The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Thirty-One

‘Release my companion,’ Baldwin said, his teeth gritted.

His rage was fanned by his own sense of stupidity and culpability. If only he had listened to his own heart, he would not be here in France at all. Surely he could have declined the King’s demand that he should come … no. No, he couldn’t. Not unless he had wanted his family to become the focus of the King’s interest, and that of the Despenser. No man wanted that sort of attention.

But he could have been more sensible. If he had thought even a moment, he would have accosted their pursuer on the way back from Robert’s inn. Stopped and caught him. There had been ample time to do just that. It was ridiculous that he should have put himself into this position. A demonstration of utter stupidity.

Roger Mortimer nodded towards the window. ‘Sir Baldwin, your friend is already released. This is nothing to do with him. It is more to do with you, I believe. Please, won’t you sheathe your sword and sit?’

‘What is more to do with me than him?’ Baldwin demanded. He ignored the suggestion that he might sit or cover his blade.

Mortimer was a man of about Simon’s age, Baldwin knew — a couple of years short of forty years old — and yet his face showed none of the ease of Simon’s. A man of forty should know what it’s like to have loved, to have fought, to have lost. In Simon’s eyes there was all of that maturity, as well as a calmness that came from acceptance of life — good and bad.

In Mortimer’s eyes there was no ease, because all the good fortune he had enjoyed had been swept away by the change in the King’s attitude towards him. Despenser had poisoned the King’s mind against him, and now Mortimer lived under the sentence of death. The King had signed it. All Mortimer had grown to know and accept had been taken from him. His wife, children, homes, wealth — all were gone, and that loss was there in his eyes. They were wary, yes, but they held an unfathomable sadness too.

‘The man who was found outside the castle this morning. There will be allegations that it was my doing that left him dead. I have heard already that you are to mount an enquiry into his death. You will find much evidence pointing to me, I am sure.’

‘Why should you be so certain?’

‘Because I am evil. I am the man who has betrayed the King, according to Despenser, that devil’s whelp! Look at me, Sir Baldwin. Do you have children?’

‘I miss them.’

‘Mine have been arrested. I know my wife is being held in a castle, while my daughters have been thrown into convents. My boys are imprisoned too. How would you feel to know your family was being so cruelly treated?’

‘Guilty, perhaps. All is your own responsibility.’

‘I sought to protect the realm and my friend the King. But no matter what I did, his mind was poisoned against me by Despenser.’

Baldwin stared for a long moment, but then he nodded. ‘I have a boy too. He is my pride, his sister my joy.’

Mortimer looked away, and Baldwin was sure that there was a slight moisture at his eyelids. ‘I remember my boys being born. I taught them how to wield sword and lance, how to ride a horse — everything! In all my life, the only things I am truly proud of are my sons.’

‘You imply evidence against you will be fabricated?’

‘I am the King’s traitor. What else will happen? I tell you this, though: last night I captured the man, and would have killed him, were it clearly not in my interests to do so. I had meant to, I assure you, but then I saw that his life would be of more use to me. So I allowed him to live. There is no point ending a life unless there is an advantage in doing it. You may imagine my disgust this morning when I learned that someone else had destroyed him. It was irritating.’

‘Why did you want to kill him?’ Baldwin said without thinking. He was grinning at Simon, who had joined the two in the chamber. Simon was rubbing his wrists ruefully, and he shrugged shamefacedly at Baldwin without speaking.

‘My dear sir knight, if a man wished to murder you, throw your body in the Seine, and ride post-haste for London with your head bouncing at his saddle-bow, wouldn’t you feel justified in being keen to return the favour? The fellow was searching for me in order to cash in on the King’s reward. The King is less concerned with appearances than most, and I believe has not bothered to mention the “alive” part of the “dead or alive” offer for me.’

Baldwin understood. He had always disliked Sir Charles’s mercenary tendencies. ‘He was seeking to claim the reward, then?’ It made sense. No man interested in money could turn his nose up at the thought of the reward for the King’s most implacable enemy. He had thought the two of them had been quiet in recent days — this explained why.

