Ellis was staring at it still, open-mouthed. ‘Why’d he send that to you? It was the Earl’s servant himself gave it me, master. I am sorry.’
‘Get the damned thing off my table!’ the King screamed. ‘Who was it? Dear God in heaven, whatever was my brother thinking of when he-’ He stopped. Never a fool, Edward knew a revenge slaying when he saw one. ‘Who was he?’ he repeated.
‘A man I knew, named Piers de Wrotham,’ Sir Hugh said cautiously. ‘No one of significance.’
‘He isn’t now, anyway,’ the King said drily. The shock was wearing off, and both men could eye the head with interest as Ellis picked it up and shoved it back in the bag.
‘I’ll take it back to Earl Edmund.’
‘Do that. And tell him that I am grateful for his gift, and that I intend to reciprocate in due course,’ Sir Hugh said, his anger already rising at the thought that the King’s youngest brother could have dared to taunt him in this way. No matter. He would have his revenge.
Ellis walked from the chamber with the repugnant package in his hand, hoping against hope that he might meet with one of the Earl’s men, and be able to dump it on him.
‘Master Ellis, I must speak with you!’
He saw Sir Baldwin and his friend, but didn’t slow his pace, snarling, ‘I’ve urgent business. Leave me alone.’
‘Pilk told us that you were investigating the assassin. Did you learn how he got in?’
‘Speak to the fool Arch who was on the wall. He was the weak link. The man knocked him down, I think, and climbed in that way.’
‘Where did he go then?’
‘Down to the Queen’s rooms, I suppose. Now leave me alone! This is business between my master and the Earl of Kent. I will not be delayed.’
‘But we need to talk to you about your sister,’ Simon shouted after him, but he was beyond listening.
Ellis was seething. He wanted to kill someone. For the offence given to his master — and for the murder of his sister.
Sir Hugh excused himself. ‘My Liege, I fear that my man could get into a fight again if he meets with one of the Earl’s men. Would you allow me to leave you and ensure that there is no bloodshed?’
‘Why was my brother willing to decapitate a man and send the head to you?’ the King demanded.
‘It is a question you must put to your brother,’ Sir Hugh said firmly, and he bowed.
‘It is a question I have posed to you, Sir Hugh,’ the King said sharply.
‘My Lord, if I leave this a moment longer, there will be more blood shed for no purpose!’
‘Oh, go if you must, then,’ the King responded petulantly. ‘But be quick! I will have an explanation from you, and from him too. I am not in the habit of receiving heads at my table, Sir Hugh. I do not like the thought that others may consider you are receiving such leniency from my hand.’
But Sir Hugh didn’t wait to hear any more. He bowed his way from the room, and when he had passed through the doorway, he turned and hurried away to the yard. But rather than follow Ellis, he took the path that led him down to the Great Hall and out by the Exchequer. It was that which saved him from bumping into Sir Baldwin and Simon, who were hastening along in the wake of Ellis.
Despenser saw Ellis in the yard as soon as he reached the New Palace Yard, and immediately began to cast about for Pilk. Ah, there he was, over at the main gate, sitting on a bench. As soon as he saw Pilk, Despenser waved to him. The slow-witted idiot seemed not to recognise him at first, but then lumbered to his feet and made his way towards Despenser.
Ellis, meanwhile, was moving at a faster pace. A pair of the Earl’s men were standing at a brazier of charcoal, hands held out to it. Ellis recognised the young man who gave him this ‘gift’, and did not break his stride as he approached them, but instead gathered the bag to his breast, elbows out, and both hands behind it, thumbs under to support it, before flinging it like a stuffed bladder in a football match. It span twice through the air before slamming into the shoulder of one of the men.
He fell, cursing loudly, and his companion had his sword out in a moment. Ellis ignored it, drawing his own and snarling incoherently as he held it aloft and advanced.
And in the midst of the fight, Despenser saw his opportunity. ‘Pilk, in God’s name, stop Ellis. He’s gone mad! Look at him!’
Pilk needed no second urging. He drew his own sword and hurried after Ellis, who meanwhile had kicked the Earl’s man in the head where he lay, and was now attacking the second.
He cared nothing for the scratch he had already experienced on his left arm, but instead attacked relentlessly, his blade always before him so that no further stab might win through. There was no sense to the fight, it was the culmination of the horror of his sister’s death, and then the increasing frustration he felt at not finding her killer. He wanted to lash out until all those who had hurt his sister were dead. And these gilded little popinjays were representatives of the man whom Mabilla had accused of trying to feel up her skirts. The good Earl had tried to rape her, and then sent his man to have Ellis carry that head to his master. Well, Ellis would have his head in return. Tears filled his eyes at the thought of Mabilla’s body lying cold in her grave, and the anguish of loss gave his damaged arm more vigour. He slashed and stabbed faster and faster.
‘Stop that! Stop, Ellis!’
He didn’t register who it was. His blood was up, and any man who approached him was there to try to kill him. So as soon as Pilk was near enough, he span quickly, his sword flashing red, and whipped it past Pilk’s throat. There was a gout of blood, and he sprang forward to plant his fist in Pilk’s face even as Pilk staggered. Then he was back on his other opponent.
But the Earl’s man had not been idle. As soon as Ellis turned to attack Pilk, he reached forward, so low that his hand went to the ground to support him, and his sword thrust up from just above the buttocks. It was not a deep stab, and Ellis hardly seemed to notice it, but when he returned to the attack, he was slower, more ponderous. He could feel it, even though he was unaware that his liver and a kidney were both ruptured. But as he continued, a growing pain in his back told him something was amiss. He tried to return to the assault, but found his eyes growing heavier and heavier, his feet leaden, and suddenly he pitched forward to his knees. He remained there for a moment, blinking, baffled and too tired even to maintain his anger.
But not for long. His opponent would take no risks. His sword whirled once and Ellis’s head was catapulted through the air to join the one still in the bag over by the brazier.
Baldwin and Simon had heard the screams and shouts, and turned to rush back to the yard, but they were too late to stop the fight. They only reached the ground as Ellis sank to his knees, the back of his jerkin and hosen a reddened mess of blood, and just in time to see the Earl’s man bring his blade around and sweep the injured man’s head from his shoulders.
‘A sore loss,’ Despenser said, coming to join them. But there was no sadness in his tone. No, as he gazed at the two bodies, at Pilk’s still shivering from the throes as the last of his blood leached into the gravel about him, and at Ellis’s, where it had fallen forwards to lie on the ground only a matter of yards away, all he knew was satisfaction at a job well done.
‘I hope you are pleased, Sir Hugh?’ Baldwin spat.
‘Me? I have lost two good men here, Sir Baldwin. Naturally I am distressed,’ Sir Hugh replied. But he smiled.
Baldwin clenched his fist; Simon saw and gripped his wrist. ‘Baldwin!’ he muttered in the knight’s ear. ‘Think of Jeanne, and Richalda and little Baldwin. Do not throw away your life and their future in anger!’
‘You are right,’ Baldwin said, taking a deep breath. ‘We have evidence enough already to see you ruined, Sir Hugh.’
‘I had nothing to do with all this, Sir Baldwin. These men started a brawl without my egging them on. They are simply the victim of their own violent natures. And now I shall have to find more men.’