The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Nineteen

‘And what did he say to that?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin had gone to Simon in their room, and since, fortunately, none of the other knights had retired yet, he could tell Simon all about the conversation.

‘He begged me to keep his association secret. Secret, in God’s name! The Queen’s Comptroller meeting with the King’s most detested traitor!’

‘What will you do? You should tell the Queen herself, or at least tell Lord Cromwell. He’s charged with her safety. The traitor Mortimer tried to have the King assassinated, after all. It would be perfect for him to embarrass the King by harming the Queen here. He might have her killed, or capture her and take her away. What could a man like that do to her?’

Baldwin said nothing for a moment, and Simon shot him a look. ‘Baldwin? Did you hear any of that?’

‘Well yes. Yes. I suppose you are right,’ Baldwin said.

‘There was a “but” at the end of that sentence, wasn’t there?’

Baldwin rose and walked to the window. Staring out, he spoke as though musing to himself. ‘I know that the King would expect me to tell Cromwell about Mortimer’s being here. But in truth, all know this is where he has been hiding. He sought sanctuary with the French king as soon as he escaped from the Tower of London. There is no surprise to anyone in the fact that he is here. This is a royal palace. So his presence is not news.’

‘Even if that were true, Baldwin, the simple fact that he appears to be on friendly terms with de Bouden, the Queen’s own clerk, is surely enough to raise warnings in the minds of any who have her interests to heart.’

‘Simon, I know you are probably right, but let me just ask you to consider this more deeply. This man Mortimer, whom all eagerly declare to be a traitor, was a close friend of the King’s for twenty years or so. He has backed the King in everything, even supporting his friendship with Gaveston, when all the other lords and barons had the man exiled. He served the King with his body and arms in all the King’s wars.’

‘I know that, Baldwin. But if you have a good, loyal dog, you still kill it if it develops the rabies. You can’t trust it after that. Mortimer has lost any rights because he raised a host against the King.’

‘He never raised his standard against the King, only against the rapacity of the Despenser — and we both have had experience of that devil!’

‘I don’t say I don’t agree with the aim of removing Despenser. But we’re here to protect the Queen, and if Mortimer’s here, he is a threat to her. He is the King’s own stated enemy, he was held under sentence of death, for Christ’s sake! Now he’s escaped from the Tower, he’s more dangerous than ever. We have to tell Lord Cromwell.’

Baldwin said nothing for a few moments, but then he turned away from the window. ‘And what will that achieve? John Cromwell will be determined to find the man and execute him, which will lead to more bad feeling between the French and the Queen’s party. I have already experienced the trouble that a killing can bring, Simon. People still look at me askance, thinking I killed Sir Enguerrand. The men who killed the Comte de Foix endangered my reputation. If another man is slain here, we shall be put in a dreadful position. It may well ruin the talks about Guyenne, and then we would be guilty of harming English interests and the King’s.’

‘So you would keep this secret?’ Simon demanded. ‘I tell you now, Baldwin, I cannot agree to that. I believe that the danger must be pointed out.’

‘I agree. However, I think that we should put the news in the hands of the one person here who knew Mortimer and can form a judgement on the degree of the threat he presents to the Queen — and that is the Queen herself.’

‘You seriously believe it’s better to tell her than Lord John?’

‘John Cromwell is a good man, but he takes his orders from the King — and in his case, I think that many instructions actually come from Despenser. Despenser hates Mortimer. The conclusion is clear — Despenser would command John Cromwell to have Mortimer murdered. The Queen knows Mortimer, though. She would surely understand him better.’

Saturday before the Annunciation of Our Lady ¹⁷

Poissy

The King had arrived in his royal palace a little earlier, but it was important for a king to ensure that all was prepared before he made his entrance. Jeanne, his bride-to-be, had already welcomed his sister to France, so King Charles IV could give himself up to making the preparations for the welcome feast.

And at last all was ready on the Saturday.