‘He saw me the day that the King met the Queen Isabella. I was in the crowd.’

‘You wanted to see her. I spoke to de Bouden.’

Mortimer waved a hand as though dismissing de Bouden. ‘She has been very kind — both to me and to my wife.’

‘I do not need to know this.’

‘Very well, but please hear me out. I cannot talk to others in the Queen’s guard.’

Baldwin frowned. ‘Why should you wish to?’

‘There is danger here for her. She is not held in universal regard, you know. To some she is a symbol of the English power. It is clear enough that she is the one with the independent spirit and the intelligence in that family. No one who knows them can doubt it.’

Baldwin was about to demur, but Mortimer shook his head.

‘Sir Baldwin, you know how the King has failed in every military expedition bar one. He is not competent to lead. Men distrust him, especially his choice of adviser. Many over here think that Isabella is the key to the crown of England. They think little of her husband, but believe that they can influence him through his wife.’

‘Hardly likely.’

‘Quite right, Sir Baldwin. I agree. But that is the thinking here. They wish to bring the King of England to his senses and force him to capitulate, probably demand the whole of his French assets and his homage to the French king, and expect that they can do so by keeping the Queen here. At least she is the bright one, they think.’

‘Where is the danger in that for her?’

‘The danger lies in England. There is another who seeks to destroy her. You know that as well as I.’

‘Who?’

Mortimer sighed. ‘Why, your friend and mine, Sir Hugh le Despenser.’

‘Why should he want to harm her?’

‘You know that, I think.’

He was right. It was easy to see why Despenser would desire to destroy Isabella. She was his most dangerous enemy, the one person who could potentially win back the affections of King Edward and leave Despenser in the cold again. All Despenser need do was see to it that the mission here in France was ruined, and her credibility would be destroyed. Her whole reputation just now was built on a precarious foundation; the success of this negotiation. Failure would justify the King in treating her still worse: there would be enough men who would suggest that her failure was caused by a lack of commitment to the Crown. She was French born, they would say; it was hardly surprising that she sought to support her brother and France against her adopted country.

‘What exactly are you saying, Lord Roger?’

‘Thank you for that courtesy, Sir Baldwin. It’s the first time I have heard an English voice call me that in many months. What I am telling you is this: Despenser has decided already that this mission must fail, and fail catastrophically. To bring that about, he is very happy to incite trouble.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Simon asked. ‘He is English, for Christ’s sake. Why try to harm the King’s interests?’

‘Because by doing so, he will ensure that the King never comes here and leaves Despenser all alone; because by doing so, he concentrates the King’s mind on England, which is where Despenser’s money and personal interest lie. Because he cares nothing for anyone else, so long as he protects his own lands and treasure,’ Mortimer said coldly.

‘What of the Queen?’

‘You are a singular man, if you hold the Queen’s interests in your mind. Lord John Cromwell is a loyal servant of the King. The knights with you? They were put in place by Despenser and the King. They are here to protect the King, not Isabella. And even her own ladies-in-waiting are related to the King. They will see to his interests. Isabella is all alone, with only you to turn to. All I ask is that you help her. She needs all the help she can win, Sir Baldwin. And only you can be trusted.’

‘What makes you so sure that I can be trusted, though?’ Baldwin frowned.

Mortimer gave a guffaw. ‘If nothing else, that answer alone! Nay, Sir Baldwin,’ he added, his tone suddenly sombre. ‘I cannot joke on such a matter. You are known to be a devoted servant. You have sworn to support the Queen, so it is known that you will die in her defence, if necessary. The others with you? De Sapy and de Lymesey have both served Lancaster as well as the King. They move from one allegiance to another. Charles of Lancaster? He’s only recently become a household knight, and he won’t upset his master. But you? You are devoted to the Queen.’

‘So I am at risk?’

