The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Twenty-Two

Baldwin heard the screams from the court where he was still standing, contemplating Lord John’s words. As soon as he heard the noise, his first thought was to run to the source, but a moment’s reflection told him that would be pointless. Others would be running there. Instead he turned left to head for the Queen’s chambers to make sure that she was safe.

He found her in the main hall, pale and anxious.

‘What is that, Sir Baldwin?’

‘I do not know, your highness. I heard the first cry and came here to assure myself of your safety.’

‘I am most grateful, Sir Baldwin. It sounds like an animal in pain.’

‘It is a man,’ Baldwin said coldly. He had heard similar cries of agony often enough in battles.

There was a heavy knocking at the door, and Baldwin went to it, calling, ‘Who is it?’

‘Me.’

Baldwin unbolted and opened the door to Lord Cromwell, who stared at Baldwin fixedly as he came in. Baldwin lowered the point of his sword and closed the door as the noble spoke quickly to the Queen.

‘Sir Baldwin. Would you go, please, and see what is happening out there?’ Queen Isabella said.

Baldwin nodded. He listened a moment, then opened the door. ‘Lord John, bolt this after me.’

Cromwell agreed, and Baldwin was away.

The noise came from the tower over the main entrance, so far as he could tell. He hurried along the path, entered the tower, and climbed the stairs. It did not take long to reach the chamber. Robert de Chatillon was slumped on the floor, his breath rasping in his lungs, and the body of an aged warrior lay over by the fireplace, close to a heavy-looking cudgel. Blood was splattered over his shoulder, and there was a foul, matted mess at his skull just above his ear.

‘What has happened here?’ Baldwin asked wonderingly. He recognised the man-at-arms he had seen crossing the yard earlier.

‘Someone came here and attacked me and this man,’ Robert said haltingly. He was very pale.

‘Did you see who it was?’ Baldwin asked. Perhaps it was the same man he had seen following after this fellow. There had been two.

‘A guard from the Château Gaillard. This man was another of the guards from there,’ Robert said, motioning feebly towards le Vieux. ‘He broke in here and attacked us both.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘All I know is there was a small garrison there to protect the castle, and some weeks ago that man went insane. He took a knife and slew all the other guards in the château. We don’t know why. Le Vieux was the only survivor at the time. Clearly the fellow learned where le Vieux was, and came here to finish his task.’

‘But why would he do so?’

‘Who can explain madness?’ Robert demanded with a ferocious anger. There was a fevered gleam in his eyes now, and if it were not for the twisted and broken leg, Baldwin could have feared that he might leap up and set upon him for asking ridiculous questions. ‘Just find him, Sir Baldwin. Find him and kill him, in God’s name, before he murders anyone else.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘What does he look like?’

Yes. It was the same man.

As he left the chamber, his brow was furrowed. The killer and the dead man had walked happily together across the courtyard, and then come to blows in the chamber with Robert. Robert had lied for some reason, Baldwin felt, but he was unsure why.

Jean had found his way to an undercroft, a crowded storeroom filled with barrels of food and drink, with bales of other goods set over the top to keep them dry. He bolted along it, hoping to find an escape, but the only way in was the one by which he had entered. He ran at the farther wall, and crashed into it, his arms up, still gripping the poker, his eyes firmly closed. The crash forced him, sobbing, to his knees, and he crouched there a while, gasping with shock and terror, before reaching out with his hands and touching the stonework before him, fingers rippling over the plaster, seeking crevices as though he could have insinuated himself into the rock and passed through it. But he was human. Such feats were for God, not for him.

He relaxed, easing himself down again, and as his eyes grew acclimatised to the darkness in the chamber, he stared at the poker. It was a long log-poker, with a one-inch spike protruding to one side. That was what had hit le Vieux. It had punctured his head as easily as a pin bursting an inflated pig’s bladder.

Jean was not upset at the thought of killing a man. Once he would have been, but he had fought in enough battles since then to know that sometimes a man must kill. Le Vieux had wanted to murder him … and he had no idea why! That was what had so shocked him: not the attack, but the man who had launched it. He had thought le Vieux was a friend, a comrade and an ally. All he’d tried to do was warn him about Arnaud.

The only thing that made any sense was that Arnaud had convinced him that Jean had killed all the other men at the château. Le Vieux must have believed him implicitly.

Jean groaned to himself. The thought that Arnaud could be so persuasive hadn’t occurred to him before. And it wasn’t only le Vieux who was convinced, either. That other man had obviously been persuaded as well. Jean was marked out for death. If he was seen or captured, he would be sure to be killed. There was no escape for him.

‘Who was he?’

The man behind the table. He had drawn his sword when le Vieux had said that he was the last of the men from the château, hadn’t he?

Suddenly Jean started to wonder if his initial impression of that last day at the château was as clear as he had thought. Le Vieux had been hit, surely, for there was no faking that bloody seeping wound, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had been hit by Arnaud. Now it seemed to make more sense for him to have been hit by one of the other men as he and Arnaud together tried to kill the guards. But why would they do that?

