The King of Thieves

Chapter Sixteen

Wednesday before the Feast of the Archangel Michael^*

Bois de Vincennes

Stapledon walked up and down the chamber, while his clerks watched anxiously. There were three of them, all sitting at the large table, waiting for instructions, but for now there was nothing. The Bishop didn’t trust his voice still. The embarrassment of the previous day sat like bile on his soul. So now he paced, his hands clasped before him as though in prayer, but the language which rolled about in his mind was not that which he would usually use in the presence of God.

It was not his fault. The King had decided to send him here to see to the diplomatic problems involving the Queen, and ask that she return home. He even had access to the King’s bankers so that he could raise money to cover her present expenses and those of her journey. But she was a dangerous, difficult woman — sly, cunning and hard to deal with. The vixen!

‘Ha! Me lord Bishop, I think she has you there!’ Sir Richard declared as he entered. He crossed the floor to the sideboard, where he inspected the dishes in the hope of finding something sustaining.

‘Sir Richard, I do not need your advice on the matter,’ Bishop Walter said coldly. ‘Where are Sir Baldwin and the Bailiff?’

‘With the Earl, and keeping an eye on the others with the King, I dare say. The Queen’s a pretty little thing, but I wouldn’t want my son left with her and her brother as my boy’s guardians, so I suggested that the two of them stayed with Earl Edward. I believe they were going to go falconing.’

‘And you didn’t want to join them?’

‘Me? Chase after a bird? No, although give me some good greyhounds and a fleet destrier, and I’ll chase deer all over the place. I’ve been asking, and there are quite a good number here. Perhaps I’ll have a chance of setting the hounds on ’em, eh? That would be a glorious ride. In the meantime, I’ll have to just occupy meself as best I can around here,’ he added mournfully.

The Bishop nodded curtly and strode to the large table. On it were the letters which he had been asked to bring. A clerk looked up hopefully, and received a baleful glare in return, as the Bishop picked up the sealed parchment for the bankers.

Leaving the chamber, with Sir Richard wandering behind him like some enquiring mastiff, the Bishop swept through the corridors until he came to the Queen’s chambers. He knocked, and the little blonde woman, Alicia, the lady-in-waiting who was so often at the Queen’s side, opened it.

‘Tell your mistress that I would speak with her,’ he said abruptly.

‘I think she may be a little indisposed, my Lord Bishop,’ Alicia said.

‘I have funds for her if she makes herself available.’

As he had expected, the letter in his hand was the key to opening her chamber, and in a short while he and Sir Richard were in the Queen’s gracious apartment. She stood, dressed as a widow, all in black, as the two entered. Behind her were Alicia, Lady Alice de Toeni and Joan of Bar, King Edward’s niece. And all stared at him without expression.

Dear God, he thought, the bitch has poisoned all of them against me!

It had been almost a year ago now that he had argued with the King that her household should be broken up, and new maids brought in to serve her. As Stapledon had said, the woman might be Queen of England, but she was still French by nature. Her heart was French. All those who were French should be removed from her household, and replaced with loyal English servants. That was why he’d been forced to demand a full safe-conduct from Queen Isabella when the King first suggested that he come here to treat with her. Until then there had been threats that he would be captured and tortured if he ever set foot in France, for his offences to the Queen.

‘I hope I see you well, my Queen.’

‘I am well. Alicia said you have money for me? That is good. I need funds to maintain myself in the manner to which a Queen should be accustomed.’

‘Yes, my Lady. I am to help you here as I may, so that you can return home to your husband all the more speedily.’

‘I shall consider the matter as soon as I have my debts paid,’ she said firmly.

‘My Lady, your husband, the King, has asked that you return home forthwith. Here is his letter.’

‘I do not wish to read it, Bishop, but I will have my money, if you please?’

He looked down at her hand and then back up into her eyes. Cold, they were, as ice. ‘No.’

‘You refuse me, your Queen?’

‘I was told quite definitely to give you money only when you agreed to return to England. I am not at liberty to give you money to support you here while you refuse. Especially after the manner of your refusal yesterday. That was a sad embarrassment to me, to your husband’s loyal servant!’

‘Then it would appear that there is little more to be discussed.’

‘Quite so,’ the Bishop said. He was shivering, he was so cross. That this damned woman could dare to deny him — and her King — what they reasonably asked, was outrageous. Quite outrageous!

‘What are your plans, my Lady, if you will not go back to the bosom of your family and your husband?’ he asked with frigid calm.

‘I have much still to do, my Lord Bishop. There are matters to negotiate with the King here. Fortunately he is prepared to help support me as a Princess should be. I am safe here in France, you see. Safe from attack — and from the depredations of those who would rob me of all my properties and income.’

Bishop Walter curled his lip at that, but said nothing. He knew that his reasonable and sensible actions in seeing all her lands in Devon and Cornwall sequestrated had rankled, but that was not his concern. ‘And how long do you intend to hold this charade?’ he said, indicating her widow’s clothing.

‘Until the King is free of the base traitor Despenser and I can once again take my throne in Westminster Hall.’

‘Come home now.’

‘You heard me yesterday. I will not.’

‘Then all support is cut off. The King will advance you nothing.’

He stared at her hard, and then span on his heel and strode out, Sir Richard, grinning broadly and winking at Alicia, following more slowly.

‘Sir Richard?’ the Queen said as he reached the door.

‘Yes, my Queen?’

‘Do be careful around the Bishop. There are many here in France who do not like him.’

‘I’m always careful, my Queen,’ he said with a smile. He left the room just as Sir Henry de Beaumont appeared in the corridor outside. ‘Ha! Sir Henry. You coming to see the Queen too?’

