The King of Thieves

Chapter Thirty-Five

Second Monday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael^*

Temple, Paris

It was late in the afternoon when the King finally broke.

Every man had his limit. That was what Pons privately believed. He was experienced in the use of torture as a regrettable, but necessary means of gaining answers in many investigations. This time, however, he was actually enjoying it. Pons was one of many who had been glad to call Jean the Procureur a friend.

They had begun by interrogating the three others who had been taken with the King. Each had endured a while, but it was clear enough that they knew nothing of value. As soon as the brands approached them, they began to gabble all they knew. It was scarcely surprising, Pons reflected, bearing in mind that they had all the marks of the executioner’s tools on them from previous offences. They knew how much they could endure.

The King was different. He stared at Pons coldly as he listened to the agonised breath of the others, knowing that it would soon be his turn.

Still, he had some courage. Even when his nerve broke, it was not a complete submission. Each word was forced from him by the application of a little more pain, each partial confession dragged out with chains.

‘The … man … of … God. He paid. The priest at the Louvre.’

‘What is his name? Which priest?’

‘He swore death to Jean.’

Second Tuesday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael^*

Louvre

Stapledon had no idea of the approaching crisis as he prepared to leave his chamber that morning with Simon, Baldwin and Sir Richard.

‘Heard a new joke yesterday,’ Sir Richard was saying. ‘This old fellow was asked how old his son was, and he said, “Me Lord, he’s seven and twenty.” “How so? Why is he not twenty and seven?” “Because, me Lord, he was seven afore he was twenty.” Ha! A good joke, eh?’

Simon eyed him balefully. ‘Yes, most amusing.’

‘Your head bad again, Bailiff?’

Simon winced at the loud tone. ‘I have a slight liverish complaint, I think.’

‘You should be more careful, my friend,’ Baldwin said with a smile.

‘You try being careful when you’re out with him,’ Simon said quietly. ‘It’s impossible. The man soaks up drinks like a towel.’

‘I believe even a towel must reach the limit of its absorption,’ the Bishop said, making a rare joke.

‘I’ve seen no evidence,’ Simon grumbled.

‘Eh?’ Sir Richard said. ‘I missed something?’

Baldwin was about to answer when there came a loud knocking at the door, and he watched as Simon marched to it and opened it wide.

‘I would like to speak with the Bishop, if I may,’ Pons said.

The King of France eyed the group before him without comment for a long time. ‘This is very serious, you appreciate?’ he said finally.

‘Of course we appreciate that!’ Bishop Walter snapped. ‘I am being accused of a major crime, on the flimsiest evidence imaginable … If it were not such an insult, it would be laughable.’

‘Evidence based upon the statement of a man who was suffering torture,’ Pons said meaningfully.

‘A man suffering torture may say anything to save himself,’ Baldwin replied coolly. In his mind he could imagine the agony of the fellow as the tools were deployed about him. He had heard too much of the tortures which had been inflicted upon the Templars.

‘You were not popular when you first arrived here, my Lord Bishop,’ the King continued. ‘When you were rude to your Queen, you angered many of my people; when you then argued with the Procureur as he was attempting to do his job, you made still more enemies. I do not think your stay in Paris should continue for any longer than is absolutely necessary.’

‘I cannot leave without the Queen, and she refuses to return with me.’

‘I say nothing of that. It is none of my business. But the peace of my realm is very dear to me. I will not have mayhem and other infractions of my law as a result of an unwelcome guest. You must consider your position, my Lord Bishop, and also consider whether you are aiding or thwarting your King’s ambitions.’

They were dismissed. As they left the King’s presence, Pons made a mocking bow to the Bishop, but Stapledon was unworried by that. He was more alarmed by the reaction of the people outside as he left the audience chamber.

Not one stirred. No one spoke or moved to disturb the silence. It created a monstrously intimidating atmosphere, and Baldwin felt like a deer forced to walk between two packs of hounds — and all that held the hounds at bay was the will of the berner.

Back in the Bishop’s room, Stapledon crossed to his chair and sat shakily, passing his hand over his brow. ‘What have I done to deserve all this? I swear to you all, I had nothing to do with that man’s death. I couldn’t have! I wouldn’t know where to find him if I’d wanted to!’

Baldwin shot a look at Simon and Sir Richard. ‘I believe you, my Lord Bishop. But the man’s death happened a little while after he left the castle here, and that was the very same day that you argued with him. It does make the matter look black against you. Perhaps, though, Simon and I with Sir Richard here could look into it and clear your name? There must be some sort of evidence that would show who was in truth responsible.’

‘Please do go and see what you may uncover, then,’ the Bishop said. He had taken a jug of wine from one of his clerks, and now he sipped the strong red liquid. ‘I would have my innocence proved. I am here among my enemies against my wishes, and I must demonstrate that I am guiltless!’

A while later, Baldwin and Simon stood in the courtyard and watched the people hurrying back and forth.

‘What do you make of it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked.

