Page 13 of Winter’s Poison (The Winter Murders #1)
T hat day at the castle was a tense affair. More scouts had seen the outskirts of Maud’s encampment, and there were countless numbers of fighting men and archers, waiting. The king had decided to wait and keep the castle on alert. No action would be taken yet, but scouts were posted on watch, and more guards monitored the city streets.
Bronwyn was jumpy. Her fingers practically itched with anticipation. She ate a quick meal with the cooks and servants, then shed her apron, unbound the kerchief around her hair, dusted herself clean of flour and walked toward the main room.
Inside, Alice sat by a circle of other ladies near Queen Matilda and waved Bronwyn over. “Ah, there you are. Pour me some wine.”
Bronwyn replenished her cup and handed it to her. Alice gave her a sweet smile. “How lucky you are that you have a pretty face but no title. It saves you from unwanted suitors.”
Lady Hawise laughed. “Speak for yourself, Lady Alice. You know very well that young knight’s been looking for her. He’s like a pup, that one.”
Bronwyn looked at the lady in question, confusion on her face.
The lady turned to her. “Sir Gabriel’s been asking for you.” She motioned with her head behind her. “He’s over there. You should see if he needs something.” She smirked.
“Lady Hawise, please do not order my girl around. Bronwyn, attend me,” Lady Alice said.
Bronwyn stood by her, politely keeping a distance but ready if needed.
“Have you baked any more rolls recently, Bronwyn?” Queen Matilda asked.
“No, Your Grace.”
“A pity. I should like some of those sweet ones with honey, if you have any.”
“Yes, my lady.” She bowed.
“I should like one too,” Muriel said.
“And I,” Maud said, looking very young and no doubt hoping to be included.
“Make some for us all,” Lady Alice said.
Bronwyn curtsied and walked away. She crossed the room and was almost at the exit, when Sir Gabriel stopped her. “Hullo there, Mistress Baker.”
She looked up at him, unable to hide the shy smile on her face. “Hullo, Sir Knight.”
He snorted. “What do you do here? On an errand already?”
She nodded. “I need to make sweet rolls with honey for the ladies.”
“May I come?” he asked. “I should like the company.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Sir?”
“No need to call me ‘sir.’ Just Gabriel.”
She shook her head. “Sir Gabriel—”
“Yes?”
“It wouldn’t be right.”
He leaned against the wall, ever so slightly blocking the exit. “What? Me in the kitchens?”
She grinned. “It wouldn’t be right. It’d be… unseemly.”
“Why is that?”
Sir Gabriel was a handsome man. Today, he wore a tunic of light brown, with a belt and sheath at his waist. He was clean and smelled little, which was pleasant.
She blushed, surprised that his smile had that effect on her. “The kitchen is for cooks, like the battlefield is for warriors and knights. I wouldn’t go out there. It’s not my province. The kitchen is not yours.”
He nodded. “But food still is necessary on the open road. Your talents would be useful there.”
“Oh?” She was skeptical and he no doubt knew it.
“It’s true. A man needs to know what he can and can’t eat, especially if there’s a long march ahead of him. If a man eats the wrong thing, he can get sick or even die,” he told her.
“And do you know which foods are safe to eat?”
“Not always. But I know more than I did. Brother Bartholomew told us. Me and some of the others, not that they paid much attention. More fools, them.”
“He taught you what was safe to eat?”
“Yes.” Seeing her facial expression, he said, “Your mind is speeding faster than my charger. And before you jump to conclusions, yes, he taught us about mushrooms. It was those that killed de Grecy, right?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I was there, remember? Saw the whole thing. It all happened so fast, though. It was hard to believe he’d actually died from mushrooms, especially when we’d learnt about the dangers of them. You think he’d have paid attention.”
“Oh?”
“I mean, really, any of the fellows who paid attention when the good brother was talking would have known. Me, Sir Baldwin, Sir Bors. I’d say Gilbert as well, but I doubt he was listening. Oh, and Master de la Haye, the castellan of the castle, would know. He wasn’t with us, but I heard him later talking about it—he claims he knew right away those mushrooms were false.” He scratched his head. “I suppose he was trying to make himself look innocent before the king, in case he was suspected of doing something. Not that the king would accuse him of anything after what’s happened. He’s too…”
“What, Sir Gabriel? What am I?” Master de la Haye said.
