The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cromwell saw Baldwin and Simon in the main hall when they were all seated for their evening meal. He passed by their mess on his wayto the top table, where he took a seat not far from the Queen, his eyes on Baldwin as he sat.

‘He is hoping for some good news, I think,’ Simon said.

‘He can continue to hope, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘We have learned nothing of any use today.’

‘We know he was there,’ Simon said quietly.

Baldwin nodded. Mortimer was never far from his thoughts just now. ‘Yes. And he denied the attack. Which may mean nothing,of course. The man had good reason to defend himself against Paul. The fellow was after a bounty, after all. He would havestabbed first and asked questions later, wouldn’t he? Mortimer would have been within his rights to remove such a threat.’

‘But you don’t think he did?’

‘If he had done it, I feel sure he would have told us.’ Baldwin shrugged. ‘Why hide a justifiable defence? He’s a warrior.Surely he’d just say, “Yes. It was me. That fellow was going to kill me and take my head to the King, and I acted in self-defence.”It would be understandable, truthful and, over here, he would be acting within the law, I feel sure. Why hide something thatwas not a crime?’

‘Who else could have wanted him dead?’

‘Perhaps it was merely a foolish argument in the street? Or perhaps a whore’s master, who sought to take more than Paul feltfair? There are so many reasons why men are killed in city streets. And here, of course, we are in a foreign land. He mayhave offended someone without realising it.’

‘Paul? He was always more astute than his master,’ Simon said.

Baldwin nodded slowly, his eyes moving about the tables. ‘Yes. Paul would always be wary of upsetting people, whereas SirCharles was far less cautious. Where is he now?’

‘Perhaps in his room … and perhaps with Sir John and Sir Peter.’

Baldwin grunted. ‘He’s told them, hasn’t he? They’re all three trying their luck, hoping to catch Mortimer.’

‘It’s no surprise, is it?’ Simon agreed. ‘How much would his head be worth?’

Baldwin admitted to being baffled. ‘The man was one of the King’s closest friends and advisers, his best general. I shouldthink he’d pay almost anything to have him killed.’

‘What, a hundred pounds?’

Baldwin looked at him steadily. ‘At least five times that, and he’d still think it a bargain. And if Mortimer ever dared toreturn to England, he’d find the rewards notified to all the sheriffs in the land. He wouldn’t be able to march a step withoutthe bounty hunters aiming their arrows.’

‘No more than the man would deserve, either,’ Lord John said.

He had approached them as they spoke, and now he rested an elbow on the table at Baldwin’s side, peering at both men as hesqueezed his arse on to the bench.

‘You really think the King would pay five hundred pounds to have him killed?’ Simon asked. The thought of so much money wasappalling. A daunting sum. ‘Just to carry so much would be a challenge. The weight …’

‘The King would pay a thousand to have the devil removed. All the while he lives, Mortimer is a threat. To the King, to the realm, to all. Do you think he had a part in Paul’s murder, then?’

‘I have no means of knowing. All I do know is that Sir Charles apparently thought he saw Mortimer yesterday. Paul was outlooking for him when he was killed. Now Sir Charles and your other two knights have missed their meal. I somehow doubt thatthey are holding vigil over the body, don’t you?’

Cromwell looked away, chewing at his inner lip. ‘This is mad. They are supposed to be here to help protect the Queen, andthey’re running off to try to win a prize.’

‘If so much money is waved before a man’s nose, it is no surprise that he might snatch at it,’ Baldwin said.

Cromwell grunted. He did not meet Baldwin’s or Simon’s eye, but sat staring at the wall, considering. ‘Sir Baldwin, I am concerned.I have the charge of the defence of the Queen during these negotiations, but here I have only myself and you whom I can trust.The others are too careless of her safety. They prefer to seek their own rewards. Well, I cannot surrender myself to suchgreed. If they treat her in such a disrespectful manner, it means I have to be more wary.’

‘Would you like us to go and seek out the three knights?’ Baldwin asked.

‘No. I cannot afford to lose you two as well.’ He saw the expression on Baldwin’s face and laughed quietly. ‘Nay, Sir Baldwin,do not look like that! I do not accuse you of also chasing the reward, I merely say that I can hardly see to her safety allon my own. If you and Simon were to go and seek the others, I would be here alone. I tell you now, I would not feel safe insuch a position.’ He rose. ‘Would you aid me in protecting the Queen, Sir Baldwin?’

‘Of course.’

It was enough. Lord Cromwell nodded and returned to his seat near the Queen, and Baldwin and Simon turned back to their food.