To Baldwin’s embittered eye, it was as unprompted and natural as any play-actor’s performance.

The King was a tall, handsome man. He had the natural grace of a man of authority, and the lightness on his feet of a trained man-at-arms. This was a noble who was experienced in the lists, he thought. And he was genuinely interested in people.

‘You are?’

Lord John Cromwell gave his name easily enough. He was used to speaking with kings, and he bowed low and respectfully, gruffly introducing the other men from his party. De Sapy was careful to bow low, as was Peter de Lymesey, but Sir Charles, Baldwin saw, was less reverential in his approach. He bowed, but in an almost perfunctory manner, which made some in the chamber eye him suspiciously. For his part, Baldwin bowed as low as he would to any king. There was no point in making a show of rudeness. It could all too easily make an enemy of a ruthless man in the lands where his power was absolute.

‘Sir Baldwin de Furnshill,’ Lord John intoned.

‘I am delighted to meet you,’ the King said in that soft voice of his. His tone was light, but Baldwin had the impression that it would carry clearly a great distance.

‘I believe you have all looked after your queen, my sister, well. I am most grateful to you all for that. If there is anything you require while you stay here in Poissy or in Paris, let my servants know and I will ensure that they will provide it for you. You are all my honoured guests.’

He had turned to return to his throne when the doors opened at the far end of the hall, and the Queen stepped in.

She was clad in black, a dress rather like a widow’s, Baldwin thought, and then his mouth twitched cynically. No fool, she would have carefully considered what to wear before entering. This was designed to make men question her state of mind. Everyone knew of Despenser’s relationship with her husband, and wearing widow’s weeds would allow them to appreciate the depth of her own disgust and shame.

The King stepped forward as she entered, and taking her hand asked how she fared, how her journeys had been. ‘Welcome, my fair sister!’ She attempted to kneel before him, not once, but three times, at each occasion held up by him. ‘You are my sister, my equal. You shall not kneel for me.’

Baldwin saw the tears running down her face as the King led her to a seat and installed her, commanding wine and sweetmeats for her, and for all his loyalty and devotion to her, he could not help but reflect that she was a more consummate actor than any he had seen displaying his craft on a wagon at the miracle plays each year.

‘Well?’ Simon demanded as Baldwin walked out into the yard later. As a mere yeoman, Simon had not been invited to the audience. Not that he cared a whit. As far as he was concerned, kings were above his usual rank of companion, and he was content to leave such people to Baldwin’s acquaintance.

‘It was tedious. The Queen met her brother. That is about it.’

‘What did she say? Was he excited? What is he like?’

‘She said hello. He was happy as any monarch who now holds the secret to upsetting a rival; and he is tall, handsome, and as ruthless and avaricious as any king,’ Baldwin said.

‘Ruthless and what?’

‘Simon, he has one interest and one interest only. He is a devoted Christian, and he is determined that he shall become the Holy Roman Emperor. His only rival for the position has already been excommunicated, I hear, so he is likely to win that race. And then no doubt he will launch a new crusade. I think that is what he desires above all else.’

‘And meantime, if they get on so well, then with fortune we can leave here and get back home before too long?’ Simon said optimistically.

‘Perhaps so,’ Sir Charles said. He had followed Baldwin from the room, and now stood at the bottom of the steps to the hall. ‘I should not hold out for that to be very soon, though, old friend.’

‘Surely, if he still loves his sister, he will not refuse anything she asks for?’

‘Simon, dear fellow, that is what we must hope will happen if he wants peace with the English. It has little to do with his sister’s wishes, though. If she were to win what she desired, we’d be in great trouble, and would be forced to remain here a damned sight longer.’

Simon frowned. ‘I don’t …’

‘What the king of England wants is his territories returned, at no cost, and without having to pay homage to King Charles. What King Charles wants is any pretext to keep the lands and force the English king to pay allegiance to him. What the Queen wants is somebody to remove and preferably execute Sir Hugh Despenser so that she can return to her husband again.’