Sir Gabriel instantly turned red. He fumbled for words and his eyes widened.
Bronwyn saved him. “He was saying you’re too smart for that, Master de la Haye. Too smart by half.”
Both men looked at her.
She ducked her head. “Excuse me. I’ve got rolls to make.” She darted away, back to the kitchens.
As she tied on her apron and wrapped up her hair, she began to think. A green cloak, black hair, almost like horsehair, a dead squire, poisoned rolls and a handful of knights who’d recently switched sides. The castellan, the knights Bors, Baldwin, Gabriel, and Brother Bartholomew.
She prepped the dough and made them sweet, making ten for the ladies, and a few more for any men who might decide to help themselves. Once they were ready, she tidied her appearance and brought them on a serving platter, entering the room.
The smell of the smoky fires and the warm torchlight filled the room. She carried the rolls in, the sight instantly attracting interest from the men and women present. Ignoring the curious looks of those present, she went straight to the ladies, offering the platter.
The queen took one, and the ladies followed suit, waiting for her to first take a delicate bite. She swallowed and said, “Delicious.”
The ladies nibbled at their rolls and murmured in agreement, nodding and chatting amongst themselves.
Bronwyn breathed a tiny sigh of relief as Alice said, “She does make excellent rolls. It’s why I took her on. I think all servants should have a skill at something, don’t you?”
Bronwyn waited for each lady to help herself to a roll, then removed the platter and stood back, as a few of the men looked on with interest, and one beckoned her forward. She coughed. “My lady.”
“Yes, what is it?” Alice asked.
“I do believe some of the men would like a roll as well. May I?”
“Only if the queen wishes it. Your Grace, would you care for another roll?” Alice asked.
Queen Matilda shook her head. “I am well. Please, do share them.”
Alice bid her away with a wave of her hand, and Bronwyn took the platter across the room, where Sir Gabriel greeted her with a smile. “Hullo again, Mistress Baker.”
“Sir Gabriel.”
He helped himself to a roll and was soon joined by Sir Baldwin, Sir Gilbert, and Sir Bors. They took the remaining rolls and chewed, talking amongst themselves.
Sir Baldwin looked like a kind gentleman, with a stocky figure and short, brown hair. He’d helped himself to two rolls and held one up. “Good rolls.”
Soon only Sir Gilbert and Sir Gabriel remained, but at a pointed look from Gilbert, Gabriel disappeared.
“Sir Gilbert?”
“You are the maidservant to Lady Alice,” he said.
Bronwyn nodded.
“She is very beautiful.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she… That is to say, has her father…” He chewed thoughtfully. “Is the good lady betrothed?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir.” Seeing his look of quiet dejection, she added, “I think if she were, I would know.”
“Ah, yes, servants always know these things, sometimes before their masters do.” He looked at her. “I like a servant who is discreet. Know what that means?”
Bronwyn shook her head.
“One who can keep a secret. And I gather you are very good with secrets. You’d have to be if the queen herself trusts you to investigate a murder.”
“I…”
He cut her off before she could say more. “I should like to court Lady Alice. You will tell me if she is seeing any other man.”
Bronwyn paused, her mouth open. Then it occurred to her, she could use this to her advantage.
He saw her expression and said, “I will reward you for your loyalty.”
She swallowed. “I wonder if you might answer me a question, Sir Gilbert.”
“What?” He, broad-shouldered and bulky, looked down at her. He was not a man to be trifled with, that much was certain. “I see, you want information. For your lady, no doubt. All right. Ask and I shall tell, if you are not impertinent.”
She cocked her head at the word.
“Cheeky.” He told her.
“Oh. You were there the night the knight de Grecy died.”
