The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Thirty

Adam was reluctant even to walk at the side of Jack as they returned to the chamber where they were staying. Instead, he fell back until he was in step with Philip.

‘What’s up?’ Philip asked. ‘You never usually seek my company.’

‘Well, what’s usual is variable. I don’t like that man. Don’t like him at all.’

‘Jack? Nah. Neither do I. There’s something bad about him.’

‘He was out again last night, wasn’t he?’

‘Was he?’

‘While you were still at the bar, yes. He was out for some while. It must have been gone the middle of the night when he came back, because I was already asleep. Did you see him?’

Philip shook his head slowly, considering, his eyes firmly glued to Jack’s back up in front of them. ‘No, I didn’t notice him,’ he said. The suspicion tarred his voice. ‘Where was he, then? Do you think he killed the knight’s man too?’

‘Who else?’ Adam hissed.

‘You liked him at first,’ Philip taunted him. ‘Now, all of a sudden you reckon he’s a murderer.’

‘That’s not true! I’m sorry, I never liked the man. He always struck me as odd.’

‘You can’t make up your mind who’s a friend and who isn’t, that’s your trouble,’ Philip said disdainfully.

‘I’ve made up my mind about him now,’ Adam said with conviction.

‘Then we have to decide what to do with him,’ Philip said. ‘None of this half-arsed ballocks about catching him and holding him to get some answers. We need to just kill him and throw him over the bloody walls.’

‘What about the peacock?’

‘That? It only proves the bastard was with the man who killed the woman and her man at the house in London, doesn’t it? Maybe even had something to do with killing Peter. Sod the peacock. He’s dangerous to us. Let’s get rid of him.’

Baldwin and Simon were discussing the matter as they left Robert’s inn, the little barrel of precious powder in Baldwin’s arms. Over the way was a man in a pale orange jerkin leaning against a post, and Simon nodded at him. It was a matter of courtesy, nothing more.

‘He was keeping back a lot of things,’ Baldwin said as they marched along the street.

‘I didn’t feel he was a dishonest man,’ Simon said.

‘That doesn’t mean he’ll tell us the truth about everything, though. It depends upon who he thinks is his real master,’ Baldwin considered.

‘True enough. So who do you think he serves?’

Baldwin grinned. ‘Ah, now that would be nice to know!’

‘I … Baldwin, are we being followed?’

Baldwin glanced at Simon, but his friend was staring back the way they had come. Behind them was the man at whom Simon had nodded. ‘No, I doubt it.’

They slowly ambled along the streets until they reached the castle again, paying no attention to the people about them. There Baldwin carried the barrel to their chamber, while Simon sat out in the yard. After the rains of the previous night, the weather seemed to have made up its mind to be more congenial, and now there was a hot springtime sun blazing in a clear blue sky. Simon leaned back, letting the sun strike his face and warm him. This weather was a great deal better than the chill rain of the moors back at home, he told himself as he closed his eyes.

There was a step close behind him, and he grinned. ‘Stored it safely, Baldwin? We don’t want you to wake in the middle of the night to hear a loud explosion. Next time you may lose more than your eyebrows!’ And then he felt the sharp prick of a blade at the top of his neck, where his skull met his spine. Instantly he stilled.

‘Shut up and stand. Move too quickly or too obviously, you bastard, and you’ll never move again.’

Robert sat back as the two left, and felt his heart pounding. This was growing dangerous now. It was bad enough before the death of his master, but the risks were growing greater and he was beginning to feel seriously threatened. Damn Jean for escaping. If only Arnaud and le Vieux had managed to silence him at the same time as all the others. There would be no problem now if they’d done their God-cursed job properly. But no one could expect cretins like them to do things without screwing up.

One had paid for his incompetence. Now Robert had to rectify matters. And quickly. How?

He bellowed for the innkeeper. ‘Get my man. Bring him here.’

The innkeeper, surly as ever, nodded and left. He didn’t like Robert. Well, that feeling at least was mutual. And Robert did not care much what the man thought about him. Or anything else. He was merely handy because he had a room, and that was all. If he wanted a hard life, all he needed to do was make Robert’s difficult.

Baldwin was in the yard again after only a few minutes, and he looked about him in some surprise, expecting Simon to be resting on the benches where he thought he had said he would wait. There being no sign of him, Baldwin crossed to the hall, and made his way to the great buttery, but although he peered about in the busy chamber there was no sign of Simon either, and suddenly Baldwin felt the first stirrings of alarm.