Sir Henry had paled, before smiling in return and nodding effusively. ‘Yes. I was here to speak with her and ensure that she was safely guarded. Can’t have just anyone breaking in on her.’

‘No, there are too many Frenchies here for my liking!’ Sir Richard chuckled, and set off in the Bishop’s wake.

But Sir Richard, for all his amiability and an exterior composed apparently of elephant hide, was a law officer, and as astute as any. The hesitation of Sir Henry had not been missed.

Paris

He knew what the ‘King’ was thinking, half the time.

Jacquot stood in the shadow near the gate of the Louvre, watching the crowds passing by, waiting for a sight of the Procureur, musing over the ‘King’s’ behaviour.

He was growing ever more irrational. When Jacquot had first arrived here, the ‘King’ had been greedy, but wary. No one could survive with immoderate demands at all times. It was necessary for a man to be sensible. The ‘King’ had known that. He had become the main gang-leader in the area because he had the ballocks and brains for the job. Over the years, two rival gangs had ruled the city. One controlled the northern part of the city, the other the south, the river forming a natural boundary for them. And for many years this was an adequate separation. There were tens of thousands — perhaps hundreds of thousands — living in Paris, and a number were devoted to a life of crime.

All operated under the aegis of one or other criminal ‘family’.

Jacquot had arrived just as the situation was changing. It was impossible for him to earn money, except by robbery, and when he fell in with others in a similar position, he took the same attitude to his victims as he had in the past to animals while living on the land. There was a duty to make any necessary killing as swift and painless as possible. That was his creed, and he stuck to it.

However, others were less humane. The ‘King’ was one such.

Jacquot met him once, swaggering about the lanes with a woman at his arm. He was about seventeen then, and life had been good to him. He had been a cutpurse for a while in the southern family, and progressed to breaking locks. But for him the small beer of the southern half of the city was no good. He wanted more. Always more.

So the ‘King’ began to make inroads into sections of northern Paris, striking up relationships with the thief-takers and Sergents, making little advances to test them every so often. Once a man had taken a small bribe from him, it was harder for them to return to the northern family and denounce him, and the ‘King’ was very shrewd. He took care which men he over-used.

His genius lay in his new idea. While all the others were content with their lot, making a few sous a day and wallowing in wine and women at night until all was gone once more, the ‘King’ saw that a more amenable approach to his income would be to take the royal shilling. So he became a thief-taker himself. Only a lowly one, naturally, but the position and the royal staff that went with it were both enough to guarantee him an easier passage about the city when he wanted. And in that position he could take more stolen goods and trade them on his own behalf.

There had been a bloodbath when the two families realised someone was taking their business. For weeks, corpses were found lying in the streets or thrown into the river, to be discovered further downstream. And then, when the two old families were so weakened by internal wrangling and the loss of so many of their men, the ‘King’ appeared to take over, with a new group of hard men, men who were keen to impose their own rules on the city. From that moment the north and south were united in the one large band, and where the rivalries had threatened their business, now they controlled all. It was the beginning of the ‘King’s’ reign.

Jacquot had watched all from his own distance. He had no need of the ‘King’s’ aid, nor did he want to become associated with a group of men who could well prove to be entirely untrustworthy. The idea of becoming involved in a group which then sold him to the law, or perhaps thrust a knife into his back when he didn’t expect it, had little appeal. It was only when he realised that it would grow ever more dangerous to work on his own, and that unless he had the support of the ‘King’ he could be turned over to the Sergents, that he chose the easier route of joining the ‘King’ and becoming a loyal servant.

Not that he was entirely committed, of course. A man should always look to his back when he lived as a felon.

Bois de Vincennes

Baldwin had enjoyed a good morning out in the woods. Although he had no falcons, it was enough to watch others sending their birds high into the air, then observe them plunging down to break the backs of the rabbits set loose for them.

The only hair in his soup was his brute Wolf. As soon as he saw the birds, the beast was determined to be off after them, and when the game was killed, he would try to lunge free.

‘You should tie the blasted thing to a tree and leave him until we’re done,’ Simon said at one point. ‘Better still, leave him there permanently.’

Baldwin stroked Wolf’s head. ‘Do not listen to him, old fellow. The good Bailiff feels grumpy this morning.’

‘So should you, hearing that there’s little chance of our returning homewards any time soon. Do you think we could speak with the Duke? Perhaps he would release us …’

Baldwin glanced at him seriously. ‘True. He might. And then, consider: what if he came to some mishap while he was here, and we were safe at home? What would the King say to us then? Would he understand how you and I had left his heir alone with a reduced party to protect him? Or would he hang us from the gates of Exeter City for all the world to laugh and jeer at?’

‘Baldwin, my wife is troubled …’

‘So is Jeanne, Simon. And both are many leagues distant. So the best course we may take is to serve our Duke and pass our time sensibly until we may take ship again — for it will happen. Perhaps we can raise the subject when we speak next with the Queen.’

The two friends spent the rest of the morning with the Duke and the King of France, and later, when the hawks were resting in the Mews, they ate a hearty midday meal with the second service. For while the King and Duke were eating with the Queen, Simon and Baldwin stood behind the Duke on guard. Only when the higher nobles had eaten their fill and left the tables were fresh mess-bowls brought in for the likes of Simon and Baldwin.

It was after they had eaten, and when Simon had suggested a walk about the old hunting lodge that they came across Sir Richard.

‘Ha! You look like a man who’s eaten a hog by yourself!’ the knight declared, poking Simon’s belly with a finger as hard as a staff of oak. ‘You’re a trencherman after my own heart!’

‘I doubt it,’ Simon muttered, but the knight was already looking at Baldwin. ‘I think there may be a problem here for us, Sir Baldwin. Care to come with me on a walk, both of you?’