‘Despenser has decided to destroy you utterly. Your life, your reputation, your existence will be erased. The reason is this: the Despenser has decided that the Queen threatens his ambitions. If her mission here is embarrassed, it will fail, and possibly she will return to England in disgrace. Of all the men guarding her, they sent you, Sir Baldwin. You, who are no ally to him, from what I have heard. He perhaps thinks you are a danger to his ambitions.’

‘And how can he embarrass the Queen through Baldwin,’ Simon scoffed. ‘Sir Baldwin is a noble man. There’s nothing the Despenser could do or say that would hurt him.’

Mortimer did not look at Simon, but kept his eyes firmly on Baldwin. ‘It has been suggested that you are a renegade Templar, that you are a heretic, and that you should be hunted down and captured, and executed. I am sorry.’

At last, Jean saw him again!

He had been all over the city, searching high and low, and it was only when he had a sudden flash of inspiration and learned that the public executions were all conducted on the King’s massive new gibbet at Montfaucon that he had seen a way to learn where Arnaud was.

A guard there had eyed him suspiciously when he arrived, staring with disgust at the sixteen-odd dangling men. Some were close to falling from their ropes, they were so putrefied and decomposed.

‘What are you after?’

‘I was looking for the executioner. He’s called Arnaud of Pamiers, I think. Is he here today?’

‘There’s no one to be killed today. I heard that someone was going to be branded in the main square outside Notre Dame, but not until tomorrow or the day after. Hold on.’

Bellowing up to another guard, the helpful fellow soon learned what Arnaud’s itinerary for the coming week was likely to be. In the end, he and his companion suggested that Jean may find him near an inn not far from Saint-Jacques. He gave Jean directions, and Jean was soon on his way. At least the city was still a small, compact area. And laid out on flat land, fortunately. When he had been a lad, any walk would take him right up the hills into the mountains. A short journey as the crow flew could take a day or more, scaling the peaks — or, more likely, walking down to the end of one valley, around the spur of the mountain, and up the next. This, in comparison, was easy.

The inn was a nondescript place that catered for butchers. It opened before dawn for the tradesmen who worked in the butchery. They needed their breakfast before light, when they had been hacking and cutting the carcasses for some while already. Even now, although it was still early, several in the inn were drunk. Two stumbled and almost fell against Jean as he entered, but it was natural enough. It was almost time for them to go home, their day’s work done.

Jean bought ale and took it to a dark corner from where he could keep an eye on the men all around, and then he saw him!

Arnaud had been in a second chamber at the rear of the inn, and now he was walking out. He crossed the room with scarcely a glance to right or left, viewing all the butchers there with contempt, as though their work was but a pale reflection of his own, but Jean also saw that one or two of the men, perhaps those less drunk than the others, crossed themselves and withdrew from him as he passed them.

No one liked the executioner.

Baldwin felt as though the earth had trembled and fallen from its mount. His legs were suddenly weak, his heart pounding as though he had run a great race, and he felt physically sick. It was one thing to be an escaped Templar at home, back in England, where no one truly cared about such matters any more, but something quite different to be accused of such an offence here, in France — in Paris — where the foul lies had first been invented and bruited abroad, used to destroy that holy, honourable and godly Order of men. It was obscene that the Order had been condemned on the basis of malicious lies. And now suddenly he felt his vulnerability. Because they had been invented here, by the French king. This was the heartland of his enemies.

‘I am sorry, Sir Baldwin. It will be no consolation, I know, but the man responsible was, I am sure, Despenser. It shows you whom you can and cannot trust, I fear. He sees you as a useful means of ruining the Queen. Whether he knows or thinks you may once have been a Templar doesn’t matter to him so much as the benefit that can accrue to him by damaging you.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said. He was almost lightheaded in the face of this shock, although it should not have been a surprise. The Despenser was an especially ruthless and cruel foe, and he viewed all as his enemies unless he had a specific use for them. ‘I am grateful to you for your warning. I cannot imagine why he should think to accuse me, but I can understand that it could benefit him to harm the Queen. Do you know who has been told of this allegation about me? Is it held within the English court?’

