The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Thirty-Six

Ricard scampered away from the confrontation carrying Charlie, his heart pounding so harshly he felt sure that it must explodefrom his breast. At the corner of the corridor he turned to glance back and make sure that Jack was not following him. Hehad a fear that the man might chase after him to kill him even as he reached the castle’s court. Jack had not hesitated tokill before, after all. Ricard was as sure as he could be that Jack must have murdered poor Peter to get himself in on thisembassy with the others.

But no: the man was back there still, bowing to the Queen as she slipped past and entered the room with that man whom Ricardhad felt sure he knew. Then the Queen’s woman followed her inside, while de Bouden and a guard stood at the doorway with Jack.

He felt sick as he realised that he was safe for now. ‘Christ and all his saints,’ he muttered, and puffed out his cheeks.There must be an easier way to earn a living, he told himself regretfully. Looking down at Charlie, he saw that the boy’sface was smeared with tears and snot, but the lad had stopped his wailing now. Ever since de Bouden appeared Charlie had beenmaking the same low, inconsolable noise, as though one more person coming up behind him was the last shock he could cope with.‘It’s all right, lad. We’re safe now,’ Ricard said.

Other men had nothing like these problems. They could work at their jobs — farming, working in markets, peddling wares of various types — and never get into this kind of mess. But here he was, an innocent in a foreign land, trying to mindhis own business, and what happened? He was forced to protect and guard a man who was spying on the Queen.

Casting another look behind him, he frowned. But if the man Jack was actually in the pay of the Despenser, surely the Queen’sComptroller would have nothing to do with him? Everyone knew that the Despenser and the Queen hated each other. You didn’thave to be a musician in the palace on Thorney Island for long to see how they loathed each other. So Jack surely wasn’t withDespenser.

Shite — perhaps he was truly on the side of the Queen. That would be very embarrassing.

Ricard wanted nothing to do with either of them. No. Instead, he made his way along the alleyway to the farther end. Whathe wanted was a good pot of ale. With that in mind, he hurried down to the hall’s bar, over in the buttery, and was aboutto enter when he saw the other man.

‘Christ in chains!’ he swore. Charlie looked up, but said nothing. Didn’t even hide his face, so he must be over the worstof his shock. Ricard wasn’t, though. Ach, he’d be buggered if he’d go in there with the man who’d been in that room in London,the man who Philip and Adam said had been with Jack. Who the hell are you? he wondered, but just then some French guards shovedpast him. He saw the man’s head turn towards the door, and ducked away before he could be spotted.

Disconsolately, he wandered up the corridor from the buttery to the main door leading to the yard. Here he stood a moment,looking about, wondering where to go and what he could do.

What he really wanted was ale, but the idea of going back in there and drinking under the gaze of the man who’d seen to the murder of the glover and his wife in that little house was enough to make him feel like spewing. Better to go and finda tavern outside somewhere, but even as he had the thought he heard voices behind him, and throwing a look over his shoulderhe saw the man walking towards him.

Hurrying out, he was about to run across the yard to escape when he heard a man calling to him. It wasn’t the man behind,but someone else in the court itself. Staring about him wildly, he saw the knight, Sir Baldwin, sitting with his companionthe bailiff. The two were all but inseparable. At least he’d heard only good reports about them both. They appeared honourable,and they’d not allow some stranger to stab him to death without doing something.

With that reasoning giving him confidence, he crossed to them. ‘Sir?’

The knight looked at him, then at Charlie. ‘A handsome boy. He is yours?’

‘Um. Not really. He’s an orphan, and I thought it’d be best to save him from any further pain.’

‘Pain?’

‘His parents were murdered.’

‘Oh … Are you well, musician? You look badly flustered, like a man who’s been caught in a murder himself!’

That word was enough to send his spirits tumbling again. He remembered the threat the man had made: if the band didn’t helphim, Ricard would be accused of murder. The two bodies were there … but that was ages ago. A month — no, two? — since.The bodies may still be there, but who’d prove he had been? He was surely safe. Except he couldn’t be sure.

‘I ate some meat that was off, I think,’ he said.

‘I see,’ Baldwin said, and appeared to lose interest, to Ricard’s relief. ‘Anyway, a man is looking for a musician. I don’tknow if it was you. Ah, there he is. My lord! Is this the man you meant?’

‘Him? No. There is another man, I think his name is Jack. It was he I sought,’ the Earl said. He looked at Ricard as though daringhim to speak about their last meeting. ‘Do you know where Jack is, fellow?’

Ricard licked his lips and nodded. Silently he pointed towards de Bouden’s chambers, and watched with relief as the Earl noddedand walked off to see Jack.

‘Are you sure you are well?’ Simon asked Ricard.

Well! It was hardly the word he’d have used to describe his fluttering heart and empty, roiling belly. ‘Yes. Yes, I am well.But that man — do you know who he is?’

