ensure the Bishop’s safety. Baldwin saw that Simon had grabbed a long staff from someone, and had cracked another man over the wrist with it. The fellow was standing looking daggers at Simon while nursing his forearm. Another had drawn a knife and was eyeing Simon warily, but the Bailiff had seen him, and although he looked relaxed, Baldwin was not for a moment fooled. He knew that Simon was at his most dangerous when he wore that easygoing expression. If the man lunged, he would be unconscious on the ground in a moment.

  ‘This is Candlemas, and you are threatening the peace of this Church,’ the Bishop spoke out. ‘You have no right to try to draw blood, but if you do so today of all days, the Feast Day of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin, you will be committing a mortal sin. Think of that, all of you! Do you want to be excommunicated? You may escape punishment here on earth, but God watches over all that you do. Do not …’

  The rest of his words were drowned out in the shouting. Men were shaking their fists at him, and now more missiles were hurled. For the first time, Baldwin saw that the Bishop was worried. His three men-at-arms appeared less than keen to get between him and the mob, and he could plainly see that the door to the Cathedral was some distance away. If he were to run, it was most unlikely that he could make it without being grabbed by someone more fleet of foot, or be felled by a flying rock.

  ‘Christ’s ballocks!’ he heard Simon say, and the two looked at each other. Then, with a nod, both took a deep breath and plunged into the crowd to try to reach him.

  As though by a miracle, the noise and bellowing suddenly ceased. At first Baldwin thought that the sight of a single knight with his sword drawn, or perhaps a Bailiff with a staff, was enough to bring sense to this unruly throng, and he felt a slight uplifting of his heart. But then he heard the shouted order, the rattle of hooves on cobbles, and the ringing of chains and armour. There was a clatter of steel as men drew their swords, and when he turned, he saw a line of men-at-arms on horseback eyeing the rabble with contempt.

  ‘Disperse in the name of the King!’

  It was Sir Hugh le Despenser. He trotted forwards a short distance, and Baldwin saw disdain in his eyes – a contempt for the churls who dared to stand before him. Baldwin was convinced that this man would willingly ride down all the people in this street. He cared nothing for any of them.

  The people knew him, because their noise was stilled instantly as they froze into fearful submission. Stones were dropped, knives hastily sheathed, and the fellows began to slip away, their faces bitter and surly. One man stood before Despenser with a staff in his hand, but Sir Hugh spurred his great horse onward, and the man was barged aside. He opened his mouth as though to shout defiance, but as he did so, one of Sir Hugh’s men drew his sword and casually swung his pommel into the man’s skull. He collapsed, blood spurting from a gash over his brow, whimpering with the shock as the horses passed by him.

  As people realised that their fun for the day was over, the horde started to thin. After a short while, three women ran to the old man’s side, gentling him and no doubt praising him for his courage.

  Simon watched them for a moment, relieved that the man was not badly hurt. ‘Thank God for that. I thought you and I were about to die trying to protect Walter from that rabble. Sweet Mother Mary, thank God they arrived just then.’

  Even Baldwin was prepared to admit: ‘I never thought I should be glad to see Sir Hugh le Despenser arrive behind me with a force of men.’

  ‘Really, Sir Baldwin?’

  Sir Hugh’s voice was nearer than Baldwin had expected. He had left his horse with one of his men, and now was only a couple of feet away, and he eyed Baldwin’s sword pointedly.

  Baldwin smiled without guile and took it up to sheath it, but Sir Hugh was peering closer, and the knight felt a cold dread that seemed to settle in his bowels. Hurriedly he thrust it home, and put his thumbs into his belt, defiantly meeting Sir Hugh’s gaze.

  ‘This was a close affair, Sir Baldwin. You and Master Simon here could have been hurt.’

  ‘We naturally wished to do all we could to protect Bishop Stapledon,’ Baldwin said.

  The Bishop was already making his way to them. He was pale, and his eyes reflected the anxiety which he must surely feel. ‘Ha! The London mob. I have often seen them rise to attack others, but this is the first time I have been on the receiving end of their ire. It is not an expe
rience I should wish to repeat.’

  ‘You’ll be safe enough now,’ Despenser said. He glanced at Baldwin, then down at the sheathed sword. ‘There’s no one will dare to harm you here, Bishop.’