He scratched his chin and brushed his chest, scattering crumbs from his tunic. “I was, but you know that already. What of it? The man ate a roll that disagreed with him. That’s what you get for ordering expensive rolls and trying to impress the king with your pomp and fancy ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“He came here acting like he was better than the lot of us, but we knew him from before, Maud’s camp. When he disappeared, I thought he’d died. We were all surprised to see him here, acting the lord, as if he had the king in his pocket. We knew him for the turncoat he was.”
She thought that was rather hypocritical of him, considering that out of the knights who had changed allegiances, de Grecy was the one who had remained true to the empress. “Do you think he meant to kill the king with his rolls?” she asked.
“No. De Grecy always had an eye for what was good. He always thought someone else had it better than him. He liked to show off. If you ask me, he thought he had it good here. In King Stephen’s camp, he could make himself out to be important. Never mind that he didn’t know his arse from his elbow. What is it you wish to know?”
“Did he tell many people he was buying rolls for the king?”
“De Grecy? Hmmm.” He thought on this. “No. He wanted it to be a surprise. But he was a vengeful sort, so he did tell a few of us. Those who had joined the king’s camp recently, so we would know he had one up on us. You understand?”
“Who did he tell?” she asked.
“Let’s see. Myself, Baldwin, Bors, Grossetete, Gabriel. The good brother advised him not to be so vain and like a braggart, but de Grecy wouldn’t listen. He especially wanted Grossetete to know. They were always at odds in Maud’s camp, so he particularly wanted Grossetete to have to know and to sit at dinner whilst the king enjoyed the rolls and bestowed favor on him. It would be like de Grecy to do that to a fellow knight.” He looked ready to spit on the floor, then thought better of it. “Is that all you wished to know?”
“Yes.” For now , Bronwyn thought.
“Well, help me with Lady Alice and I shall help you. Now, tell me. What does she like?”
She looked at Alice. She knew very little about her, aside from her beauty, her true loyalty, and her vanity. She did like gazing at her reflection.
“She likes pretty things,” Bronwyn said.
“Pretty things,” he repeated. “Like flowers, jewelry…”
She nodded.
He gave her a stern look. “I’ve answered your questions. Keep my secret, girl. It’s the sign of a good servant, that.”
She bowed her head and waited for him to go, when she was met by Sir Nicholas.
“Bronwyn,” he said.
“Sir Nicholas.”
“I have word that the good brother has been fasting and preparing for the feast day celebrations, which is why we have not seen him. When he appears, and I have no doubt that he will, beg Their Graces for an audience, and I will support you.”
She nodded, nervous. “Why not you, Sir Nicholas?”
“It is not I the queen has charged with being her investigator. Besides, I am to keep control of the guard. I will stand by you, but I cannot be everywhere at once. Take courage, girl.” He clapped a hand on her shoulder and left.
Gabriel approached her. “What did he want?”
She shook her head, feeling Sir Gilbert’s eyes on her. “Nothing I can say.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“What is it you are thinking now? Go on. I can tell your mind is miles from here,” he said with a smile.
She glanced at him. “Is it true that de Grecy and Grossetete were at odds?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“It’s just that I heard—”
“Oh, I see. Asking questions about that again. “The man is dead. Let the dead lie, I say.”
“But is it true?” she asked.
“Well…” He glanced around and took a spare cup from the table, filling it with wine. “I don’t like to speak ill of others, or the dead. It’s not very Christian.”
“I’m sorry. I just wonder if what I heard was true. Were they enemies?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s not for me to speak so about my fellow knights. That’s idle gossip, and not for servants like you to dabble in.” His expression turned surly. “Perhaps you ought to speak to the good brother. I think you could use a lesson in humility.”
As if conjured by magic, the brother in question appeared behind her. “Who needs a lesson in humility?”
Bronwyn stiffened.
Seeing Sir Gabriel’s glance at her, Brother Bartholomew said, “Ah. Let us have a little talk, you and I.” He took her by the arm and pulled her away.
She tried tugging free, but his grip was strong as he ushered her toward the exit. “I am serving my lady,” she said.
“It looks to me like you were trying to charm King Stephen’s knights. And worse, I find you gossiping. A girl like you needs to be doing penance in church. I see the Lord has smiled upon you and given you a place in the good Lady Alice’s service. But what do you do? You waste your good fortune.”