‘But the French have no power over whether our king turfs Despenser out.’

‘Quite so. Which means that the Queen must be disappointed. Will that make her keen to assist her husband? I somehow doubt it. No. You have to pray that the self-interest of the French will make them try to force our king to agree to accept back his lands, while still coming here to pay allegiance for them.’

‘But he won’t,’ Baldwin said. ‘The last man he would ever trust is his brother-in-law.’

‘Why?’ Simon asked, baffled.

Sir Charles sighed slightly, glancing at Baldwin as though unbelieving that any man could be so far behind the realities of the nation’s politics. ‘Simon, the two of them are neighbouring kings. Both wish to lead Christendom. That means that they hate each other. It’s not helped by the fact that the English still rage about the French stealing Normandy from us; now they want to steal Guyenne. They are dishonest and unreliable.’

‘You do not like the French, do you?’ Baldwin asked mildly.

‘When dead, they make tolerable companions,’ Sir Charles said with chilling amiability.

‘Baldwin, you don’t believe all that, do you? I mean, we’ll be home again early in the summer, won’t we? It shouldn’t take long for the Queen to knock together some sort of deal with her own brother, will it? They love each other, after all.’

‘Simon, I don’t know what he feels towards her. You have heard of the matter of the silken purses?’

‘I think so, but I don’t know …’

‘There was a meeting in France some ten or eleven years ago. The Queen, our Queen Isabella, was there, and she met her father. Now she had given some purses to her sisters-in-law a while before. They were all embroidered in silk, so easily recognisable to her. Imagine her feelings when she saw them, not in her sisters-in-law’s hands, but bound to the belts of some knights with whom they were dancing.

‘She worried about the matter for some little while, I expect, but her conscience wouldn’t let her be. She decided she must tell her father, for if these women were committing adultery it was not only a matter of cuckolding their husbands, it meant that they could be compromising the succession of the royal line of Capet. They could be raising bastards to take the crown. That was enough to make her, a daughter of that royal house, bridle. She told her father, he arrested the men concerned, and they died as any man would, guilty of such an appalling crime.’

His tone was reflective, precise, unemotional. Simon knew that although Baldwin was a firm believer in justice, he also detested unnecessary cruelty, to man or beast. He knew the necessity of eating, but he preferred his venison to be killed swiftly and cleanly. That was why he maintained a good pack of hounds and raches, to bring down game quickly and kill it cleanly.

‘The women, though, were made to suffer still more, perhaps. The two women who were found guilty of adultery were imprisoned in the Château Gaillard. One was her brother Charles’s wife. He has been unfortunate. Some little while ago he managed to have his marriage to her annulled, and I think he rejected any children she’d borne in case they were sired by another. The second wife died in childbirth last year, I believe, and now he hopes to marry again. Given those circumstances, Simon, how glad would you be to meet your sister again? How keen would you be to grant her any favours?’

‘But the fact that the favours she craves are to please her king? Surely the king who is Charles’s closest neighbour must have some impact?’

‘I think I need not reiterate the words of Sir Charles,’ Baldwin said lightly. ‘Consider this, Simon: the man is already insulting King Charles. He has accepted as his own closest adviser and friend a man whom King Charles has declared outlaw. Sir Hugh le Despenser robbed French shipping for a while when he was exiled from England. Taking him as a close confidant is a gross insult. Just as is King Charles’s response in taking in and protecting our king’s worst enemy, Roger Mortimer. The two have no desire to help each other. No, I think that King Charles will have all the English territories, and our mission here is a farce. I do not know why I agreed to come!’

Jean gave up for the day. He had been inside the town, watching the gates carefully to see if there was any sign of Arnaud or le Vieux, but as he wandered the streets it became clear that, if the two were here, they must be staying in the palace itself.

Well, no matter. He could be patient. There was plenty of time. He found lodgings in a mean little chamber not far from one of the town’s gates, and settled down to sleep. But his dreams were not good. He woke, stifling a scream, as once more he saw Arnaud and Berengar running from the castle, and walked down to find the bodies outside the guard rooms again. And he wept for the men who had been slain by that madman, Arnaud.

