Assassin in the Abbey - a short story Read online

Assassin in the Abbey

  A Christmas short story

  EH Walter

  Copyright 2012 EH Walter

  Paperbacks available at https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/ehwalter

  Assassin in the Abbey

  She was beautiful, I’ll give her that. Her skin was clear, unmarked by the blemishes sported by so many of the people in this dank country. To say her hair was brown would not do it justice. It had a lustre that made it somehow more than a colour and just seeing the smallest amount of it peep from under her headdress made me want to run my hands through it. I knew it would feel as soft as the finest Arabic silk.

  I watched as she charmed her way around the guards first thing in the morning. They were not meant to allow such people close to the Abbey, but perhaps they saw her as no threat; she was a woman and the king had not yet arrived. By smiling coyly she was allowed through.

  Did she look like an assassin? How does one know? I have had many years of experience in looking beyond the person – spotting the signs of a would-be murderer. You might say it is my special skill, my craft. I looked beyond her beauty and figure and saw the determination in her blue eyes. A resolve I had seen on battlefields and on those closing in on a leader. It was my job to get in the way, with my own body if so needed.

  I could have stopped her there and then, pushed her into a nave and taken the life from her silently with my bare hands. It would have been the safest thing to do, it was what my king expected of me. Nonetheless, I thought after my services at Hastings he owed me a little indulgence and I resolved to watch and wait. This one was too captivating to just kill.

  “Keep watch here,” I told my second who was positioned inside the Abbey doors, “I have seen something that bears further enquiry.”

  My feet are quiet and I keep to the shadows. She did not know I was there as I followed her.

  She knew her way around the Abbey. Nun, or worshipper in these hallowed precincts? She was well born, that was clear. A Saxon aristocrat. One of those about to feel the world crash down around them. The appropriation of Saxon lands had already begun and I was one of those hoping to benefit. It was what conquerors did – took the spoils and you would only complain if you ended up on the wrong side. Losing was always the wrong side.

  “Get me safely crowned,” Duke William had told me, “and you can name your choice of Saxon lands.”

  The duke was superstitious and claimed to have dreamt that if he got the crown on his head, all would be well and his line would rule unbroken in this land for a thousand years. I had seen kings come and go – but this one was different. I actually believed he might do it. After all, who would have thought a bastard child could hold on to the duchy of Normandy let alone conqueror this miserable island? Last for an unbroken thousand years though? No king would manage that.

  It was my job to make sure the crown got onto his head and that the head stayed on the body. Quite a simple task when you consider the Saxons had shown no rebellion and seemed to support their new king. They were even coming to the coronation to show their support and both languages were being used so no one would be in any doubt – William was king.

  She slipped with ease through the dark corners of the Abbey. As I followed, I contemplated what her method of murder might be. Women tended to favour poison, which meant this one would have to get close enough to the holy wine. Unlikely, but a determined assassin would try anything. Should she try to poison the wine, my hand would stop hers before she could do it. I had no concern of that. I could break her bones with one grasp.

  However, she did not head to the altar. She passed through a group of black robed monks, nodding at them as if no stranger, and slipped into the shadows by one of the massive stone columns.

  I caught one of the younger monks by the elbow and guided him away from the group. I had chosen a younger man as the old are stuck in their ways whilst the young see the pragmatism in investing in their many years of life still to come. The old had nothing to lose except the pain of old age induced disease and illness. The young still had dreams to lose and still thought their lives might, in some way, be valuable.

  “The woman,” I said, “Who is she?”

  He shrugged without meeting my eyes.

  “You need to tell me who she is or your life will be short and agonising.”

  He blinked. I never had problems making people believe me, perhaps because I said them with utter conviction. I was not a liar. What came out of my mouth was always the truth. When making a threat I rarely had to produce a weapon or inflict some pain to get my point across, although they were always hid about my person – ready for use.

  “She’s Lady Emma of Wiltshire. Her father was lost at Hastings. She was a regular worshipper here with her father when he advised the old king. ”

  “Harold?”

  “Edward, God rest his soul.” The monk crossed himself. The monks were building up this celibate king into a saint. No doubt to feather their own nests – a saint brought pilgrims and pilgrims brought money. Indeed, a saint would serve Westminster and its monks well. The Abbey itself had served the Norman cause as well. For fifteen years one tenth of the income of this country had been spent on building this shrine to Saint Peter. During that time defences had been allowed to crumble. Defences that had been easy for the conquerors to overcome.

  “Has she lands?”

  “Did. It is common knowledge the Normans will take lands, especially from women.”