“Let me go,” she said.
He jerked her harder. “Not until you are back in the kitchens where you belong.”
“No. Let go of me.” Her voice carried.
Men and women were looking at them now.
Brother Bartholomew said, “Your little search for a murderer has turned up nothing. The queen should never have wasted her time on sending a girl to perform a fruitless errand. You belong in the cells with your father, the traitor.”
She lost her composure, God help her. She spat, “My father is not a traitor.”
Silence filled the room. Even the music had stopped.
Queen Matilda’s voice rang out, “What is going on here?”
Brother Bartholomew’s look was snide. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you now, girl.”
Bronwyn glared into his cold, blue eyes, so light and pretty, like ice on the river in the morning.
Queen Matilda was upon them. “I said, what is happening here? Tell me.”
Brother Bartholomew presented a picture of quiet piety and bowed his head. After raising his gaze, he called out, “Sire, a matter to lay before you. I have found this girl nosing around your court, spreading lies. Allow me to take her away.”
Queen Matilda’s face turned pink, for he had spoken to her husband, as if she were not standing there before him.
In that instant, Bronwyn could well see the quiet rage simmering inside her. She, a queen, who if the rumors were true, had literally led armies, had been duly ignored in favor of her husband by a mere monk. The audacity.
Her eyes were like daggers.
Bronwyn could well understand her rage, for it mirrored her own. How dare he? For the queen to be overlooked as if she were nothing, not even a servant. It was not to be borne. She said, “My lady, I beg an audience before you.”
“Why?” The queen’s voice was hard.
Her heart beat in her throat. She could feel her pulse jumping. “Because I have found the answer to the matter you asked me to look into. The issue of de Grecy’s death.”
Queen Matilda called to her husband, who sat across the room. “My lord.”
“Yes?”
“We have a request for an audience. I have a mind to hear this one,” she said, her voice careful. However light, it held a serious note that caught her husband’s attention.
“Very well, my lady. Come, let us adjourn to the inner chamber. Sir Nicholas, escort them if you would.”
“Wait,” Alice said.
“Lady Alice?” Queen Matilda said, her voice stinging.
Alice bowed her head. “Forgive me, my queen, but this girl is my maidservant. I would accompany her to this audience, if you will allow it.”
Queen Matilda’s face was stern. “You speak for this girl?”
“I do.”
“Very well. Come along.”
In no time at all, and under many aristocrats’ watchful eyes, they were escorted by Sir Nicholas and a handful of armed guards into the throne room, where the king and queen took their seats.
Bronwyn stood before them with her hands clasped and head bowed, her eyes to the floor.
The doors shut, and the room was silent, although many were listening. In the room were the king and queen, with Sir Nicholas and Brother Bartholomew off to the side. Guards lined the walls, spears and swords at the ready. Also present were Alice, who stood behind Bronwyn, and the knights, Sirs Gilbert, Bors, Baldwin, Clarke, Gabriel, and Grossetete.
“Speak,” King Stephen commanded. “Who called for this audience?”
Bronwyn spoke up. “I did, Your Grace.”
“Why?” He glanced at his wife as if to say, We are accepting audiences from servants now?
The queen silenced him with a look and said to her, “Talk.”
“I know who killed Sir de Grecy and the squire, Roger,” Bronwyn said.
“Who?”
“Brother Bartholomew.”
Silence. Then a snicker. A laugh.
Brother Bartholomew clapped and joined in the laughter. “That is a good jest, girl, but one in poor taste. Now be off with you. Go back to the kitchens, where you belong.”
Bronwyn ignored him. “It is true.”
“What proof have you?” King Stephen asked.
“I have spoken with the knights and learnt that of the men who knew de Grecy was buying rolls to please my lord and lady that night, Brother Bartholomew was among them.”
“But so were a handful of knights,” the monk said, interrupting. “And that is hardly proof of anything. What you pose as fact is merely hearsay.”
