The King of Thieves

Chapter Nine

Monday before the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary^*

Louvre

Jean had not enjoyed a restful weekend. His sleep had been shaken by the memory of the flash of steel, and now, although he had been to church and prayed all the previous morning, he still felt sore-eyed and rough.

The attack had shocked him. It was not the first time he had been attacked in the streets, nor would it be the last, of that he had no doubt, but the suddenness of it had made him fear for his life, and like some slow-moving dream, he could still see the huddled figure with its hidden weapon … then the man bounding away, like some strange apparition. It was enough to set his teeth chattering when he woke for the third time in the watches of the night. It was times like these, he thought, when the presence of a woman in his bed would have been a comfort.

Today, he would take his servant with him. Stephen had the appearance of a bullock, but the mind of a tax-collector.

‘You’re coming with me today,’ Jean told him.

‘Very well, Sieur. Who will prepare your food while I am with you?’

‘You will. Your duty is to follow me to work and see that I am safe, and then to return for me when I walk home again.’

‘And the rest of the day you will be unprotected?’

‘There is no need for sarcasm, Stephen. You will be content to know that I shall have the whole of the King’s household within shouting distance. But they are not on hand when I walk to and from the castle. You understand?’

‘Of course, Sieur. That makes perfect sense.’

The Procureur looked at him suspiciously. ‘Good. Prepare yourself, then.’

There were many times like that, when he was not sure whether his servant was mocking him or not. Usually it was safer to assume that he was, but make no comment. Today, Jean did not feel up to arguing logic with the fellow.

But what he did want was to think through this notion that the murdered man had been lured to a quiet chamber where the foul deed would be easy to accomplish.

Who had taken him there?

After a morning’s assiduous questioning, the Procureur learned from Philippe that a stranger had been seen in the main hall on the day of the murder.

‘Master Castellan?’ he called quietly.

The castellan, a tall, aristocratic man with the dark face and beard of a Breton, crossed the floor to join him. ‘M’Sieur le Procureur — how may I help you?’

It was hard when speaking to someone like this to remember that he was just a man like any other. Jean was intimidated by rank. He was too aware of his own lowly background. Even when a clerk in his cups had told him that the easiest way to remember a man’s true position in the world was to imagine what he looked like sat on a privy, his robes hitched up about his waist, he still found himself feeling awed by men like this castellan.

‘My … my Lord, I would like to ask you about a man who was found dead while waiting to meet the Cardinal d’Anjou. I have heard he may have been seen here in the hall with you.’

‘With me? I don’t remember him.’

‘Are you sure? A couple of servants and a cook’s apprentice all agreed that they saw him talking to you that morning.’

‘Ah … you are correct. There was a stranger in here. He asked the way to the Cardinal’s rooms, and I sent him to the gate to ask for a servant who could direct him. But I didn’t know him. He was nothing to do with me.’

‘Did he make an impression upon you?’

‘Only that he was quite well-informed. He seemed educated. Not a felon and bully, but a man of letters and some intellect.’

‘I see. Well, I thank you,’ Jean said with a little bow. He could not bow lower, because he saw no reason to honour a man who had lied to him. The servants and the apprentice had all been firm on the fact that the castellan had taken the man by the hand and led him away.

‘So, Mon Sieur, why would you lie to me about that?’ he wondered aloud, then turned back to look at the castellan. It was interesting for him to see that the castellan had chosen that same moment to turn and gaze back at him.

Louvre, Paris

The King, Charles IV of France, stood tall. Even without his boots, he was almost five feet eleven inches, so he towered over most of his knights, let alone the general populace.

His eyes passed over the men who instantly dropped to their knees. The clique of cardinals and clerics all bowed their heads, but true to form wouldn’t bend their knees, and he stared at them stonily for a moment or two. They were unrepentant, he was sure, but that was a fact of life. He must try to accommodate them in public, while twisting their arms in private.

His father had been more successful than he. At times he had fallen out with the Pope and the whole malign, meddling coterie of priests. The Church wanted to dominate every aspect of life. That was its primary aim. After Pope Boniface VIII had announced his Bull, Unam Sanctam, there was little else the King could do other than defy him. The meaning of the Bull was, that all men and women on the planet owed their loyalty and fealty to the Pope before any other. Even Princes, Kings and Emperors must bow to the Pope, because he was the primary representative of God on earth. All who wished for their soul’s salvation must submit to the will of the Pontiff.

