‘The door was locked from within.’ Dunheved’s interruption was more of a jibe than a question.
‘Patience,’ I retorted. ‘You locked the door. You gave the agitated Middleton words of comfort and a few gulps from that wineskin to calm his humours. I doubt if Middleton had had a good night’s sleep since Tynemouth. He was agitated. The wine and potion you’d distilled would soon soothe him, and a drugged man is easy to hang. The noose was slipped around his neck as his body slumped in the chair. You climbed the ladder, looped the other end of the rope round the beam and hauled him up slowly but surely. If Middleton revived, what hope did he have? If he did wear a war-belt you removed that, hid it under your cloak. Whatever, he had no dagger, nothing with which to cut himself down, whilst any struggle would only tighten the noose further. You mentioned the locked door, Brother?’
Dunheved just blinked and glanced away.
‘I shall tell you how you did that. You took the key from the sacristy door. You placed it on the floor as if it was from the door to the church; that one, however, you kept. You waited until Middleton was dead, placed the usual mocking message on his corpse and left, locking the door and taking the chapel key with you.’
‘I could have been discovered.’
‘When?’ I demanded. ‘You could have hastened to the door and unlocked it. You could claim you came in only to discover what had happened. Terrified lest the assassin return, you locked the door whilst you tried to assist poor Middleton.’
‘Those keys?’ Isabella asked. ‘They were changed?’
‘Oh yes. Brother Stephen, you gave extreme unction to your first two victims but you left Middleton to Demontaigu. Whilst he administered the last rites you became extremely busy inspecting the main door as well as that to the sacristy. I recall the scene distinctly. That’s when you picked up the sacristy key, which looked so much like the one to the church, and changed them over. In all the chaos and mayhem, no one would notice you slip the sacristy key back because no one really cared.’
‘I could have been seen leaving.’
‘Again a risk — but you’d open that door a crack. Peer out. The path to the chapel was a mass of pebbles that would betray sound. The morning sea mist provided a cloak of secrecy. You could slip out and lock that door in the blink of an eye.’
‘Someone might have noticed the sacristy key was missing from its lock.’
‘For the love of God, who’d notice that when all eyes were on poor Middleton? Who’d even remember there was a sacristy key?’ I shrugged. ‘After all, you returned it swiftly enough!’
‘And Rosselin?’ Isabella demanded. I wondered how much of this she knew. Had she been party to all these deaths? I decided that would have to wait.
‘Rosselin,’ I continued, ‘was by now a broken man. Gaveston had neglected him.’
‘Why?’ Isabella broke in.
‘Because Gaveston, in the last resort, cared only for himself. The best he could do was to provide poor Rosselin with one of Ap Ythel’s archers, but you, Brother Stephen, took care of that. Rosselin hid away, particularly from any high place. The night the tocsin was falsely sounded and the beacon fire lit? You were responsible for that, as you were for everything else that went wrong in that castle: the pollution of the wells and food stocks. An easy enough task. Poison in the rat runs, some oil and kindling in those bone-dry cellars.’
‘And Rosselin?’ Dunheved remained unabashed.
‘Oh, the tocsin was sounded. The alarm raised. Everyone flocked to the battlements. You acted swiftly. You called Ap Ythel’s guard away.’
‘I am not Welsh.’
‘Who said the voice was Welsh?’
‘I heard. .’
‘Perhaps you did, Brother Stephen. I am French, but I can still mimic Ap Ythel’s Welsh accent. I often do when I tease him. Her grace has witnessed that.’ I pointed at Dunheved. ‘You did the same that night. You are a good mimic, Brother. I heard you here in the rose garden imitating the troubadours and jongleurs. Indeed, you are a true mummer. You put a mask on and take it off depending on the circumstances. You called that guard away. He would not need much encouragement; after all, everyone was in high expectancy. Had the earls arrived? Had the king? Once he was gone, you hurried up the steps to Rosselin’s chamber. In your wallet you have a key. It may have been from Middleton’s chamber or elsewhere in the castle; they all look alike. You intended to pose the same mysterious riddle as you had in the lady chapel. You knocked on the door. Rosselin, sodden with drink, was befuddled. He peered through the grille and saw the kindly face of the Dominican priest. What did you tell him? Good news, that the king was approaching?’ Dunheved just smiled faintly. ‘Rosselin trusted you enough to open that door. You bustle in all friendly. You urge him to join the rest on the battlements. You pick up his cloak and war-belt as if to help him. Rosselin turns to receive his cloak, but you drop that, pluck the dagger from his war-belt and plunge it into his side, a killing blow up under his ribs, into his heart. You drag him to that open window, pull him on to the ledge and hurl his body into the night. A brief time, no more than a few breaths. You then place the false key on the table and take the chamber one. You lock the door from the outside and join us on the battlements, where you are careful to single me out.
‘The next morning you ensured that Demontaigu gave the corpse the last rites while you joined us in Rosselin’s chamber. You pretended to collect his possessions into a basket. Once again, in the blink of an eye, you changed one key for another. Your vengeance was now complete. All five Aquilae had been executed in a way that suited their lives, falling from glory to a grisly death. The siege began. You found it simple enough to break the bruised reed. The garrison was unnerved by strange calls and sounds. It was an easy task for a Dominican knowledgeable about witches and warlocks. The well was polluted, the food stocks burnt — all your doing. Who would suspect a Dominican priest, a royal confessor?’
‘You did!’ Dunheved taunted. ‘Surely the Aquilae would have?’
‘No, no!’ I retorted. ‘The Aquilae, in Rosselin’s words, were broken. They had been involved in the most horrid treason. They were trapped in it; there was no going back. Resented by most, deserted by their lord, who could they turn to? Rosselin was even reduced to begging for my help. They were like sheep without a shepherd, alone, vulnerable to the ever-watching wolf: you!’
‘And afterwards,’ Isabella asked, ‘the capture of Gaveston?’
‘God knows, your grace. I have little proof. I believe Pembroke was honest and true enough. Beauchamp of Warwick and the others needed little encouragement to seize Gaveston. Did you, Brother, send an anonymous message to Warwick telling him to follow us? You had the opportunity for such mischief when you took Gaveston’s acceptance to Pembroke. Did you leave similar messages at taverns where we paused before arriving at Deddington to lodge for the night? Warwick would do the rest. He lured Pembroke away, leaving Gaveston vulnerable, but there again, you realised, as I did, that once he’d separated from the king, Gaveston was finished. I am sure you secretly worked to achieve that. Did you advise or encourage the king to choose Scarborough as the best place for refuge, when in fact it certainly wasn’t?’ I glanced quickly at the queen. ‘Though God knows what further encouragement persuaded him to separate himself from his favourite.’
Isabella did not flinch. Ah, I thought, when will she reveal her own role in all of this? Dunheved, tapping his sandalled feet dramatically against the paving stone, abruptly rose and smoothed out his robe.
‘I’m a priest,’ he cleared his throat, ‘a cleric. I claim benefit of clergy. I cannot be tried by the king’s courts.’
‘His grace can certainly be informed.’
Dunheved smiled patronisingly at me.
‘About what?’ He sat down, hands clasped. ‘Did I not tell you, mistress?’ He smiled. ‘I heard the lord Gaveston’s confession.’