‘Damn their eyes, what do they all think they’re doing?’ Simon grumbled.

‘Seeking their fortune,’ Baldwin said absently. He toyed with some bread. ‘But that’s not the worst, should news of this sortof reward get out.’

Simon gave a low whistle. ‘Oh.’

‘We should keep all talk of such money to ourselves, I think. Think what the average man-at-arms would do for five pounds.If some of the men here realised that there was a man nearby with five hundred pounds or more on his head,’ Baldwin said quietly,‘just imagine what they might not do to win it.’

‘What, the men here?’ Simon said lightly, but then his smile faded as he glanced about him at the other diners in the hall.Scruffy, hard men, with rough, scarred faces; men whose most fervent desire was for war so that they could loot and pillage.

Baldwin said nothing.

Sir John de Sapy had not taken long to see the flaw in Sir Charles’s idea. It was well enough for them to stay together totry to capture and kill Mortimer, but it would undoubtedly be better were they to separate and keep an eye on different streetsand lanes. ‘That way we may find him. If one of us does see him, we mustn’t try to accost the bastard. Just follow him tosee where he stays each night.’

‘Good idea,’ Sir Peter agreed immediately, and Sir John looked at him.

Yes. There was no doubt that both had the same idea in mind. If there was the remotest chance, either would kill Mortimeralone and take his head to the King. A bounty would only remain vast while it remained unshared, and any knight would be pleasedto receive the sort of sum which Mortimer’s head would bring. It was a simple race to find the man.

Sir John had left them at a corner, and then wandered back towards the castle, gazing about him at everyone he passed. Mortimer’s face was familiar enough to everyone who had spent any timeat the court of the King. His features were burned on to Sir John’s memory. And Sir John had immense powers of concentration.Others might see a simple wash of faces, none with any distinguishing features, but he knew that here in the streets was hisman. Somewhere. All he need do was walk about long enough, and he would find him.

There was a niggling concern at the back of his mind, though, and that was whether he was looking in the right part of town.If he’d been here in hiding, he’d have picked an area that was as far away from the castle as possible. In fact, he wouldhave fled Paris as soon as news of the English queen’s arrival had been announced. Yet Mortimer was here. Why was that? Mustbe a damned fool. Especially now that Sir Charles’s man was dead.

He saw a face, but discarded it. No, it was someone he knew, but not Mortimer. He continued on his way, scouring the visagesall about, looking hard at any who turned aside as though hiding their features, and staring into any taverns or shops hepassed.

‘Sir John? I am so pleased to see you.’

He felt the hand at the cloth of his elbow, and shook it free with that indignant anger any knight must feel at being touchedby some churl in the street. ‘What?’

‘It is I, Père Pierre. Do you not remember me?’

Good Friday ²²

Jean woke with a crick in his neck, which felt as if it had locked solid. It was enormously painful to gain any movement;the slightest tremor in his skull was enough to send a bolt of anguish straight down into his spine and along his shoulder.He had to sit up slowly, his head turned to the right, tilted, straining to contain his mutters of shock and grief. Only whenhis upper body was upright did he dare to try to move his head again, and then only extremely gingerly.

The weather was warmer now, praise to Christ! Already he could feel the difference in the air as he snuffed it. This was thebest Easter gift God could have given him, he felt.

Already, as he cautiously moved his head about, easing the tension in his muscles, stretching his arms over his head and wincing,he could hear the first stirrings from the houses all about. No bells today. This was the day all men remembered Christ’scrucifixion.

He would have liked to join the congregations. It was so long since he had been able to feel comfortable in the presence ofthe priests amid the flickering candles and slow chanting. All his love of the displays had been eroded as his faith in thePoor of Lyons had grown, and although it was perfectly in order for him to attend church in his village, so as not to drawattention to himself, still he felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell whether the priest was an honourable, decent man or not,or whether the service was conducted in the words which God had demanded. Instead, all was spoken in that leaden old tongue,Latin, so that all were denied access and understanding.

Still, he did enjoy the peace of the day. The people, driven to remember the hideous death of Christ, would revel in theirsilence. Men and women who would usually shout and sing would be drawn to silent contemplation. In Jean’s old church, a largecross would be taken up and wrapped in plain linen, before being installed in a stone sepulchre over the tomb of a man whohad been a successful merchant and had paid for the honour of lying beneath the cross each Easter. There would be no Mass on that Friday. Only a steady murmur and mumble as people remembered Christ’s death and Mary’s pain and anguish. A terribleday, but somehow reassuring, because all those taking part knew that on Sunday they would be able to celebrate Christ’s returnfrom the dead.