No other Pope had dared go so far. And few Kings worried themselves about it. After all, they had been anointed by God. All were chosen by God. The Pope did not intervene, and thus he had accepted tacitly that they were entitled to their positions, whether he now argued against them or not. So the secular Princes and Kings sat back and watched with interest.

Not so Philippe IV, Charles’s father. The French would never submit to a Pope whose position he owed, in some measure, to French diplomacy. The King ordered his leading lawyer, Guillaume de Nogaret, to make a case against the Pope, and he found it embarrassingly easy. The Pope, Boniface, had taken the position when the previous Pope was still alive. Celestine, the holy, the ever-pious, had fled the Papacy because he feared the corruption. Boniface had captured him and taken the Papacy as his own, and then had his predecessor murdered.

Thus he was guilty of two hideous crimes. While Celestine had been formally wedded to the Church, Boniface had adulterously taken the Church from him; and second, Boniface had been responsible for the slaying of his predecessor.

Infuriated, Boniface threatened dire consequences on the whole of France, but de Nogaret moved against him quickly, and neutralised the Pope.

King Charles beckoned the Cardinal, and Thomas d’Anjou crossed the beautifully tiled floor to join him.

‘Your Royal Highness?’

‘I understand that there are two men here from England to see me. I would be grateful for your company while speaking with them.’

‘I would be delighted to aid you.’

‘I am sure you would, Cardinal. However, if you do not feel able to demonstrate the correct degree of respect to me and to the Throne, it may be difficult.’

The Cardinal bowed low. ‘Your Highness, I apologise if my demeanour appeared to show too little respect. I honour you deeply, both as a man and as a King.’

‘I am glad to hear it. Where are these two?’

The men were soon brought in, and the King stood eyeing them with a chilly expression for some while without speaking. Then, when he did open his mouth, it was to say in a mildly annoyed tone: ‘I was expecting my brother, the King of England, and yet I find I have a Bishop and a cleric. What, has King Edward suddenly died? Has he fallen from his horse and broken his pate? Or is he, perchance, sitting with a terrible attack of the gout?’

‘Your Royal Highness, my King sends his humble apologies, and declares that he has been overwhelmed by a terrible affliction in his belly and lungs. The physicians are with him night and day, your Highness. Otherwise he would certainly have come here to attend to you.’

‘In truth? How the poor man must be suffering, then, to miss out on the opportunity of meeting me. I had thought he was simply avoiding the homage which was due to me so many months ago. But no matter. Perhaps it is better this way. I shall simply confiscate all the territories which were to have been returned after his homage.’

It was then that the envoys begged to explain that there was a new proposal. ‘If our King creates the Earl of Chester as the Duke of Aquitaine, and settles all his lands and titles on the Earl, the Earl himself can come and pay homage to you as his liege lord. Surely, that would settle the matter?’

The King stared down at the man. ‘This was my proposal many months ago. At the time, your King was reluctant to agree. What has made him compliant now?’

‘His desire not to prolong the difficult negotiations, nor to upset your Royal Highness.’

‘And the hope that I will marry my son to his daughter, I have no doubt.’

There was no answer to that. King Charles knew that King Edward wished to forge a stronger bond between their thrones by marrying his daughter Joan of the Tower to Charles’s son. Bishop Stratford had been bribing men in the court to support the proposal, but his success would be limited. Charles was too well aware of all to whom money had been paid.

It was some little while later when the audience had finished that the King turned to his most trusted adviser. ‘Well, Cardinal? And what do you think of this?’

‘It is remarkable that they have sent these men to make the proposal. I would think that by the time a response is sent, the boy will have his Ducal coronet. It makes the matter more interesting for you, of course.’

‘In what way?’

Cardinal Thomas gave him a look. If he could, he would have been ironic in response, but instead, he chose to set out the facts clearly. ‘If the boy comes here, you will have him, and his mother. The English can struggle and argue all they want, but the Queen of England, your sister, detests her husband’s friends and advisers. With the King’s heir under her control, you will have a stage ready for any number of stratagems.’

‘My thoughts precisely. I shall send to England to agree to the settlement of the English territories on the son, and then I shall welcome my nephew with open arms as soon as he arrives. However, you do miss one important aspect of all this, old friend.’

‘Such as?’