Turning, he went back outside and looked all around. With no sign of his friend anywhere, he trotted over to the gate. Simon was not to be seen up and down the street, so he went to a guard who stood leaning on a polearm near the entrance and asked whether he had seen him.

‘Yes, he walked out a little while ago,’ the man said, when Baldwin had described Simon. ‘He was with a fellow in an orange jerkin. Strange-looking fellow. He was holding your friend’s arm.’

The prickling of alarm became a steady thrill. Baldwin demanded where the pair had gone, and when the guard pointed he started running off to the north, in the direction the man had indicated.

He had gone only a matter of a few yards when he saw a flash of colour between folk up ahead. It was pale orange, and he saw it for only an instant. He hurried his pace until he was running. There were lots of people here, and the way was all but blocked where they stopped to view the wares on the shutters outside the shops. At one point he heard a sudden alarm, and saw a man pelting away, a cook giving chase, hurling imprecations at the motherless son of a cripple who’d filched his cakes. All the people in the way moved to gain a better view, effectively cutting off his path. It was only with the use of curses and his clenched fist that he was able to force a way through. Then he saw the orange again, and now that the street was a little more clear he could dart after his quarry, slipping between men and women, biting at his lip, hoping against hope that he would not be too late.

The orange jerkin disappeared. Baldwin slowed, peering about him carefully and cautiously. There was an alley on the right, and as he drew level with it he edged towards the wall. With a wary glance to make sure that there was no one behind him, he cast a look along the alley.

There, in a doorway, he could see the orange. Taking a deep breath, he thrust himself after the man, and pelted down the cobbles. The man was alone. He was the one whom Simon had pointed out, but there was no sign of Simon. He would tell Baldwin, though. Baldwin drew his sword as he ran, and when he reached the fellow the blade rose until it lay across the man’s throat. ‘Where is he?’

‘In here, Sir Baldwin.’

Baldwin narrowed his eyes. This was not a Frenchman. The accent was clearest London, and the man was unafraid. His eyes were steady as he met Baldwin’s stare.

‘You know my name?’

‘Oh, yes. We know all about you and Bailiff Puttock. Follow me.’

Baldwin did so, the sword’s point at the man’s kidneys. The house they entered was a dark place, with no natural light in this front chamber, but the man led the way through a short passage to a rear room, which was lighted by a large window facing south over a small court, to which the door lay open.

‘Simon!’

His friend was sitting on a stool in the yard, a man at either side of him, both holding long knives in their hands. Baldwin reached out and grabbed the man in the orange jerkin, and snarled, ‘If anyone hurts him, you will die — you understand?’

There was a low chuckle from behind him, and Baldwin whirled about, still gripping the orange jerkin. Behind him, sitting on a bench beside the doorway through which he had just passed, sat another man. A most familiar man. Tall, strong, with the sunburned face of a man who had spent many years out on campaign in all weather. A man who was used to command and respect.

‘Sir Baldwin, your friend is perfectly safe. He was merely a lure to attract you. Now, please, set your sword aside and sit here with me. I only wish to talk to you.’

‘Really? My Lord Mortimer, I do not know whether I can speak to you.’

‘I know. The greatest traitor of the realm, eh? Never mind all that nonsense. I swear to you on my honour as a knight, you will come to no harm, and neither will the good bailiff. I have news for you — news of a highly important nature. It concerns the safety of the Queen. And you.’

Arnaud left the chamber fuming with rage. How could the fool have put them all into so much danger? They’d been so close to safety, and now he’d ruined everything.

It was all because the Comte de Foix had died. If only he hadn’t. He was clever, the Comte. He understood things, told them what was needed, and gave them the tools to make sure that it could be accomplished.

The whole scheme had been so carefully worked out, and now there was the distinct possibility that everything could go horribly wrong. Merde! Robert had known all along that there was an especial mission for le Vieux and Arnaud, but no one had thought it necessary to tell him any details. Well, for why would they tell him? He was a lazy churl with the brain of a peasant, when all was said and done. Never wanted to exert himself in his lord’s service. Not like Arnaud and le Vieux. They would do their lord’s bidding and be glad. Not that they were in any great danger. Their master could protect them against all accusations. Any at all. There was no need for them to fear the law.

And now the Comte was dead, le Vieux was dead, and there was only Arnaud left to carry out the plan.

Well, he would do it all on his own, then. He had before, and he could do so again. There was a gap in the legal calendar just now. No more hangings for a while. So Arnaud had all the time in the world.