‘I think that whoever wished to make the Bishop appear guilty did a very good job of work. There can be few in the castle now who haven’t heard about Bishop Walter’s verbal attack on the Procureur. And yet that day there were only a few men about here. Someone chose to spread the story, and when the next morning there was news of the Procureur’s death, people put the two tales together. But that was the result of gossip, perhaps. Not all rumours are started maliciously.’

‘How can we begin to learn what truly happened, do you think?’

Baldwin looked up at the sun. ‘I think the first thing we should do is speak to this man who has been tortured.’

‘We would need permission for that.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He strolled over to the main gate. In the doorway was Arnaud with two of his men. ‘Master Porter? May I speak with you a moment?’

‘If you wish.’

‘You know the man Pons who has been investigating the death of the Procureur?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘Has he left the castle yet?’

‘No, he is still in the hall, I think.’

‘When he comes, would you ask him most politely whether he would accept a pint of wine with me? I shall be in the tavern over there,’ Baldwin said, pointing.

The coin passed to Arnaud was enough to guarantee his compliance, and Simon and Baldwin enjoyed a pint of wine between them before Pons appeared in the courtyard, walking swiftly to the gate. There he was approached by Arnaud, and turned to glance in their direction before nodding and striding to join them.

‘Well, my friends, it is not every day that I am offered a good drop of the King’s finest wine, so I’d be delighted to drink some with you both.’

‘That is good,’ Baldwin said. He poured a cup full. ‘And then we shall exact payment.’

‘Aha! I had thought as much,’ Pons said. ‘What is it?’

‘Only this: we should like to meet your informant to see what else he may tell us about the Bishop and the death of the Procureur.’

‘I do not object — but what do you want from him? To ask him to change his tale?’

‘No, only to confirm his story. We are convinced that our Bishop is not guilty of killing the Procureur.’

‘Perhaps he did not wield the knife, but he paid the man who could.’

‘The Bishop is a new man to this city, m’Sieur. He does not know it well. Was this villain so famous that a foreigner could find him this swiftly?’

Pons hesitated. ‘Perhaps he has visited the country before?’

‘He has, I am sure, but not for many years. He knew that he was not popular, because he is no ally to Queen Isabella. Many friends of your Royal Family despise him.’

‘He may, perhaps, have come to know of the killers a while ago, then?’

‘He is more likely to be the victim of your city’s killers than a sponsor of them,’ Baldwin said with certainty.

Pons considered, nodding slowly. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Is there anyone else who has been involved with this fellow?’

‘The “King of Thieves”, as he calls himself, has been associated with almost all those who’ve been involved in any crimes for the last few years.’

‘But recently, is there anyone who has knowledge of him?’

Pons shrugged. ‘Our helper was a woman. A whore who’s lost interest in him as he grew more violent, I think. She took us to him so that we could catch him.’

‘And she came to find you?’

‘Through another man here in the Louvre. He told us and set a meeting with her.’

‘Another of her clients, then?’

‘It is possible.’

‘May we speak with this “King”?’

‘Very well. Perhaps tomorrow you could join me in a visit to the gaol where he is being held? It is the old Templar preceptory north of the city.’

Baldwin’s face froze. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘That would be most kind of you.’

‘Are you all right, Baldwin?’ Simon asked as they made to leave the tavern.

‘Yes. It was merely a shock to hear that they are still using that fortress as a centre for torture,’ he said.

‘Ho! Thought I’d find ye both here. Fancy a little nibble?’ Sir Richard said, somewhat indistinctly as they passed the entrance. The knight was sitting outside on a bench, a roasted capon on a platter before him, which he was gradually dismembering, one leg already in his mouth.

‘What are you doing here? I thought you were guarding the Bishop,’ Simon said.

‘Well, I was, but the Queen’s man came and fetched him. Lord Cromwell was there, and if I know Lord John, he’ll not see any harm come to the fellow while the Bishop’s in his charge.’

‘What did the Queen want with him?’ Baldwin asked.

‘To talk about money and the like, I think. Poor Walter groaned and sighed to himself when he heard the summons, but when all’s said and done, she is the Queen, and he is her legal guardian while she’s here, so he had little enough choice. Now, how about some capon? The man here cooks damn well — are you a thigh man or a breast man, ha ha, eh?’

Although he had little desire for food, at least Sir Richard’s company was a distraction from the concerns which assailed him at present, Baldwin decided. He sat down and stabbed a lump of breast with his small eating knife.

Sir Richard smiled broadly. ‘Excellent! I always knew you’d prefer a good sizeable breast! So, Sir Baldwin,’ he continued, finishing a leg and throwing the bones towards a cat who sat, purring loudly, on a wall nearby. ‘What d’you reckon to this story of the Bishop? As much moonshine as saying the castle’s mastiff did for the fellow, I’d guess. Yes?’

‘Absolutely,’ Baldwin said. ‘I can see no justification for suspecting the poor Bishop whatever. He would not know how to find this assassin, he would not have had the time to find the man and give his orders in the time available. He is an important guest here, after all. His time has been bound up in visits to others or to chapel.’