  True. The Norman way was to pass inheritance to the eldest son. The Saxons had divided lands piecemeal until there were no great estates left. Women had no rights of inheritance under Norman law – perhaps this one was going to find that some hard adjustment, especially if she had no man to look after her.

  “Is she married?”

  The monk shook his head. She stood to lose all then. Or put another way – she had nothing left to lose by murdering the king.

  I shoved the monk on his way. So Lady Emma had motive. A father and lands to be lost and no man to keep her in this new world that saw women as unimportant.

  In my life I have travelled the known world and seen how different peoples treat their women. I had known Arabic women sold as slaves and powerful Bedouin women leading armies across deserts. The duke’s wife Matilda was also a powerful woman, although nominally powerless. I was not paid to have opinions, so kept any thoughts on such to myself. There was no doubt in my mind however, that this Lady Emma was not one to be trivialised.

  She took a place at the east end of the Abbey, not too far from the altar and with an easy approach. However, she did not go any closer. I surmised poison was not her chosen method. In the shadows she sat on the edge of a pillar and waited.

  Hidden some feet from her I found my own shadows and played my own waiting game.

  During the next hour and a half the Abbey began to fill. Normans and Saxons had been invited alike, although it was easy to tell them apart. The Normans still wore the looks of conquerors on the edge, looking for the closest enemy sword about to plunge in their backs, and their severe hair-cuts could not be more different from the more relaxed style of the Saxons. Everything about the Saxons showed them to be a less regimented race of people. Were they ready for Duke William’s order and systems? The man knew no other way to work.

  For all his grace at inviting the Saxons, the duke was taking nothing forgranted. Outside the Abbey were strong armed Norman guards, ready in case of unrest. And of course, there was my own presence. The extra guarantee of safety. The discrete assurance all men of importance wanted.

  The churchmen of England entered, each trying to o
utdo the other in the grandeur of his robes, doubtless trying to assert their position on this new king. Bishops and Abbots were flanked by their clergy as the nobles were escorted by their men at arms (without arms). On the whole it looked as if this new reign might be a success. That was, of course, if my little lady in the shadows behaved herself.

  From my position I could not see the crowning itself, but I knew when it was done because Archbishop Ealdred asked twice (in both languages) if the people gathered would accept William as their king. A great noise echoed around the church walls in two languages, all asserting with joy they would accept William. I felt some pride. I had helped him get here.

  It was to the Londoners credit they accepted William, he had burned his way into the city after all. Perhaps they too were pragmatists.

  It must have been a curious turn of events for Archbishop Ealdred who had, eleven months earlier, had crowned the previous king on this very spot. We had told William another priest had performed the deed, not wanting to feed his superstition and put that seed in his head that his reign might only last a similar length of time.

  I took my eye off the assassin. A stupid mistake. When I looked back she was gone.

  With the king about to process down the aisle I had no time to waste and set off in pursuit.

  Chatter began to pick up in the Abbey, something was wrong. The voices were too loud and the tone too deep. Had I missed her? Had she already got to the king? I would never forgive myself, I should have taken out the threat as soon as I spotted it. Fool to be so wooed by a pretty face and good figure.

  I dashed around the pillars and caught sight of her skirts disappearing. I followed her and we came out close to the central aisle where the king would process. We both paused however, as an angry mob greeted us.

  The mob of angry looking Saxons were looking towards the doors to the Abbey, smoke was creeping in. The Normans clustered together, although it looked as if they had no idea what was going on either.

  The woman took her chance, the men around the king were distracted. I saw the flash of the sharpened blade in her hand.

  It was one of those moments a man could make history in. There I was, with the power over the king for once. I could stop her and William’s dream of a thousand year rule of his house would proceed – or I could do nothing and allow the woman to end all that.

  William was a tall man and built like an ox. Hardly the most likely figure to wear a golden crown and velvet robes. She would have to press the blade in deep to get through his thick muscle.

  She used the confusion and her looks to her advantage and advanced. At first they didn’t see her and they certainly didn’t see the threat, they had not my skill. She was one step away when I swooped in on her and grasped her wrist. I could have broken it, but it was too pretty a wrist to do so.

  William saw the flash of the blade and my timely intervention. It never hurt to remind one’s employer of one’s value. Not every threat should be dealt with in the shadows.

  His eyes met mine in quiet acknowledgement and then he went on his way, a king to meet his kingdom.

  He would expect me to kill and dispose of her, of course, although I had better ideas if she was amenable. I had always been susceptible to a pretty face.

  And I knew exactly the lands I would ask as my reward. I knew of an estate in Wiltshire newly available. It was about time I retired to the country and sired a line of my own. It was about time I got me a son.

  ###

  Merry Christmas 2012 everyone!

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