The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Forty-Four

They found Sir John de Sapy sitting disconsolate in the little yard near the Queen’s chambers.

‘Sir Peter and Sir Charles will have little to do with me since they heard of my efforts,’ he said. ‘But I swear, all I wanted was to be sure of my post at court.’

‘Others are always jealous when someone manages to ingratiate himself with the man they would also like to be close to,’ Baldwin said.

‘I just don’t want to be outlawed again.’

‘Tell me, then, the priest. Père Pierre. How did you come to meet him?’

‘My brother introduced me in a tavern. He said that if I wanted to get into Sir Hugh’s favour, I should help the priest. All I had to do was lead him to that house in London, nothing more, and then keep guard outside. I heard some noises … but I didn’t think he was going to kill anyone. He was a priest! Later I was taken to Despenser’s hall. You know the Temple? He thanked me there. Despenser told me that aiding this little priest had shown I was trustworthy enough for his household. That was when he offered me this embassy.’

‘Knowing that all the loose ends would be snipped away,’ Baldwin noted. ‘He was planning to kill you, Sir John.’

‘Sweet Jesus! Does that mean my brother …?’

‘I think he will be safe enough. And when you yourself return home, you can tell him what happened over here, which will itself be of use to him.’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so,’ he said, looking anything but confident.

‘Now, Sir John, is there anything that could tell us what made the priest want to kill the family?’

‘There was one thing he said: that they were guilty of a heresy. He seemed quite warm on the matter.’

‘Heretics,’ Baldwin murmured. And then he gave a little smile. ‘I wonder if we could use that against him?’

He left Simon a little while later, wandering off alone into the small orchard area behind the castle, while Simon stood guard outside the Queen’s chamber. While he was there, there was a blaring of trumpets at the gate, and when he bent his head that way he saw a great procession arriving. Magnificent horses caparisoned with immensely expensive-looking equipment rode in through the gates, and behind them were more horses. Men-at-arms were everywhere, and then there came a great wagon, obviously the transport of a very wealthy person. The whole entered and formed a sweeping curve in the court, while servants dropped from their horses or the rear of the wagon and ran about, depositing steps by the wagon’s door, forming a line, and standing smartly waiting.

Soon the door opened and out stepped two ecclesiastics. From their clothing Simon guessed one was a bishop, the other an archbishop.

‘Dear Christ!’ he heard behind him.

It was William de Bouden. He looked at the newcomers, cast a glance towards his chamber as though considering bolting for the security of his own desk, and then grimaced and turned to knock on the Queen’s door.

‘William, who are they?’ Simon asked.

‘The Bishop of Orange and the Archbishop of Vienne. They are the Pope’s envoys, here to seal the peace between France and England. I don’t think her Majesty will be happy to see them.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we are nowhere near making peace yet. The best you could say is that we are close to extending the truce. No more than that. The whole embassy has been a failure. And those two are probably here to say that their latest discussions have also collapsed.’

‘Perhaps they’ve done well, though?’ Simon wondered hopefully.

‘Look at their faces,’ de Bouden snarled, and as Blaket opened the door he slipped inside.

Simon could see what he meant. If a man ever looked like a thunderstorm, it was the archbishop as he marched towards Simon. Simon stood aside to let him and the bishop pass into the Queen’s chamber, and then he relaxed into his comfortable slouch once more. Two guards wandered up and took their own stations nearby, and Simon eyed them as they shared a piece of dried sausage. He saw a servant of the Queen, and asked him to bring wine for the two, who looked parched, and was soon in conversation with the one who spoke reasonable English.

‘The peace looks as if it is going to end soon. Yes, the archbishop is sad. He says it is the Queen being difficult, that she never wanted for peace. He says that it is better that the land returns to the French king, but my lord the bishop says it is the French king who has slowed the talks, and that he seeks to prolong the truce.’

‘Surely both want the war to end?’ Simon said innocently.

The guard translated for his companion, and both chuckled. ‘You think so? The French king knows that if it lasts long, your king will lose interest. He will not come to bend his knee to the French king, so the land is lost anyway. No, your queen will soon return to England. That is all there is to it.’

It was a delicious thought. Simon was absorbing this, thinking of seeing his wife, his children — Christ’s ballocks, even seeing Hugh’s miserable face again — when Baldwin appeared, walking slowly up from behind the Queen’s rooms. He caught a glimpse of the men in the court and stopped, gazing about with surprise.

Simon walked to him and quickly explained all he had heard.

‘Well, let us hope that you’re right,’ Baldwin said.

‘What of you?’