  ‘Shall we go inside, then?’ Stapledon suggested. For all his apparent calmness, he was plainly nervous, not without good reason.

  ‘Yes. And afterwards, my Lord Bishop, would you honour my little home with your presence at my feast? It will not be a large affair, but I should like to invite a friend. Of course, Sir Baldwin, you must join us too. It would be pleasant to have you and your companion with us.’

  ‘I would be delighted. I am very grateful to you,’ the Bishop said, and Baldwin gave a short nod.

  ‘Good. That is settled, then. You will like my home, Sir Baldwin. It used to be the London home of the Knights Templar. Perhaps you know of it?’

  Baldwin said nothing. He did not feel safe enough to speak.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ellis had set off early that morning. He had no wish to go and visit a church to watch the Candlemas processions again. Not today. Today, he was bent on revenge.

  He walked quickly along the road back towards Westminster. Before he did anything else, he wanted to pray over Mabilla’s body again.

  The idea that someone had taken his sister away was so inconceivable that he found himself doubting it even as he walked – as though the events of the night before had been nothing but a bad dream. Surely he would soon see her again. She would be there in the palace, smiling and laughing to hear that he’d had such a ridiculous mare. As though anyone could want to hurt Mabilla!

  Ellis and she had been born to a squire who lived up in Iseldone, the small vill north of the city beyond the marshes and bogs. Squire Robert had lived a blameless life in the service of King Edward I until he died at the hands of the Scottish on one of the King’s forays into that morass of politics. From that moment, Ellis had taken responsibility for the family. He was the oldest son.

  Mabilla had married into the Aubyn family soon after their father’s death. Then their younger brother Bernard had fallen from his horse and died, and shortly after that, their mother was also dead. When Mabilla and Ellis discussed it, they both felt sure that it was a broken heart that had ended her life, because she had lived for her husband first and Bernard second. Without them, her life was not worth living. And now, only Ellis was left.

  He turned off Straunde and into King Street.

  Both he and Mabilla had seen what a life of effort and loyalty could bring a man. It had brought their father an early grave. And then there was Bernard – dead at the age of twenty because of a mishandled horse. Ill-luck and Fate – no one was safe from them, however blameless their life.

  When Mabilla’s husband became vassal to Sir Hugh le Despenser, she formed a close friendship with Eleanor, Sir Hugh’s wife. From that it was natural that Mabilla should seek employment for her brother, and soon Ellis was a noted servant. He became Sir Hugh’s trusted sergeant, and Sir Hugh grew to depend on him more and more.

  The walls of the Palace Yard were ahead now. Most people were in the Abbey for Mass, and the yard was silent as he passed through. He walked from the New Palace Yard into Old Palace Yard, and thence through the buildings until he reached the chapel where Mabilla still lay. Only then, when his face was resting on her breast, did he at last let go and begin to weep.

  Despenser trusted him. Sir Hugh knew he could rely on Ellis. If he ordered it, Ellis would break legs, break arms, use screws on thumbs, pierce the flesh under fingernails with splinters, or kill. All would be done as commanded. But that did not make Despenser a friend, and just now Ellis could appreciate that the only friend he had ever truly known was Mabilla. And she was dead.

  Simon walked from the Cathedral with a thrilling in his veins.

  He often felt this way after a Mass. There was something about the incense, the light, the space, that never failed to excite him. It felt as though God Himself had visited Simon today and touched him. He was elated. The fact that the service had been held in such magnificent surroundings only served to heighten his emotional reaction.

  Sir Baldwin, however, remained withdrawn, quieter than usual, as they left the church and began to head back down Ludgate Hill.

  ‘At least while Despenser’s men are with us there’s no need to worry about the mob,’ Simon remarked.

  Baldwin did not comment, but cast about him warily like a warrior expecting an ambush.

  The two had soon passed through the city wall and were out in the more open ground beyond. Once there, Baldwin said, ‘Simon, did you see Despenser’s expression as he asked us to go to his house? He was gleeful. Be very careful while we are at the Temple.’

  ‘Why? He seems to have accorded us every compliment and honour.’

  ‘That is true. He has done so to many whom he later destroyed!’

  ‘What could he have against us?’