He must kill Arnaud.

Saturday before Palm Sunday ¹⁸

Poissy

To Baldwin’s relief Simon’s worst fears were not realised.

From the day that Baldwin had spoken to de Bouden, Simon had maintained a cold silence. To him, it was clear enough that they should make Lord John aware of de Bouden’s meeting, but when Baldwin had spoken to the Queen it was clear that no useful purpose could be served by doing so.

‘You say that my clerk spoke to Roger Mortimer?’ she had asked.

Baldwin had nodded. ‘He would not say what they discussed.’

‘I am distressed to hear this,’ she said.

‘Would you like me to tell Lord Cromwell?’

‘No!’ she snapped, eyes blazing. ‘I would ask that you obey me, sir knight.’

‘My queen, I always try to do all to serve your interests,’ he protested.

She gave a short smile. ‘Rather than my husband’s, eh?’

‘I hope I can serve both equally.’

‘That I doubt. However, my annoyance is not with you, Sir Baldwin. It lies with de Bouden himself. He should have told me that you saw him.’

‘I …’ Baldwin had closed his mouth. She had not said that de Bouden should have told her that he had met Mortimer, but that he had told Baldwin about meeting Mortimer.

‘Yes. You comprehend, I think?’

‘When did you first begin to negotiate with Mortimer, your highness?’

‘That is none of your concern … and yet, why not? Roger Mortimer has been known to me for many years, Sir Baldwin. And when I was last staying in the Tower, I visited him there. The poor man has seen all he has built up over the last years removed from him. Believe me, I know how loss of privilege and lands and respect can hurt a man or a woman.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘You are not the man who took away my possessions and gave me a pittance to live on. Yet I thank you for your words. You are a kind man, Sir Baldwin. Yes, but worse than what was happening to Mortimer, I also knew of his poor wife, Joan. My husband had her arrested too, and imprisoned. She is allowed only one mark a day for food and expenses. One mark a day! Their children have been taken from her and imprisoned, all but Geoffrey who is here in France.’

‘I understand.’

‘No. You cannot, Sir Baldwin. You cannot know what it is like to be taken from your home, to have all your pretty little possessions stolen away, to be forced to become a beggar, and you cannot understand — no man can comprehend — the horror of having your children taken from you. All else is bearable, my sir, but to have your children stolen from you, to be refused permission to see them, to hold them … that is cruelty beyond torture.’

He could recall so clearly the brightness in her eyes as she spoke. She knew about the pain of loss. Baldwin was tongue-tied standing before her as the tears formed and trickled down her cheeks. In his heart he wondered how his own wife Jeanne would cope with the destruction of their family, with seeing their little manor broken up, their belongings taken away to be sold or destroyed, and her children torn from her embrace, to be carted away, perhaps never to be seen again. All because of offences caused by their father — offences of which they were entirely innocent.

‘I shall not tell Lord John, my lady,’ he had said stiffly.

‘Lord Mortimer is a good man, Sir Baldwin. He has a loving wife who misses him dreadfully, and he her. You know that in all their married life, he never left her? When he was sent by my husband the King to fight in wars all over the King’s lands, he always took Joan with him. She and he are devoted.’

Her eyes were distant, a woman considering the fortune of another. A cause for jealousy, perhaps, but all Baldwin could see was a whimsical respect. Or a sadness for the love she had not felt for so many years.

‘Sir Baldwin, I know what it is to have a lover taken from me. I know how Joan must feel to know that her marriage has been ravaged. Her husband was stolen from her by the fiend Despenser, may he rot in hell! Despenser has done the same to me. He is the third person in my marriage. I know how poor Joan feels because I have suffered the same fate.’

‘I think I now understand you better, my lady,’ he said. And for the first time, in his heart, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill cursed the king who could have ordered such injustices.