‘I have been considering what I should do.’

‘You were muttering about heresy.’

‘You heard me?’ Baldwin asked sharply. ‘Yes. I was wondering about that. I did think that maybe my heretical past should catch up with me — but that would be very dangerous.’

‘I don’t understand what you are talking about, you realise?’

Baldwin took a cautious look around them before answering. ‘I cannot get out of my mind the fact that the little priest has killed so many, and all at the command of the French king.’

‘It happens.’

‘It happened to me before. I would not have it happen again,’ Baldwin said. ‘My Order was destroyed by a lawyerly clerk who invented evil lies to have us arrested and tortured, many of us killed. And this one is worse. He has seen to the murder of the garrison of a castle, not to mention an innocent man and woman in London. And Chatillon, and the Comte de Foix, and Paul …’

‘So what is in your mind?’

‘I was thinking that it would be suitable for me to let him know that I was a heretic. Then, perhaps, he might try to attack me, but this time you and I would be ready for him.’

‘What do you mean, let him know you are a heretic?’

‘I thought to tell him that I was a Templar. If he is truly so fanatical that he would be party to the killing of any number of heretics in Pamiers after witnessing the torture to which they were put, then maybe he would do anything in his power to harm me too.’

‘I may be an innocent abroad, but that strikes me as about the most dangerous, foolhardy idea you have yet had,’ Simon said. ‘If you tell him you were a Templar, he could call in the secular arm to have you arrested in a moment. What are you thinking of? That he’ll come racing pell-mell to kill you? Every other murder he has committed, he has planned carefully to the last detail. We had no idea in most cases that he was even nearby.’

‘It was only an idea,’ Baldwin admitted.

‘And now we are hearing that we’re likely to be returning home, it’s even more daft than it would be otherwise. It’s repellent to have to let him live, but it would be worse to be left mouldering in a gaol here while your wife worried about you back at home.’

Baldwin’s face altered subtly. ‘Yes. I hadn’t thought of Jeanne.’

‘That’s that, then.’

‘I suppose so,’ Baldwin agreed softly.

Easter Day²⁴

Sainte-Katerine’s, Paris

The morning was clear and bright, and Père Pierre sat entranced. After the Mass on Friday, in which all was mournful, desolate and gloomy at the thought of the death of Christ, this morning the whole space was filled with joy.

All about him were scruffy people from Paris, but in many ways that added to his delight. The place was a magnet for all those who wanted to celebrate the magnificent return to life of the Lord. There was nothing better than this. After so many years, he still felt his heart warm to the sights, sounds, and smells. The incense was wafting like a heavenly cloud all about after the procession of the Cross, and the candles appeared like beautiful little stars of golden light in among the fumes. Marvellous! A wonderful service. So much more meaningful than those of so many other churches.

Sainte-Katerine’s had always held more meaning for him than the others. Somehow there was a comfort in the plainness and simple symmetry here. There was less opulence than in Notre Dame or the fabulous church at Chartres, although he did like both of them as well. No, for him, this church with its elegant simplicity was the best, and this Mass was the most delightful of the year.

He left the place with a sense of fulfilment and happiness. Stepping into the Grande Rue, he glanced northward before making his way back down towards the river and the Louvre.

‘Père? Père Pierre?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am called Sir Charles of Lancaster. I wanted to ask your advice, Père.’

‘Speak, then, my son. What is troubling you?’

‘I am with the Queen’s delegation in the Château de Bois. You know of the little boy who is there with the musicians? I know you joined us on a part of the journey from the coast. You were with Peter of Oxford, were you not?’

‘Yes. I think I know the boy,’ Pierre admitted. He walked not too close to this grim-faced knight. There was a mild thrill of danger about him.

‘The boy is to be taken in by the knight Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. You know him?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am concerned. The boy is my namesake, after all, and it would be wrong to allow him to be put in a position of danger, wouldn’t it?’

‘Undoubtedly. But what danger can there be with a knight of such reputation as Sir Baldwin?’

Sir Charles bent and whispered, ‘What if the knight were a Templar who had never retracted his oaths to the Order?’

Père Pierre was shocked. Disbelievingly, he drew away. ‘This is nonsense! How could he be! The Templars have been utterly destroyed. There is no sign of them any more. They are all gone.’

‘How many were killed? How many died in the flames compared with the total number of warriors before the arrests? The Germans all escaped, didn’t they? The Portuguese and Spanish too. How many survived, Père?’

The priest was a matter of feet away now, and he watched the knight with heavily lidded eyes. ‘If what you say is true, why are you telling me? Why not denounce him to your Queen and have him arrested?’