  Baldwin did not want to mention Iddesleigh and Monkleigh, but he knew that there was one other thing which Simon would appreciate. ‘My sword – you remember my engraving?’

  ‘Of course.’ He was about to recite the Latin inscription, but Baldwin shook his head.

  ‘No, not the writing. The reverse of the blade.’

  ‘Oh – Good Christ, did he see it?’

  ‘While we were protecting the Bishop, yes. I am sure of it.’

  Simon grunted. On one side of the sword Baldwin had had inscribed a quotation, but on the other he had caused a Templar cross to be carved into the metal just below the cross-guard. It was there to remind him at all times of his comrades, the brave men who had endured torture in the defence of their Order. Now, it could lead to dire consequences. Renegade Templars who had not surrendered to the Crown or the Pope were subject to the full rigours of the law. Excommunicated, they could be arrested on sight. Simon was tempted to ask why his friend had considered it necessary to have the blade marked in that way, but he silenced his tongue. Baldwin was his friend, but he was also a proud man. Proud of his past and his companions who had died. It was not Simon’s place to question his reasons. If Simon had seen all his friends murdered by the inquisitors and their secular friends, he would probably want to remember them too.

  It did take the edge off his pleasure, though, to see that the invitation to the Despenser hall could have been for some other motive than pure neighbourliness.

  Ellis left the chapel and went to look at the walls. He felt sure that the assassin would have made his way to the Palace grounds by some more circuitous route than merely following tradespeople inside. Jack had always been more cautious than that. If it were possible to avoid being seen, he would do so.

  The wall guards all knew Sir Hugh and his henchman, so it was no trouble for Ellis to gain access to the upper walkway. Once there, he started with the boats at the dock north of the New Palace Yard. Peering down at the dock, just visible through the murky water, he wondered about Jack coming up here. But the dock was in constant use – the wooden platform was fifty yards long and about twenty wide so that barges and boats could float onto it in high tides, and beach themselves as the tide flowed away again for unloading. Thus there was no time for Jack to appear here and make use of it without plenty of men being about to see him.

  Walking on the Thames side of the wall, he was struck with the same thought: if he came up the river in order to scramble over the wall, Jack would be very hard-pressed to do so without being seen. Much easier to come to the palace grounds from the land.

  Ellis carefully studied the walls at the north and south, but what could he expect to find? The scratches and stone chips from a grapnel? Jack would not have used such a loud device. The metallic clattering of the hooks would have stirred any guards even if they were asleep. A rope ladder would be more his style, but when he had reached the palace it was late evening, not the middle of the night. In the first part of the evening, Jack would have been seen if he’d come up over the walls. Anyone carrying a ladder that
way would have been challenged.

  Yet there was one other way to reach the palace … from the Abbey’s grounds. Sensing that he had guessed aright, Ellis went over to the wall separating the two plots, and as he reached the southernmost point of the palace wall, he saw it.

  A rope hung almost negligently from a battlement. Pulling at it, he saw a ladder on the ground below. As he drew up the rope, the ladder was lifted aloft until it reached almost to the battlement. A man could have climbed up the ladder to reach the battlement. Once there, he could have allowed the ladder to topple back silently, using the rope, and then left the rope so that he could pull it back upright for his escape. That way, hopefully no guard would spot that someone had entered the precinct. Not that the guard here was any good anyway. It was old Arch.

  Ellis knew the man. Always reeking of sour ale, and Ellis was sure that his guarding was lackadaisical at best. Rumour had it that Arch was asleep more often than awake when he was on duty.

  ‘So that’s how you got here, Jack,’ he said out loud. ‘Now – how were you caught?’

  The way to the Temple was along a street between other properties, but soon they were past them and into a wide space. In front of them was the Temple Church itself, and Simon was immediately struck by the look of it. ‘Why is that part round?’

  ‘Templar churches were always based on the layout of the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem,’ Baldwin said. ‘The Temple had this same form.’

  They were led along the northern wall of the church itself and over towards a large building at the east of it.

  ‘This is where the Templar heretic Prior and his monks used to live,’ Despenser said as he dismounted. ‘An elegant building, I would say, for those heathens and devil-worshippers.’

  He threw his reins towards a boy who scuttled forward to grab them, and then stood at the Bishop’s horse to steady it. Bishop Stapledon looked about him with a face that was carefully blank.