“Just so, only the kitchen servants, a few knights and Brother Bartholomew knew of the types of mushrooms that were safe to eat and those which were poisonous. And in fact, Brother Bartholomew taught the knights this.”
“Who told you this?” King Stephen asked.
She looked at Sir Nicholas, who gave her an encouraging look. “Sir Gabriel, Your Grace.”
Heads turned and the knight said, “It is true, my lord. I did tell the girl this. I did not lie.”
Brother Bartholomew shook his head at the man. “Shame on you and your wagging tongue, Sir Gabriel. I expect you to see me for penance once we are done here.”
The man blinked in surprise, then hung his head.
Bronwyn swallowed. “There’s more. The night that de Grecy died, my father and I made the rolls at home and took them into the castle. But in the kitchens I spotted someone in a green cloak adding mushrooms to the rolls we’d made. I raised a fuss, but the men didn’t believe me, and you know what happened. This man had black hair, and he scared Mistress de la Haye, who was certain de Roumare had escaped from the cells. She was so certain it was him, she even grabbed a piece of his black hair from when he fled the kitchen. But it’s not human hair at all, but horsehair. From a horse Brother Bartholomew clipped and sheared for its hair, to make a wig.”
“Bring the good lady here,” King Stephen ordered.
In moments, the chatelaine was present. She looked nervous and twirled and untwirled the piece of black hair around her fingers.
The king repeated the charge laid against the brother. “This baker says you found a piece of hair from the night the man escaped from the kitchen.”
“You mean this?” She held up the hair.
“Give it here.”
Sir Nicholas took it from her, and passed it to the king and queen. “It does indeed resemble horsehair.”
“It was not until Roger returned from a secret mission that I discovered he didn’t have black hair at all. He couldn’t have done the crime, for he had been sent on a secret mission earlier that day. He wasn’t even in the city when the murder took place.”
“What secret mission is this?” King Stephen asked. “Sir Bors?”
“I sent the lad on no mission, Your Grace,” Sir Bors said.
“Roger told me so himself,” said Bronwyn. “When he returned, he came to the kitchen for a bite to eat, and he told me he’d been on a mission for the king. And he said he was going to speak with a person right away. I didn’t know it at the time, but I believe that was the same person who killed him.”
Brother Bartholomew snorted. “You are wasting His Grace’s time. Admit it, you and your father served poisoned mushrooms to the king and queen. It’s due to their mercy you were not imprisoned as well as your traitorous father,” Brother Bartholomew said.
She replied through gritted teeth, “My father is no traitor, and neither am I. The person in the stolen green cloak, with the black horsehair wig, who sent Roger on a secret mission, is the one who killed him and de Grecy.”
“But who is that?”
She looked squarely at Brother Bartholomew.
He snorted. “Me? I can understand your anger, but do not aim it at me, girl. You have no proof.”
“You stole Roger’s cloak,” Bronwyn said, “and made a wig from the horsehair. You hoped to impersonate de Roumare for it. No one would suspect it was you, since you have a tonsure.”
“I did no such thing.”
“When Roger came back he found the cloak in his room and said it smelled like horse, and worse. But no one would have suspected you .”
“And rightly so,” Brother Bartholomew said. “I am innocent.”
“But only the person who killed de Grecy and who wanted Roger gone is the one with a reason to want to hurt him. It would’ve been easy to lure him out to the river. But Roger took something from the killer, in his last moments before he froze beneath the ice.”
“What was it?” King Stephen asked.
She turned to the monk. “Brother Bartholomew, where is your cross? I haven’t seen you wearing it for some days now.”
People looked at him.
“Why, I… lost it. It must have fallen off my neck when I wasn’t looking.”
“Then why did I find it in Roger’s lifeless hand?” she asked, fishing it out of her apron. Amidst gasps and mutters, she held it aloft in the air, the small, wooden cross dangling from her fist. The piece of shined glass at its center caught the light and shone.
“Brother, how do you explain this?” King Stephen asked. “I recognize that as your cross. It is distinctive.”
“She must have stolen it.”
“She did not. The girl speaks the truth,” Sir Nicholas said. “I was with her down in cold storage when she found it in Roger’s hand. Unless you think me a liar too, Brother?”
