‘And Gaveston learnt that through Lanercost’s brother, a Templar serjeant?’ Isabella asked.
‘Of course. Lanercost the Aquilae gave his master such information, never dreaming it would be used to kill his brother. We, of course, told Lanercost what had truly happened. Undoubtedly he confronted Gaveston, who was horrified, probably for the very selfish reason that he had alienated one of his closest followers. Matters might have stopped there. Lanercost was furious; he became inebriated. He confided in his close comrade Leygrave how he felt betrayed.’ I pointed at Dunheved, who sat so placidly, hands tucked up the sleeves of his gown. ‘He also confided in you, Brother Stephen. Mere chance, yet on the other hand, what better person? A Dominican friar, the king’s own confessor, a man who could be trusted. The shrewd, ever-listening priest! Where did you meet him, Brother? Here in a lonely garden, a corner of the cloisters, with only the gargoyles, babewyns and stone-faced angels and saints as your silent witnesses?’
Dunheved removed his hands from his sleeves and threaded the tasselled end of the cord around his waist. For a heartbeat I wondered whether he’d ever used that to strangle a victim.
‘You are an accomplished man, Brother Stephen. Demontaigu made enquiries about you here in the Dominican house in York. You are the brother of Lord Thomas Dunheved from the West Country, a former squire, a man once harnessed for war.’ I paused. ‘A scholar deeply interested in the peal of bells. You wrote De Sonitu Tonitorum — Concerning the Peal of Bells. Understandably you became a visitor to the belfry here. You befriended poor Brother Eusebius, whom you later murdered.’
Isabella sat up straight. She’d taken a set of coral Ave beads from the silken purse on her waist cord and was fingering the cross. Dunheved, God save him, stared at me as if relishing every word I uttered.
‘Lanercost came to you,’ I pointed to the Dominican, ‘to confess, to confide, I don’t know which. He gave vent to his anger and sadness. Gaveston had betrayed both him and his brother, so in revenge, Lanercost betrayed Gaveston. He would wax hot and lyrical about what he and the others had done for the favourite in Scotland.’
‘Which was?’ Isabella intervened sharply.
‘A blasphemously murderous plot!’
‘To which my husband was not party.’
‘I don’t think so, your grace. Lanercost was sent into Scotland ostensibly to seek help against the earls. Secretly, Gaveston and his Aquilae proposed thier own plot: the capture of Edward’s queen, to be held to ransom or even,’ I paused, ‘killed.’
‘Bruce, a prince?’ Isabella murmured. ‘Party to that?’
‘Mistress, I have heard the same before, yet how many of Bruce’s ladies, as well as those of his generals, Stuart, Murray and Randolph, have not been seized, violated or killed? Bruce himself may have baulked at it, but his commanders would not have. War by fire and sword rages in Scotland. What would they care? It could have happened, as it nearly did at Tynemouth: a stray arrow, an unknown swordsman. After all, one of your grace’s ladies died in that bloody affray.’
My mistress simply tightened her lips and glanced away.
‘Ostensibly,’ I continued, ‘Gaveston negotiated on behalf of the king. Secretly he and his coven were plotting the removal, perhaps even death, of his queen, Edward’s wife.’
‘Why?’ Dunheved’s voice was sharp and taunting.
‘You know that, Brother, as I do. Gaveston was now truly jealous of her grace. He saw her and her child as supplanting him in Edward’s affections. He fiercely resented the expected heir. Gaveston was a spoilt, pampered fop. He wanted to return to the old days when he and Edward were together, isolated from everyone.’
‘And how was this to be done?’ Isabella demanded.
‘Why, your grace,’ I replied, ‘easy enough with the court vulnerable in the north and Bruce’s forces ready to cross the border in lightning raids as they did at Tynemouth. But I hurry on. Did Dunheved tell you, your grace, what he’d learnt from Lanercost?’
Isabella stared glassily back: no smile, no coquetry, just a hard, cold look. Beside the queen, Dunheved shifted rather nervously.
‘You, Brother Stephen, were furious. Determined that these men who threatened her grace would pay for their treason. You relished that: judge and hangman. Your cause was certainly right. What Gaveston plotted was horrid murder and heinous treason.’
‘To which my husband was not party,’ Isabella repeated.
‘My lady, no, I do not think so, and neither do you. Gaveston just wanted to rid himself of you and your child. You, Brother, decided not to strike directly at the favourite but to weaken him, as well as to punish him and his coven for their crimes. Lanercost was first. He had to be removed swiftly lest he had a change of heart and confessed to his master about what he’d said and to whom. Above all, punishment had to be carried out. Brother Stephen, you have a mordant sense of humour. You decided to bring Gaveston and his so-called eagles crashing to the ground. Just like Simon Magus, the magician who could fly, cast out of the sky by St Peter. You referred to that legend. What better place for it than the belfry of this friary, supervised by the witless Brother Eusebius, whom you had befriended? You could go up and inspect the great bells, the chimes of which you listened to. Do you remember, I was sitting here? You came over to discuss matters and made some passing remark about the chimes not being in accord, but that does not concern us now. You had decided the belfry was the ideal place for punishment: isolated, a sanctuary haunted only by someone you regarded as fey and witless.’
‘And Lanercost would go up there?’ Dunheved jibed.
‘Of course! Why shouldn’t he go with his father confessor, the friendly Dominican priest who only wanted to help? He trusted you so much he took his war-belt off to climb those steps.’
‘I was celebrating mass when he fell.’
‘I know that, Brother, I was also there, but you killed Lanercost much earlier that morning, just after Brother Eusebius had scuttled off to break his fast in the refectory or buttery. You and Lanercost went up to the bell tower, an ideal place where no one could see you or eavesdrop on a conversation. You struck him a killing blow to the back of his head that shattered his skull. By the time his corpse fell, bouncing off the brickwork and the roof of the nave to smash against the ground, it simply became one injury amongst many.’
‘And how was that done,’ Isabella asked, ‘if Brother Stephen was celebrating mass?’
‘The ledge of the belfry window overlooking the friary yard is broad, slightly sloping. It had been raining, so it would also be slippery. Lanercost’s corpse was laid there, an easy enough task that cannot have been observed from below. Dunheved then left. Later the bells were tolled at the end of mass. Brother Eusebius told me to be careful when I climbed into the belfry. He explained how the belfry shuddered with the noise and the echo. That alone would make the corpse slide. More importantly, the thick rim of one of those great bells skims the ledge.’ I used my hand to demonstrate. ‘Sooner or later that bell, together with the sound and the shaking, would shift Lanercost’s corpse along that slippery, sloping edge to fall in a hideous drop, hitting the roof of the nave before crashing on to the cobbled yard. I agree, you were with us when that happened. As you were when the same fate befell Leygrave.’ I glanced quickly at the queen; she sat staring at the ground. Dunheved turned slightly away, face screwed up in concentration as he listened to me.