Baldwin grinned. ‘He is the King’s brother. Earl Edmund. Do you not know him?’

Later, when he had found a quiet corner outside a tavern where he could sit and drink from a jug of wine, Ricard looked downat Charlie, playing happily in the dust with some other children, and then rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes.If he had been a little younger, he would have wept for terror. He had no idea what to do. All he knew was that he stood tomake an enemy of the Queen or of the King’s brother, no matter what he tried.

He must be cautious, else he would find himself like Peter, thrown into a midden with his throat cut.

Jean sat in a doorway and pulled his cloak more tightly about him. The weather was more clement than it had been, but it wasstill very chill here in the shade of the tall buildings. How he longed for the summer, and long days with the sun high overhead.But perhaps he would be dead before those days arrived.

He ground his teeth as he thought how close he had come to killing Arnaud. And then those interfering fools had got in hisway and stopped him from succeeding. The damned sons of-

No. There was no point in getting bitter about them. They saw a man who was about to commit a murder and stopped him. That wasall. Ach, but the roaring voice had cut through his bowels like a dagger of ice. He’d felt as though he would die with theshock of it. He’d stood there with his knife in his hand, and hesitated just long enough for the cursed Arnaud to slip aside,and then he’d been forced to flee himself, before those two men could catch up with him. One against a rat like Arnaud wasone thing; to stand against Arnaud and two men-at-arms was quite another.

Looking up, he saw that the sky was darkening. Soon dusk would fall, and another day would be over, and his quest for revengeagainst Arnaud would be deferred for another day.

It was the only thing that lent spice to his life, now, this search for Arnaud. The man deserved to be killed for what hehad done. Poisoning the minds of men like le Vieux against him … it was so unjust! He’d never done anything to Arnaud that he knew of. He’d hated the man — but most who served as executioner were detested.That was hardly to mark him out. What had led Arnaud to seek to hurt him? Presumably just the fact that he had seen the attackon Berengar and knew what Arnaud had done to the other members of the guard at Château Gaillard. Slaying them all, all buthimself and le Vieux.

And that was the interesting thing: why did Arnaud do that? At the time, Jean had assumed that it was his evil soul demandingblood. But if that were so, what had stopped him killing? There were those who could kill without passion, perhaps, but if a man lost his reason and killed like thatfor no purpose, he could no longer be considered human. He was no better than a dog with the rage. A creature which must be destroyed, because there was nothing else to do with it.

But then a strange, niggling thought began to insidiously work its way into his mind.

What if there had been some motive other than madness which directed Arnaud to kill all the men of the guard?

No. That was impossible. He was just mad, and killed without reason.

Yet there was that strange detail: le Vieux had survived. The two of them had known each other before Jean had met eitherof them, that much was obvious. They had been prone to talk to each other, and the way that they reacted to each other whenthey first rescued Jean from gaol had shown a kind of mutual regard. If anything, it had shown that le Vieux was the moresenior in rank as well as age.

Le Vieux. A man with all the signs of military service, and Arnaud the executioner. Both taking men like him, like Berengar,like Pons, rescuing them from long terms in gaol and giving them all a chance at a new life, serving the Comte de Foix atChâteau Gaillard. The Comte, Jean’s old master. And yet the château was surely no part of the Comte’s territory? It was farfrom his own compté. So why was de Foix arranging for the guards up there?

It was not something which had ever occurred to him before, but now the strange illogicality of his presence in the châteauseemed important. Just as important, perhaps, as the reason for Arnaud’s sudden attack. That, its very irrationality, seemedparticularly curious. He had never demonstrated murderous inclinations towards the guards before then. Yes, he was a cruel,vindictive, bestial man, but he had not shown any sign of wishing to harm his companions at the castle. Why should he havesuddenly gone berserk just after their prisoner had left the place?

Then there was also the stranger who had been in the room when le Vieux had suddenly attacked him. That man, who had drawnhis own sword against Jean, even though they’d never met before. He looked like a noble. Who was he?

‘Come on, Ricard. It can’t be all that bad,’ Janin said.

‘You don’t reckon? How much do you want to die?’

Adam grinned, and Philip snorted. Philip said, ‘There’s nothing so bad we can’t-’

‘That man, the one you saw today with bloody Jack? The man in London, who killed the glover and his wife? That one? You knowwho he is?’ Their bafflement gave his sarcasm a sharpened edge. He was almost satisfied to see how they shook their heads.‘The King’s brother. The Earl of Kent. That’s who. Edmund of Kent. So all this time we’ve been trying to upset and removethe man who’s been put here by the King’s brother.’

Janin leaned back on his stool and puffed out his cheeks.