The only person whom he could ask was probably the one whom he was most keen to kill. He would have to catch Arnaud to question him. But just now the likelihood was that he wouldn’t even be able to escape the castle, let alone run off and later find Arnaud to learn what had actually happened.

Then again, he considered, there was less need to run away to hide when you were already in a large undercroft filled with barrels of food and drink. This was probably as good a place to hide as any other, and it had the added attraction of being cheap.

He would stay and formulate a plan to gain his revenge.

Louvre, Paris

King Charles IV was not known for his patience, but the reputation was unfair. There were times when he was capable of explosions of rage, just like any other monarch, and others when he was content to be still and watch other men’s actions. This was particularly true when he felt sure that someone had failed in their duties to him.

‘Alive?’

The cardinal smiled, but warily. Thomas of Anjou knew when the King was displeased, and today the man could have frozen a sea with his stare. ‘I am afraid, so it would seem.’

‘I seem to remember you telling me that the entire matter of the château was over,’ King Charles said, his attention moving to the face of his adviser.

François de Tours nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor. ‘I relayed the news to you as soon as I was told. The men of the town went up there and found all the guards dead, or so I thought. Now it would seem that one of them has miraculously returned to life. He found Robert de Chatillon and killed one of his men in front of him, as well as hurting Robert.’

‘He killed my executioner?’

‘No. The other one. An old soldier of Enguerrand’s.’

‘Oh, I recall. Well, he was to die as well soon enough, wasn’t he? But my man is not hurt?’

‘Not yet. However, if we do not act to remove any other witnesses, matters could become more difficult.’

‘See to it. And François? No more slip-ups, my friend. All witnesses, all of them, must be removed. I want no surprises in the future.’

Poissy

‘D’you hear that?’ Adam asked.

‘What?’ Ricard demanded, staring into his cup. On his lap Charlie was resting, snoring softly with his mouth open. He had started snuffling today, and Ricard hoped it was only a cold. He had grown rather fond of the little boy.

‘He’s right,’ Philip said. ‘There’s some sort of disturbance up there.’

‘So what?’ Ricard belched. ‘There’s always something going on. It’s a bloody castle, isn’t it? Some fight between men-at-arms, I dare say. I’m not getting up to go and look.’

Philip scowled. ‘And where’s our friend? Eh?’

Ricard looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and he was finding it hard to concentrate. ‘If you mean our illustrious companion, Philip, I don’t know, and I don’t care. The arsehole has left us alone. Far as I’m concerned, that’s good news. You won’t find me complaining. In fact, I think that rather than complain we ought to celebrate. Yes. Let’s have another drink!’

‘Before you do that, let’s make sure he hasn’t gone and killed someone else,’ Adam said nervously.

Janin leaned back on his seat. ‘What makes you say that? Adam, what is it with you? You always have to bring out something unpleasant, don’t you? There’s nothing to say that anyone’s died, is there? And nothing to say Jack’s involved anyway.’

‘I told you all when he arrived,’ Adam said. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. He’s a bad one.’

Ricard frowned and shook his head without looking at Adam. ‘No, actually you didn’t, Adam. You never said he was bad. In fact, I seem to remember you were the only one of us who wanted this fellow to join us, because with your usual grasp of the unimportant, you thought it was essential that we had another drummer to replace Peter.’

‘I didn’t!’ Adam declared, and shot a look at the others. They studiously avoided his gaze. ‘Oh, if you’re going to be idiots, then blame me. You always do anyway.’

‘No one’s blaming you for anything,’ Janin said soothingly.

Philip pulled the corners of his mouth downwards in a gesture of denial, shaking his head slowly. ‘No. We aren’t blaming you, Adam. But we all wish you’d stop blaming us for everything.’

Adam sank back, his face bleak. ‘It’s not my fault.’

‘So where is he this time?’ Philip asked. He drained his cup.

‘God only knows,’ Ricard said. ‘All I know is, he’s bloody dangerous. If there has been some crime up there, I pray someone will catch him and slay him quickly so that we’re all a little safer.’

Janin was thoughtful. ‘He was strange about that, wasn’t he? I would’ve thought …’

‘What?’ Philip demanded.

‘I was just thinking: all the men I’ve met who’ve been allied with Despenser have been proud about it. They’ve boasted.’

‘I suppose you’ve met a lot of them, eh?’ Philip scoffed.

‘Quite a few,’ Janin said. ‘You remember the man in the glovemaker’s house? He was not too secretive, was he? He was determined to have us spy on the Queen, and he told us how.’

‘Although he told us to tell everything we learned to some man with a peacock picture,’ Philip said, scowling.

‘Who never appeared,’ Janin agreed. ‘Perhaps that was only while she was in England still, and he couldn’t get his comrade to join us out here?’

‘For my part, I reckon that fellow Jack is a friend of his, and he had Jack placed with us so that Jack could keep an eye on her all on his own. There was no need for us then.’

‘Except,’ Janin said, ‘he had a man who was a competent musician, so he had to find a means of installing the fellow into a troupe of Queen’s musicians.’

The others said nothing. There was nothing much they could say. All knew what he meant: Jack or an accomplice had murdered their friend Peter in order to ease his route into the Queen’s party. Kill Peter, then Jack could join the musicians.