Brother Bartholomew looked askance at Sir Nicholas and licked his lips, a nervous action. “I… remember now. I gave it to the boy. I wanted him to have a cross of his own. A gift.”
“You just said a moment ago you lost it. Did you forget?” Queen Matilda asked.
“Yes. Yes, I did. But I didn’t kill him. Someone else did.”
“Funny, for we found threads from a green fabric in your room,” Sir Nicholas said, “and a black wig that looks poorly pieced together. It was shedding all over the place. It does not appear to be like human hair and it certainly smells like… horse.”
“You were in my quarters?” the monk asked. “You had no right.”
“What’s the harm? You have nothing to hide. Do you, brother?” Sir Nicholas pressed. “You are loyal to King Stephen, are you not?”
“Of course I am,” Brother Bartholomew said.
“Then why is it that de Roumare bid me give messages to you?” Bronwyn asked.
“ What ?” King Stephen asked.
All eyes were upon Bronwyn. “Since my father was imprisoned, I’ve been visiting him in the cells. Recently, he warned me of talk he’d heard from the knights also imprisoned down there. He said there was talk of a rebellion from within the castle. We didn’t have any proof, but I’ve learnt that de Grecy was here on false pretenses, Your Grace. He was here and meant to be working with someone on the inside, someone loyal to the empress.”
Queen Matilda hissed.
Bronwyn continued. “He was meant to work with them and together bring about the rebellion, in time for when the empress’s forces arrived at Lincoln. With the castle retaken, they would be put in charge and hold the doors open for Empress Maud.”
King Stephen’s face was stormy. “You speak of things beyond your understanding, girl. How can we know this is truth and not rumor?”
“I can speak for the girl’s honesty, Your Grace,” Sir Nicholas said. “I was with her when we found a young woman in de Grecy’s room, searching through his things. If you recall, we instigated a search for her that very day but could not find any trace of her. From her attack on my person, I can only assume she was a spy.”
“A spy? Here in my court?” King Stephen said. “Are you sure?”
Sir Nicholas nodded. “I am, Your Grace. She attacked me and escaped before we could catch her.”
“And what of this business with the dead boy, and the mushrooms?” King Stephen asked.
Bronwyn spoke up. “Brother Bartholomew has been down in the dungeon, speaking with the imprisoned knights who had taken over the castle before Christmas. I believe he is the insider spy that de Grecy was working with.” She glanced at Alice.
Alice’s eyes widened, but her cheeks were like made of stone. Her passive expression did not waver.
“Of course I would be down there,” Brother Bartholomew said. “I was hearing their prayers and giving them penance, like any holy man would.”
“I did not order you to visit the cells, brother,” King Stephen said.
Brother Bartholomew bent his head as if in prayer. “Forgive me, my lord. I felt it would be unkind, nay, un-Christian not to attend to their souls. I would of course relay any useful information to you, if I thought it helpful.”
“I thought what a man said in private to a monk was to remain so, and private before God,” Queen Matilda said.
“Yes, well, there are exceptions, my lady,” the monk said quickly. He wiped his brow.
“Nervous, brother?” Bronwyn asked.
He shot her a glare. “You have no proof of anything.”
“You stole Roger’s cloak. How do you explain the threads in your room and the wig? The missing cross I found in his dead hand?”
“You make too much of nothing. I merely took the cloak to be a lesson to the boy. He was so proud of it, strutting around like a peacock. He needed to be taught a lesson not to put so much store by material goods. A little humility did him good.”
“You took my squire’s cloak?” Sir Bors said. “I punished Roger for losing it. You admit to stealing?”
“Isn’t that against one of the commandments, brother?” Sir Nicholas asked.
Brother Bartholomew turned red. “Yes, and I will do my due penance. But Roger needed to learn a lesson. I had heard rumors that he was mean and cruel to the other boys.”
“That is no reason to steal, brother. That cloak was a gift to the boy for his good service.” Sir Bors said. “It would have kept the boy warm at night. Did you send him on a so called secret mission as well?”