More than Berengar or the others could manage, he told himself grimly. They were gone for ever.

Drawing his cloak about him, he set off towards the inn where he had seen Arnaud before. He’d waited outside the place yesterday,but there had been no sign of the man. Possibly he would have better luck today.

He trod the streets carefully, always aware that he could be killed at any moment. Jean was a creature of the wild in manyways, and he felt like a feral animal here in the city. Others walked sublimely unaware of their danger from other men, butnot Jean. He had lived too long among the sheep and wolves of the mountains, and for him there were sheep and wolves aplentyhere in the city. But the sheep were less self-aware, the wolves more ferocious.

A full street away from the inn, he paused and took stock. There was no obvious danger, no apparent lounger taking a keeninterest in him. More important, there was no thin, sallow-featured face staring out at him from a doorway. Jean took careto halt and survey the more obvious places where the executioner could have installed himself, but there was nothing.

He continued onward, his eyes flitting from one window to another, constantly looking for any sign of attention, but thereappeared to be no interest in him, and as he approached the inn he began to think that perhaps Arnaud had not realised thatJean knew where he was staying. Of course, it could simply be that Arnaud had seen his danger, and had removed to a differentplace. That was definitely a risk. But Jean felt sure that it was not so. There was something about the indomitable arrogance of the man who was so used to dealing out death that told Jean that Arnaud would not have thought him a risk. No,Arnaud was probably still here.

So he could catch him.

Baldwin and Simon were up early to join the rest of the castle’s guard at the service in the chapel, and then marched intothe hall and took up their bread and cups of water. Fasting was apparently serious on this day. Throughout Lent meals hadbeen provided in the evening after a day of moderate abstinence, but today there was literally bread and water.

The two were about to leave when they saw Sir John de Sapy. Baldwin grinned at the sight of him. He was clearly frozen. ‘Ahard night searching, Sir John?’

‘I wonder whether Sir Charles is so besotted with the idea of revenge that he’s not seen the immense difficulties. He is determinedto stay out there in the city until he kills Mortimer, and yet there’s been no sign of the man.’

‘Perhaps it was merely a cut-purse, as the French have said,’ Baldwin suggested. ‘The sergent stated as much yesterday.’

‘You think so? I reckon it’s too much of a coincidence that Sir Charles and Paul saw a man they thought was Mortimer, andthen Paul died while trying to find him. To me that sounds as if he succeeded.’

‘Perhaps. Except if his search meant that he was wandering the city late at night, it’s all the more likely that he was knockedon the head by a common felon.’

Sir John sneered. ‘Except he wasn’t knocked on the head, was he? He was gutted like a pig. That’s more like deliberate murder,I’d say. Not some chance encounter.’ He bowed and left them.

‘He has a point, Baldwin,’ Simon said. ‘I’ve never known a man killed like that just because he happened to meet a felon in the streets.’

‘Nor have I,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But did you think that Mortimer was capable of such an act?’

‘He is a traitor,’ Simon said. There was no accusation in his tone; it was a simple statement of fact, so far as he was concerned.

Baldwin nodded. It was the attitude most men would display. Mortimer was guilty of one crime and thus could be guilty of anynumber of others.

‘Baldwin, don’t you think you should keep yourself hidden? After what Mortimer told you about Despenser’s allegation, wouldn’tit be best for you to be quiet?’

It was something which Baldwin had been considering. His first and most attractive thought was to bolt for the coast, buthe had already rejected that. Not only because it would have felt like cowardice, but also because he had agreed to come hereto protect the Queen. Were something to happen to her because he had run away, he would never be able to live with the shame.And Mortimer’s expression had also affected him. There was such a depth of misery and self-loathing in his eyes.

Baldwin knew that feeling only too well. The self-disgust that came from continuing to live when comrades were dead; frombeing alive while loved ones, friends and family suffered — and being unable to help them. It was a foul experience. And nowothers were going to accuse Mortimer of killing Paul as well. And Baldwin felt sure that he was innocent of that.

Suddenly he had a vision in his mind of the day when his Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, had been executed. A frail-lookingold man, his mind somewhat disconnected by the horror of the death to come, he had been a tragic figure. But then, under theshadow of the post at which he would die, he had found the courage to denounce the accusations levelled against him and his Order, to accuse the French king and the Pope ofcorruption, and to call them to account before the throne of God. The injustice of the destruction of the Knights Templarhad coloured every decision that Baldwin had taken since that fateful day.

The reflection stiffened his resolve. ‘I shall try to remain safe,’ he said. ‘But I won’t allow an injustice. If I can preventthat, I will do so.’