‘Once the boy is here, I also have a duty of care to him. I cannot allow any man to harm or threaten him. His person will be as inviolable as my own. For were anything to happen to him, the blame would immediately be put to my shoulders. And I do not wish for that, Cardinal. So there must be formal warnings to all, that I will not tolerate even any rudeness to my nephew.’

The Cardinal nodded, blank surprise on his face. ‘But why should you seek to have him harmed? Who could think such a thing?’

‘There are many, Cardinal. It is a pity, however. It would have been so pleasant to have King Edward here, and to make him squirm as he paid me homage. And especially if he had brought that arch-schemer and thief, Despenser with him. Or, better, the foul Bishop of Exeter. He is a man I would like to see punished for his treatment of my sister.’

‘He has mistreated her?’

‘It is Walter of Exeter, who sought to deprive my sister of her lands, her money, and even the comfort of her household. Stapledon persuaded the King to remove her children so that the evil French mother couldn’t teach the Princes and Princesses treason against their father. Can you conceive of such a mind? That he could think such treachery would be possible from her?’

‘Shocking,’ Cardinal Thomas agreed. He found such allegations easy to believe.

The King clapped his hands. ‘Very good. And now, I would like to hear from the Procureur what he has learned about the dead man in my castle. I am not so rich in my population that I can afford to lose the occasional visitor. Where is the man?’

Langdon, Kent

‘I hope I find you well, Sir Baldwin?’

It was good to note the quick shock on his face, Despenser thought. Always he tried to instil respect for his position and authority, but to see a man like this knight, a renegade who had once been a Knight Templar, cringe even slightly was satisfying indeed.

The other, the little Bailiff, looked as though he’d bitten into a sloe, his mouth was so puckered. It made him look like an old man with an arse for a mouth. Fool! He had plainly heard about Despenser’s purchase of the lease on his house. ‘Bailiff. How is your lovely wife?’

‘She is well, we thank you,’ Baldwin said quickly, stepping between them. ‘Sir Hugh, I hope the King is recovered?’

‘He is greatly improved, I think. He is in with the Abbot just now.’

‘That will give him much comfort, I am sure.’

‘And you, Sir Baldwin. What are you doing here?’

‘We were summoned. Originally we were to guard the King on his way to Paris — but now I understand that he has decided not to go.’

‘Quite so. And yet there is a fresh embassy to go in his place.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said, but did not elaborate. He wished to see whether the Despenser had any other snippets which could be useful.

‘So you will return home soon, then, I imagine?’ Despenser said.

Simon caught his glance, and looked away, jaw clenched.

‘I will have to come to Devon to see the lands which I own, I suppose,’ Sir Hugh went on languidly. ‘I may ask you to put me up in my new house, Bailiff. You will not mind leaving it for a week or more, will you? And now I must be off. I have much work to do in the King’s service.’

He marched off, gathering up two henchmen as he went. One was chewing at a straw. He had thin, sandy hair over a circular, freckled face, and he stared impassively at Simon from pale blue eyes. As Despenser passed him, he smiled and nodded, as though content that his original opinion had been confirmed. Then he slowly turned and followed the man.

‘I will have his head one day, if he so much as looks at my wife,’ Simon hissed through gritted teeth.

‘Enough, Simon. Think of better thoughts. Such as, returning home to see your wife yourself.’

Louvre, Paris

Procureur Jean stared at the ground before him as he approached the King. The tiles were beautiful, he thought. And as many before him had done, he wondered next how many had found these lovely tiles to be the last sight they enjoyed. For the King was known to be ruthless.

Still, he was meant to be fair as well. He wasn’t as cruel as his father had been. In God’s name, Philippe IV had been very harsh!

‘My Lord King?’

‘You have been investigating the death of the man, have you not?’

‘Yes, my Lord. I am trying to learn what I may, but it is not easy. No one admits to knowing him,’ de Poissy said. Over behind the King to the right, he saw the castellan, and locked eyes with him for a moment or two. ‘It would be a great deal more easy if I could learn who was his friend and who was his enemy. Motives tend to flow from such understandings.’

‘I see. Could you please try to hurry yourself? I have a Prince coming to visit me before long. It would be pleasing to me to know that there was no murderer wandering my palaces with an insatiable urge to kill.’

There were some sycophantic chuckles at that, and Jean felt himself bridle. It was normal, of course, for the Lords about the King to enjoy the discomfiture of any other man, but he did not see why he should be held responsible personally.

‘But of course, my Liege,’ he said.