They were in their own little chamber in the castle’s outbuildings, a draughty room with stone walls on two sides, partitionedwith wattle and daub on the other two. The plaster had cracked and fallen away to show the withies in many places, a delightfulaspect which gave Charlie plenty of scope to exercise his skills at demolition. He was there now, prying away pieces of plasterand telling himself a story about it as he went, while water seeped in from the courtyard about his feet. Still, at leastthe musicians had a place of their own where they could sit and talk in peace. Not that there was any comfort in that justnow.

Adam was pale. ‘So he’s the King’s own man, this Jack?’

Janin gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Oh, no, Adam. Not necessarily. The King hates his own wife, and his brothers are notclose allies of his, any more than his cousin was.’

‘Cousin?’

Ricard shot him a look. Even a lad like Adam should have known that much, damn his heart! ‘His bleeding cousin, yes. EarlThomas of Lancaster, the man who raised an army against the King and was captured and hanged for his pains! Hardly the actionof a close relative.’

‘Even so, that’s a cousin, not a brother …’

‘Half-brother,’ Philip said shortly. ‘Different mother from the King. And the King doesn’t trust him since the French invadedGuyenne. The Earl was in charge there. He was responsible for the duchy and it was him signed the truce they’re trying torenegotiate now.’

‘So he’s not the flavour of sweetness to the King just now,’ Ricard noted with grim satisfaction. ‘That’s marvellous. He’sbitterness incarnate to the King, and it’s his man you two tried to jump.’

‘We weren’t to know,’ Adam protested weakly.

‘You should have bloody guessed! Now what we’ve got is a little problem, boys. Is this Earl Edmund working to the King’s advantagehere, or his own?’

‘Surely he’ll be here with the King’s approval,’ Janin said thoughtfully.

‘Maybe so,’ Ricard agreed. He picked up his citole and strummed pensively.

Philip said, ‘But what does that mean to us? So what? He’s possibly the King’s enemy, so we only have to tell the King’s menand we’re all right.’ He stood as though to make for the door.

‘What it means is, we may have made an enemy of Jack, which makes his master think we’re his enemies too,’ Ricard said scathingly.‘And that is not a position which gives me any great comfort.’

‘Did you speak with the Queen or her clerk?’ Janin asked.

‘No. No time. I was jumped by Jack and this other man before I saw de Bouden.’

‘Then the first thing you should do is tell the Queen all about the Earl, Jack, and the other man,’ Janin said with certainty.‘That way, at least our own lady knows we’re on her side. If anyone tries to lie about us and say we were acting for anyonelater, we can show we’ve told the Queen about this. We did what servants should.’

‘Right,’ Ricard said, his heart plummeting. He saw again Jack’s face, heard the cold voice from de Bouden’s chamber, saw the Queenentering … ‘Wait! She knows the man in de Bouden’s room. De Bouden brought her there, and Jack was outside with de Boudento guard while she was inside.’

‘Was it the Earl in there?’ Philip asked.

‘No. He was in the buttery when I went there. It was someone else.’

Philip nodded, scowling. ‘Well, you should tell her anyway. And see if you can learn who the man in the chamber was. It couldbe worthwhile knowing that.’

‘Why?’ Ricard asked.

‘Why?’ He looked nonplussed for a moment or two. ‘If the Queen’s having funny little meetings with someone, don’t you thinkit’d be worth knowing? I mean, we’re the Queen’s Men, aren’t we? If she’s having negotiations on the side with someone, itcould be dangerous.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Janin demanded. ‘It’s nothing to us who she sees.’

‘Oh no? Think on this, Jan. If she’s seeing someone and the King himself knows nothing about it, is he going to torture herto find out about it? No. But he may well torture someone else.’

‘If we don’t know-’ Adam began.

‘We’ll still be tortured. They don’t stop because you say you know nothing,’ Philip spat. ‘Don’t you know anything? Look,if Despenser thinks there’s something to be found out from you, he’ll have the skin cut from your body, the bones broken,the nails ripped away, and he won’t stop until you do tell him something. Saying you know nothing just means he’ll carry on.Torture isn’t about finding out someone’s got nothing to tell — it’s about making them tell anything. Everything. If she’s seeing someone, I’d prefer to be able to tell the King, Despenser or whoever, exactly who it was, how long she saw him, and whether they met once or plenty. She’s the Queen. She can’t just go into a room and meet with men alone.’

Ricard looked towards Janin. Both shook their heads in disgust, but there was little either felt he could say. For Ricard’spart, he merely wished he was away from here. The only consolation was that when little Charlie had seen the Earl, it hadmade not the slightest impact on him. Either he was so young he had not recognised the man who had killed his parents, ormaybe he’d forgotten him. It seemed odd to Ricard that the little fellow could have forgotten the man who had so scared himat the time, but perhaps it was natural. The lad was very young, after all. Maybe he didn’t think like an adult.

At least it meant the boy wasn’t upset and screaming just now, Ricard thought, just in time to see Adam’s recorder being usedto prise away another chunk of plaster.

‘Oi! Charlie, no!’