‘No, I don’t think so. So far as I am aware, no one in England has been told. No, the rumour has been spread over here. King Charles knows it, my friend.’

Baldwin shoved his sword into its sheath and wiped a hand over his brow. This was worse than he could have imagined. He could be arrested for this, no matter that he had a safe conduct. Even with a letter giving him diplomatic status, the Church could arrest him. There was no safety from an inquisition based upon the concept of heresy. A Templar who had not submitted to the Church’s authority was to be arrested no matter where he was found.

If the French king was aware of Baldwin’s past, he was doomed.

Janin was in their room and practising a new tune when the two men found him, and he looked up with a faintly suspicious lifting of his eyebrows.

Philip said nothing, but went to stand leaning against the wall by the door. It was left to Adam to speak, and he looked at Philip as though searching for some support before beginning.

‘Janin, it’s that man Jack. I think we have to be rid of him. If he’s the man with the peacock, we know he’s been involved with the man who killed the glover and his wife in London, and he probably had poor Peter killed too, just so he could join us. And why? So he can spy on the Queen, is what we have heard, but what if he’s here for something else? Eh? He might be looking to do something much worse. Perhaps hurt her? Kill her, even? What could we do if he was to hurt her, and we got the blame?’

‘It’d save us having to keep looking for new rooms to play in,’ Janin said lightly.

‘Be serious, Janin! How can we keep on with him here? At the least we ought to tell someone, so that if he is a bad ’un, at least we’re covered.’

Janin laughed at that. ‘How long ago did he join us, Adam? Back in England, wasn’t it? And we’ve been quiet all this time, just waiting to see whether he’s going to do something to hurt her, is that what you want us to say? That we’ve been hanging around all this time, but now we can see he’s done nothing so far we want him taken away. Why, because we’re disappointed to see he’s done nothing? Or should we say that it’s because we didn’t think he was so much of a risk before, but now we’ve learned he is the man we are supposed to report to while spying on the Queen we aren’t so happy about him? How well do you think it’d go down, the Queen hearing that we were intending to spy on her?’

‘We don’t have to tell anybody anything,’ Philip said.

Janin glanced over at him. ‘Philip, what are you on about?’

‘We could just slide a knife into him and drop his body into the Seine. It’s been done before.’

‘Well not bloody by me, it hasn’t!’ Janin spat with a wince. ‘Christ’s nuts, do you think it’s that easy to kill a man? And we’re in France. You know the different ways they have of executing people for murder over here? You can be broken on a wheel, burned alive, hanged on the King’s gibbet … you want me to carry on?’

‘Are you with us or not?’Adam demanded. ‘We can’t carry on like this, Janin. He’s a dangerous man, and he’s threatening all of us. We have to get rid of him.’

‘You do it if you want to, but I’ll have no part in it,’ Janin said coldly. ‘You put your own heads into a noose by all means, but don’t expect me to as well. You do it on your own. And I am not sure I won’t warn Jack that you’ll try it. Murder! Since when did murder solve anything?’

He picked up his instrument and strode to the door, but as he reached it, Philip put a hand out and held it closed.

‘Don’t go talking to anyone else about this, Janin.’

‘What, are you threatening me now, Philip? After all we’ve done as a team, now you threaten me in case I do something to help another man? Is that it?’

‘If we do decide to kill him, I don’t want to have to kill you as well. That’s all. If you go talking about this to anyone, we’ll have to see to you as well, won’t we? Neither of us wants that. So just keep quiet.’

‘Leave the door alone, Philip. Let me out. You, friend, can go mad in your own way, but don’t presume to take me with you,’ Janin said quickly, opening the door.

Philip smiled, but as Janin stepped forward to leave the room he felt the prick of a knife’s point at his groin. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m serious, Janin. Keep it quiet — all right?’

Janin met his gaze resolutely, and then stepped around Philip’s hand and left.