Heads turned to look at Brother Bartholomew. “I might have suggested he ride out to survey the area and see if he could find more men to join Stephen’s cause. But it was a suggestion only. It was not a secret mission by any means. The boy was telling tales, Your Grace. It’s not my fault.” A vein on this forehead purpled. “I may have taken the squire’s cloak, but I did not kill the man de Grecy. I didn’t.”
“You did,” Bronwyn said. “And you tried to frame it Roger and de Roumare.”
“Why?” Queen Matilda asked.
“From what the knights tell me, de Grecy had an arrogant manner. He liked to fancy himself important and when he joined King Stephen’s court, he would gain favor with the king, especially with a treat like sweet honeyed rolls. And because he liked to play both sides, he thought that by working with the spy here, he would prove himself valuable to Empress Maud as well by arranging the rebellion. But he died before that could happen. My guess is de Grecy was overheard talking about the plot by Brother Bartholomew, who plotted to kill him when the chance arose.”
Bronwyn added, “Brother Bartholomew heard de Grecy bragging about the expensive order of rolls and decided that was his chance. He sent Roger off on the mission, waited for the right time, and slipped out of the dining hall and put on the cloak and wig. Once he’d put the mushrooms on the bread rolls and shoved me into the potboy, he ran.
“Mistress de la Haye saw him. She screamed and said she’d seen de Roumare, just as he probably hoped—which was why he’d chosen the black wig. While everyone would wonder how a prisoner has escaped, they wouldn’t be looking for a monk. But that backfired because no one believed his witness. Instead, she fainted, and Brother Bartholomew was immediately sought—but he was nowhere to be found. Why? Because he’d gone to stow the items back in his room. It’s why he wasn’t immediately there when the call was raised for him to attend Mistress de la Haye. Later, he stowed the cloak in de Roumare’s cell to keep himself from suspicion, then hid it back in Roger’s room.”
She paused and cleared her throat. “I know Brother Bartholomew is involved because a few nights ago, I was asked to give a message to de Roumare from Brother Bartholomew that he wasn’t coming that night. I mistakenly thought they meant prayers, and the men laughed, as if it were a great pretense. They clearly meant something else.”
King Stephen sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“You have no proof. No proof of any of this,” Brother Bartholomew said. “I am no killer. I am not a traitor.”
“Perhaps not, but you have been led astray, I think,” King Stephen said. “Monks do not steal or strive to teach others cruel lessons in humility. But I also do not think you are a murderer.”
Brother Bartholomew smiled in triumph.
“What of the girl, sire?” Sir Nicholas said.
King Stephen tapped his chin. “I am not sure. How can we be sure anything she says is truth and not a lie?”
“Exactly,” Brother Bartholomew said. “The girl is in league with her father, who is a traitor. He tried to kill you. He killed de Grecy and now is connected with de Roumare, who bears you no love. Please sire, you have known me for years. Would you take the word of a mere girl over me?”
King Stephen looked at them both. “I believe anyone can be honest. And I also believe people can make mistakes.” He expression hardened. “This young woman knows far too much for an ordinary baker. I believe she must be the one working with a spy, not the good brother.”
“What? No!” Bronwyn froze.
“Guards. Take this girl to the dungeons,” King Stephen said.
Brother Bartholomew smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Very wise, my lord. She’s caused enough trouble for one day.” To Bronwyn, he said, “You understand what the penalty is for collaborating with spies, don’t you, girl? Death by hanging.”
Bronwyn’s blood ran cold, and she swayed on her feet. She would hang?
Queen Matilda touched her husband’s arm. “Milord, is this the right decision? I do not think—”
“Do not question me, wife. I will not ask why you keep counsel with humble bakers and traitorous women,” King Stephen said, his mouth firm. “Take her away. She and her father will be hung at dawn.”
“Your Grace, please. Let the girl stay in my care. She is young and stupid. She knows not what she says. I can—” Alice began.
“I have made my decision,” King Stephen said.
Bronwyn’s eyes watered. Her face felt hot, but she lifted her chin and remained mute as the guards led her from the throne room.