‘We aren’t fighters,’ Philip said, with blatant dishonesty.

‘If Jack is one of Despenser’s men, why did his mate have the glover and his wife killed? That man told us the glover was a loyal servant to Despenser,’ Adam said.

‘Who else told us that?’ Janin demanded harshly.

‘Hmm?’

‘Did anyone else corroborate what he said about the glover? The man might well have been uninterested in politics for all we know. The mention of Despenser’s name was handy to scare us into being obedient, but that doesn’t mean he told us the truth, does it? I’d guess he was a Despenser man himself, and Jack is too.’

‘Which means de Bouden is. He forced us to bring Jack,’ Ricard said, and belched.

‘So he was telling the truth when he told us to leave him alone,’ Janin said. ‘He could have had us caught and executed, if he’s one of Despenser’s men.’

‘In England he could,’ Ricard said. ‘Maybe we ought to just stay here in France.’

‘What?’ Janin shot out. He looked up. ‘Stay here?’

‘Become wandering troubadours. With the number of castles in the country, we’d make a good living, I’ll bet. As much wine as you can drink.’

‘They’re a bit odd over here, though,’ was Philip’s considered opinion.

‘The weather’s warmer,’ Janin mused.

Adam stared. ‘You reckon this is warmer than London?’

‘The summers are longer and warmer,’ Janin amended.

‘At least here in France we’re out of the reach even of Despenser’s arm,’ Ricard pointed out. ‘The only person who hates him more than the Queen is the French king.’

‘What of Jack?’

‘Swyve him with a blunt stick. As soon as we can lose him, I vote we do,’ Ricard said. ‘At best he’s a spy against our queen. I don’t want to aid him in any way.’

For some minutes the group was silent, drinking slowly, each immersed in his own thoughts. But then Ricard’s fingers began to tap out a beat. Janin watched intently, frowning as he strove to recognise the tune, then nodded, and took up his hurdy-gurdy. Adam pulled out a small whistle and set it to his lips, while Philip began to beat on the tabletop.

‘Space for another in your session?’ Jack asked as he entered the room.

‘Where have you been?’ Janin asked as they all stopped playing.

‘I wanted to learn what all that noise was about. Did you hear it? Apparently some guard has been murdered.’

Ricard sprang to his feet, and was about to jump on Jack when Jack held up his hand and laughed outright. ‘Not again! No, there was a witness to the attack, a squire. He’s described a Frenchman from the south, wearing a worn leather jack and red hosen. Do I fit that description? No? Then calm yourselves.’

‘Why should we?’ Ricard said. ‘We don’t trust you. You suddenly appear, just after our mate’s been murdered … did you have him killed?’

‘Me? Christ in a bucket, no! That was our enemy did that. No, I’m your comrade.’

‘You?’

Jack shrugged, but then he stepped nearer their table. In his hand he held his bodhran, wrapped in its leather case. He took it out and showed it to them, then reversed it. At the back of the skin, near the rim where his forearm lay while gripping it, was a picture. ‘Look at that. I’m told it’s a very good picture, although I’m no judge. Ach, I can’t understand pictures and what people see in them. What do you think?’

Ricard could not speak. The little picture of the peacock was perfect, he thought dully. So this was the spy to whom they were supposed to report. All along, he’d been the spy for the man who’d killed the glover and his wife after Ricard’s drunken fondling in the London tavern.

‘Who do you work for?’ he asked.

‘Ah, now. That you have to work out. Let’s just keep things all good and professional.’

It was Janin who asked the one question they all wanted answered. ‘Why show us that now? You could have told us at any time, but you kept it hidden until now. Why?’

Jack looked from one to the other of them measuringly, finishing with Janin himself. ‘I didn’t need to before. I thought to keep quiet and just stay with you. That way I could keep a close eye on the Queen. But now odd things are happening. The man who died today was one of a small garrison in a castle downriver. As far as I can tell, all his companions have died except one.’

‘What of it?’ Janin asked.

‘This castle was a prison. It held an important lady, and the men there, so it is rumoured, raped her. It is a foul story. To think that a high-born noblewoman could be thrown into a gaol is bad enough, and the more so when it’s a place like that, but to have the guards rape her too, that is particularly repugnant.’ He held up his hand. ‘I know. I’m getting to the point.

‘The thing is, gentles, that the woman who was thrown into gaol went there because of our queen. And that’s a little worrying, because it could mean that the dear lady we serve could herself be in danger. Someone has killed those who harmed this prisoner. So she has some fellows who want to serve her, perhaps. They are punishing those who hurt her.’

Adam made an impatient noise. ‘What of it?’

‘Ah, perhaps I’m making a little heavy weather of my story. They do say it’s a curse of the Irish, after all, never to tell a story quickly when it can be spun out. Well, I’ll try to be brutally swift, then. Just for you. You see, young Adam, if someone is out to punish all those who hurt their lady, and if our queen was the very person who had her imprisoned, it’s not too much of a leap of intellect, lad, is it, to think that our queen could very well herself be next on this fellow’s list. Eh?’