‘The Queen? Don’t you think she has enough to contend with here? Didn’t you hear that the papal envoys were with her all day yesterday? They’ll be there again today, too, but they won’t get anywhere. There’s no chance of peace. Not while Mortimer lives.’

‘Why is that?’

‘He is holding meetings with her,’ Sir Charles said offhandedly. ‘He’ll try to delay the negotiations, keep them going but have them mired in problems so that the Queen remains here — except she won’t stay. The King her husband will demand her return before long. She is terrified of being taken back again, but she must obey her own husband. So no, she has no desire to see Sir Baldwin arrested and put on trial.’

‘But you do?’

‘He is a Templar. I do not mind that. Even if he is a heretic, he has behaved well enough towards me. But if this boy is given to him, what might he do to him? That is my concern.’

‘You must not allow the boy to go with him, then.’

‘How can I prevent it?’

‘Bring him to me. Let me look after him,’ Père Pierre said, and quickly gave him his address near the Louvre.

‘I will do that,’ Sir Charles said. ‘I shall be glad to leave this city.’

‘You do not enjoy this place? I find it refreshing. So beautiful, so well regulated and organised. There are few such cities in the world.’

‘Alas, all I feel is a malevolence, a violence always near.’

‘You must not think of the place in terms of the last few weeks, with all the deaths,’ Père Pierre said. ‘They were heretics. Men who deserved their end.’

‘Even Robert de Chatillon?’

‘Oh, yes. He served the Comte de Foix, and Foix was deeply involved in the heresies of his region. He deserved to die, and so did Chatillon.’

‘What of the others?’

‘If there were any who were innocent, God will know them as His own,’ Pierre said easily. ‘Ah. My house.’

‘I thank you for your help,’ Sir Charles said. With a casual look up and down the road, he waited until the priest had opened his door. Then Sir Charles swiftly thrust it wide, drew his sword, and ran Père Pierre’s body through three times. Finally, while the priest squirmed on the ground, choking in his own blood, Sir Charles swept his blade along the man’s belly.

‘There. If God wants you, He can have you, and welcome!’

Baldwin was waiting in the château.

‘You told him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will he come?’

‘No. I killed him there.’

Baldwin gaped. ‘You did what?’

‘Did you really expect me to allow Paul’s murderer to live?’

‘But-’

‘How did I know he’d done it? It’s the talk of the château. And now, if you do not mind, I shall take my rest and wait for the King of France’s men to come and get me.’

‘I do mind. You fool! I wanted to make sure that we had him here to confess in front of witnesses. Now what can we do? His body is where?’

‘In his house. It’s a single building on a road near the river.’

‘Were you seen going to it?’

‘I don’t think so. But many will have seen me leave the church with him, I suppose.’

‘I wish I’d never told you what John de Sapy said about his liking that church,’ Baldwin muttered.

‘You’re more worried about that than about telling me you were a Templar?’

Baldwin hesitated, eyeing him contemplatively. ‘I think I trust you within your limits. I wouldn’t be so sure, were there a lot of money involved.’

‘Ha! Well, Mortimer has gone, I think.’

‘Perhaps so. Simon? Wait here with Sir Charles a while. I must fetch something.’

He returned a short while later, something bundled in his cloak, and motioned to them to join him as he walked from the castle.

Sir Charles had an excellent memory even for the tiny alleys and lanes of Paris, and before long he had led them to the house where Pierre had lived. There they waited a moment, but there was no sound of alarm, and no apparent interest in them or in the house they were waiting beside.

‘Come,’ Baldwin said, and hurried inside. ‘We do not have much time.’

‘Why? There is no urgency,’ Simon pointed out.

‘Simon, this is Easter Day. There will be people in the streets soon. We must be swift.’

‘What do you want us to do?’

Baldwin opened his cloak. Inside was the barrel of black powder which Robert de Chatillon had given him. He stood a moment, peering down at the ruined body of Pierre. Then he withdrew the bung from the barrel and poured a dribble of powder from the body to the door. When that was done, he took one more handful from the barrel, then placed it beside the body. ‘Come!’

Outside, he looked up the road again. There was no one in sight. He sprinkled the powder from his hand to make a fine line from the first, leading over the threshold and out to the road.

‘No one coming?’ he asked.

‘No.’ Simon said.

Good, Baldwin thought to himself. And he prayed quickly before setting flint to his dagger-blade. There was a spark, then another, and finally one which hit a grain.

‘Simon?’

‘Yes?’

‘RUN!’