‘Quite right. That’s what I thought too. So I was musin’ as I wandered about the castle, whether there was someone else who could have a reason to kill the Procureur. Did you know he was the city’s leading prosecutor of felons? You did? Oh. Well, it just occurred to me that surely the man’s worst enemy is goin’ to be the one who sought his death — and that must mean that there was an affair the fellow was looking at which could have embarrassed someone enough for that someone to pay someone to have the fellow killed. Eh?’

Baldwin half-closed his eyes as he tried to differentiate between the ‘someones’ and the ‘fellows’. ‘Yes,’ he said at last.

‘Good. Glad you said that. Did you know that in the days before he was murdered, this Jean fellow had a talk with the King himself, and was told to get his finger out of his arse and find the killer of a man at the Louvre?’

‘Yes. Jean’s servant told us: it was the man de Nogaret,’ Baldwin said flatly.

‘Perhaps we should search for him, then?’ Simon said. ‘The man who had this fellow de Nogaret killed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ye’ll pardon me, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Richard said rather reproachfully, ‘if I observe that you don’t seem all that bothered to find the fellow’s murderer.’

Baldwin looked at the ground, then back to the building behind him. ‘I do not think that it is our place to find the killer of de Nogaret.’

It was Simon who glanced at Wolf, pacing so near. ‘Baldwin, if a man were to harm Wolf, you would seek his killer no matter whom it might be. Do you really mean to tell us that you wouldn’t try to do the same for a man you have never met?’

For the very first time in their long friendship, Baldwin could not hold Simon’s gaze. As Sir Richard protested that, ‘Of course if Sir Baldwin had met the fellow, it would make a difference,’ Baldwin looked away.

‘You may think what you like of the father, Baldwin,’ Simon went on steadily, ‘and you can allow that to colour your feelings towards the son, if you want. But think on a moment. If a man killed the son to avenge some crime, that was unjust. The boy had nothing to do with his father’s offences. And think further — the same fellow, perhaps, killed the son’s wife. What did she have to do with any of those crimes? She was at two removes from the father’s offences. It’d be like Despenser punishing me by killing my daughter and her husband. Is that to be borne?’

‘No,’ Baldwin muttered. He could not curb his loathing for the family name of de Nogaret, but Simon was correct. The idea that the son and his wife should be slaughtered for the father’s offence was disgusting.

‘And there is another aspect to this. If I am correct, the Bishop is standing to suffer punishment because he is suspected of the killing of the Procureur, when the true culprit is the man who killed him to silence him about the de Nogaret murders. By allowing the killer of that couple to escape, you are aiding a man to put all the blame on to our Bishop. Can you stand by and permit that?’

‘No. No, you are quite right, Simon,’ Baldwin said quietly.

‘Ha! Glad to hear it,’ said the Coroner, and belched long and loud. ‘Don’t know what in God’s name you two are muttering about, but if you’re both content to stop blathering and come and help prove the Bishop’s innocence, that makes good hearing to my ears!’

‘So, what do we do?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin frowned. ‘On the day that the Bishop had his argument with the Procureur, it was inside the main gate of the castle, was it not? The Procureur was apparently standing and staring at the gate, which was enough to make Bishop Walter think he was staring at him. But what else might he have been gazing at?’

‘The gate itself?’ Simon hazarded.

‘Aye. Or the people at it,’ was Sir Richard’s contribution.

‘One or the other, certainly. I feel we should begin to think about these deaths there,’ Baldwin said. He took a bite of the chicken breast, then watched as the pale, anxious-looking cook walked on by.

‘What is it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked, noting the expression on his face.

‘That cook. You remember the dead boy? Yet another murder in this castle. Is no one safe?’

They had all three surveyed the main gate to the castle after finishing their capon, but after the fourth muttering of ‘God’s faith!’ from Sir Richard, even Simon had to admit that there was little to see. Only the steady inrush of men and a few women, while a number left by the same route.

‘Baldwin, this is pointless,’ he muttered.

‘Perhaps. And yet there was something which the Procureur thought was important enough for him to spend much time right here, watching,’ Baldwin said distractedly. ‘What could it have been?’

‘Maybe he was just gazing into the distance? Men do when they’re thinking about tough questions,’ Simon hazarded.

‘He was not that sort of man, I think,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘Surely a man with a brain like his, shrewd and quick, would not have stood here idly. There would have been a good reason, I am sure.’

‘Well, aye, that’s possible, but then again,’ Sir Richard said, his thumbs hooked in his belt and glowering about him like a bear waiting for the mastiffs, ‘he may have been staring into thin air, like Simon said. Perhaps he’d been invited to a lady’s chamber? Eh? Or challenged to a fight? There’s any number of innocent distractions.’

Baldwin threw him a despairing look. Neither sounded particularly ‘innocent’ to him. ‘What if we-’ He checked himself and frowned. There, in the gateway, he could see the furious face of the porter. ‘Wait a moment. I shall speak with the gatekeeper.’ And in a moment he was stalking towards Arnaud.