‘Tell me. .’ Dunheved turned to me, his clever eyes narrowed as if the light from the candelabra were hurting them. ‘Mathilde, why do you think the Aquilae are here?’
‘To protect her grace.’
‘I wonder?’ Louis Beaumont spoke up.
‘So do I,’ Dunheved said.
‘They have one important purpose.’ Henry spoke, eager to show his loyalty. ‘They have been dispatched here by Lord Gaveston to protect the queen. I am sure that is the reason.’
‘As well as spy on her?’ Dunheved asked sharply.
Beaumont just shrugged and raised his wine goblet to cover his face.
‘And these murders.’ Lady Vesci fluttered her fingers at me. ‘I understand, so rumour has it, Mathilde, that the king gave you his secret seal to investigate them?’
I nursed my own thoughts about the deaths. Although I had no solution to the mysteries, I decided at least to share my conclusions and see what response they provoked.
‘I think. .’ I paused, as if listening to wind beating like some angry sprite against the wooden shutters; living high above the ground, exposed to biting winds and lashing rain, that sound now seemed to dominate my life. I recalled songs from my childhood. How we used to gather around the winter fire and sing about the approach of summer. I so wanted to be away from that gloomy castle, out in some sun-filled meadow.
‘Mathilde?’ Henry smiled. ‘Your thoughts?’
‘As regards Lanercost,’ I began, ‘everyone in this chamber was at mass with Brother Stephen when the Aquilae fell from that tower. I do not know why he went up there or why he was unarmed, though it’s clumsy to climb that ladder with a war-belt on. The same is true of Leygrave. Why did he return to a place where his close comrade had been so mysteriously killed, again unarmed? No one saw either of them go up. There is no evidence in that bell tower of any struggle. Leygrave definitely stood on the ledge from which he fell. But again, nothing else. Brother Eusebius, the bell-ringer? Or rather,’ I smiled thinly, ‘assistant to the bell-ringer. He may have seen something, hence his gruesome murder.’
‘And Kennington?’ Dunheved abruptly asked.
‘Brother, I truly don’t know. Three men patrolled the fighting platform of that tower; they were armed and vigilant. They feared the enemy without. They must also have known about the enemy within. Their food and drink was untainted. No alarm was raised, yet someone or something entered that tower and climbed those steps, passing Middleton and Rosselin’s chambers. The attacker, or attackers, went on to that fighting platform and either killed those three and hurled them over the battlements, or. .’ My voice faltered.
‘I have reflected on their disappearance,’ Dunheved remarked, rocking gently backwards and forwards. ‘My order provides members for the Holy Inquisition. Our tribunals investigate black magic and sorcery. Did that happen here? There were three watches over a period of twelve hours from six at night to six in the morning. The first four hours were Middleton’s, the second Rosselin’s and the third Kennington’s. Mistress Mathilde, you scrutinised those tankards and the platter; those men were not drugged with some potion or powder. I could detect no bloodstain on the tower top. No sign of any struggle. I do wonder if some demon from the darkness swept across the top of that tower and hurled those men to destruction.’
Henry Beaumont laughed, shaking his head.
‘My lord,’ the Dominican refused to be cowed, ‘can you provide a better explanation?’
For a brief while the conversation moved to matters spirituaclass="underline" the influence of demons, the possibility of a witch or a sorcerer in the castle. Of course, no one really believed that, but it was a sombre evening. Dunheved’s account of diabolical intervention was fascinating; whether it be true or not I could not say, but that was Brother Stephen, he could tell a good tale. Henry Beaumont, however, brought the conversation back to more pressing matters, tapping his hand against the table.
‘Sooner or later,’ he began, once he had our attention, ‘and I should say sooner rather than later, we must leave this castle. We cannot stay here for ever. Eventually the Castellan will have to send out scouts to make contact with the king, or at least ensure the roads south are safe for the queen. Time will tell, but there again, another possibility is that Tynemouth might be attacked or betrayed. The Castellan has archers, men-at-arms and some elderly knights who have retired and live here at the king’s grace and favour. However,’ he paused for effect, ‘I have heard how Alexander of Lisbon, who leads about three score and ten hardened veterans, baulks at being cooped up in the castle. He claims he holds no commission, no mandate, no writ to serve here. He is his own master, allowed to travel the length and breadth of this kingdom on matters affecting the Holy Father in Avignon and King Philip of France.’
‘In other words,’ I declared, ‘Alexander of Lisbon finds the hen coop too tight and wishes to fly.’
‘Yes, and there is little we can do to stop him. However, if he does leave, those who watch this castle will learn that our strength is much depleted.’
Now this news came as a surprise. I had kept well away from the gatehouse and bailey area, distancing myself from Alexander of Lisbon and his comitatus. I understood the Portuguese mercenary’s wish to leave — this was not his quarrel — but I wondered if there was anything else.
‘What difference would it make?’ Dunheved spoke up sharply. ‘My lords, ladies,’ he smiled, ‘in my youth I served as a squire before I entered the novitiate. Let us look at the possibilities and apply logic. If this castle is attacked, we will all have to defend her grace, but can we count on Alexander of Lisbon? Lord Henry, you have it right: he’s a mercenary. Lisbon receives his commission from the pope and King Philip to hunt Templars. Why should he risk his men for us? I suspect that if he can, he will slip away, go about his own business.’
I looked sharply at the Dominican. This was the first time he had portrayed any animosity towards Lisbon.
‘In the end,’ Dunheved spread his hands, ‘it’s best if he leaves. There is another possibility. Rumours are rife in this castle that there’s a traitor within. Is Lisbon that traitor? He couldn’t care if the castle stands or falls. He wishes to be gone. Let him leave and the devil go with him.’
Louis Beaumont agreed. I too was taken by the Dominican’s logic. Alexander was a killer, a bully. I wondered if he had the courage to withstand an all-out assault on the castle walls.
Once the banquet was over, I thanked my hosts and left. Dunheved insisted on accompanying me back to the Prior’s Lodgings. We walked slowly. Now and again Dunheved would pause, plucking at my arm, as we discussed what was best for the queen. I will concede this: looking back down the years at Tynemouth, Dunheved was genuinely, even passionately, concerned about my mistress. A cold-hearted man, nevertheless, at that moment in time, he saw her safety as a God-given task. We continued on to my mistress’ chamber. I was surprised to find her still swathed in robes, sitting in her throne-like chair before the roaring fire, slippered feet resting on a footstool. Around the chamber lounged those young squires whom Isabella seemed to have taken a great liking to. On a stool nearby, Demontaigu, in the light of a lantern, was reading a story from King Arthur. Isabella seemed in good spirits. She asked Demontaigu to pause while Dunheved and I quickly reported what had happened at the dinner with the Beaumonts. She heard us out with a half-smile, her face looking even more beautiful in the firelight.
‘The Beaumonts. .’ She leaned back in the chair and stared up at the black-raftered ceiling. ‘They are so ambitious! They would do anything! I sometimes wonder who they work for.’
‘Madam?’ I enquired.
‘Well, they have blood ties with every sovereign in Europe. I do wonder if the information and gossip they collect from the English court goes to my father, to the pope in Avignon, indeed to anyone who would buy it. They have a finger in every pie, yet what they say is true.’ Isabella’s smile faded. ‘I cannot stay here much longer. If the roads south are dangerous, then perhaps it’s time we left by sea.’