Fairness, justice and equity had nothing to do with the King’s court, of course. This was a warlord’s hall. The King was the supreme baron in the land. And here he held supreme power. None could gainsay him; none could talk back. In Christ’s name, a man couldn’t even meet the King’s eye unless he wished to have his head taken off. And right now, although Jean was a knight in his own right, he did not wish to call too much additional attention to himself.

‘There is another thing, Procureur. There have been some thefts from guests of mine here within the Louvre,’ the King continued, and now his eyes were moving over the assembled audience. ‘I would like them stopped. I believe the good Cardinal here told you?’

‘Yes, my Liege.’

‘Then try to learn who is responsible. There is a space on my gallows for this man. I will not have a thief in my house at the time of my sister’s visit with her son.’

‘I shall do all I can, your Royal Highness.’

So saying, Jean bowed his way from the presence, while the Dukes and Counts and others simpered and smiled, and when he reached the door and had backed out through it, and the door had closed before him, he knew only pleasure that he had endured another audience.

He took his sword back from the door-keeper, and thrust it into his sheath — for no one might approach the King with a sword without his express permission — and left the great hall.

Outside, he breathed in the rich air, filled with the odours of woodsmoke, charcoal, horse dung, blood and human excrement. This was a great castle, the Louvre. The work went on, through every day. The braziers were lighted for the smiths, and even now grooms and scavengers were collecting the piles of horse droppings in their hands and transporting it to barrows ready to be wheeled out to the dung heaps. The garderobes were being cleaned, too. As they did every day, serfs were gathering up shovel-loads of human waste from beneath the chutes, and dumping it into buckets to be carried to the middens. Little was left to waste even in the King’s household.

The Procureur had been about to return to his office, but standing here now, he watched as servants, visitors of different degrees, and traders entered by the main gateway.

It was interesting, he noted. Some would pass in front of him here, others head over to the right of the gate, while the senior people, those who had important business for the King or his representatives, would be taken by a servant up to the main entrance of the castle itself.

He was still smarting from the embarrassment of the attack on him in the street. It was so careless of him, not to have realised earlier that he was being followed. Had it not been for his interest in the fellows on the street, he would very likely now be dead. And that was something which Jean took very seriously.

Jean had been born to lowly stock. He was the son of a serf, but he had managed to educate himself, thanks to the help of an accommodating priest. And seeing his potential, the priest had himself recommended that Jean should be permitted to have an education. Not only had that fired his imagination and enthusiasm for learning, to his astonishment, he found that he was good at it, too. He had rapidly risen and been sent to the university here in Paris, where he soon realised that he was better at the reasoning than at the simple arts of debate. He enjoyed applying logic to complex conundra, and gained a reputation for aiding others with strange little perplexities. After some while he had come to the notice of the City’s mayor, and then his career had begun.

It annoyed him that, having been a resident of Paris, knowing the dangers of the little streets and by-ways, he should have become so entirely smug about his safety, when he knew how many people every day were robbed and beaten up.

There was a call, and he glanced around. Another merchant had reached the main gates, and now a young kitchen knave was scurrying to him, listening while the richly dressed man spoke to him.

Jean studied the merchant with a measuring gaze. He was clearly a wealthy man. Probably high in one of the guilds, if he had to guess. His cloak was trimmed with fur, his shoes beautiful, with long toes. His hosen were parti-coloured, green and red, while his cotte was a glorious scarlet with silver threads that caught the light with flashes of fire as he moved. He had that innate arrogance that men born to wealth always possess, and as Jean watched, the fellow jerked his head at the knave, and the lad scampered away to do his bidding. Noticing Jean, the man eyed him lazily with a raised eyebrow, but seeing he was not worth cultivating as an associate, soon turned away, losing interest.

Jean nodded to himself. Yes. The man was clearly one of those who held his own position in such high regard that there was no need for anyone else to give him respect.

Still, when the knave returned, he observed the youngster leading the merchant off in front of him, and over to the great hall.

Not the kitchens, he noted. The knave must have been used merely as a handy messenger by the man. Which was interesting in its own right … possibly something to be considered.

He would have done so there and then, but as he was knitting his brows over the niggling thought that sprang into his mind, he was aware of a man bellowing at him. Glancing up at the gate, he saw old Godeaul, the Sergent from the area near the Grand Châtelet.

‘What is it?’ he demanded as Godeaul ran to him.

‘A woman, Sieur. Murdered down near the bridge.’