The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Chapter Nine

Alehouse at gateway, Thorney Island

Ricard and the others gladly agreed to the stranger’s suggestion that they might repair to the alehouse. It was always one of theirfavourite meeting houses, and the weather was growing cold, so they all trooped into the alehouse and ordered ale, beforesitting and talking.

His name, so he said, was Jack of Dublin. His story was short enough: he had been a loyal servant of the King in his homeland,fighting the murderous bastards from Scotland who served under the Bruce, and when they had succeeded in destroying the invadersJack had returned to England to see a little of how the world worked. There was more to life than living in a provincial citylike Dublin, he said with a smile.

‘There’s also more to being a musician than talking about it,’ Ricard said. ‘Or impressing a queen with a bow. How good’syour playing?’

When Philip and Adam grunted their agreement, he led them out to their cart. From it he pulled his gittern, listening to thetune of the strings. His citole he left wrapped. It was too valuable to him to keep wrapping and unwrapping. Better to leaveit. The gittern was a cheaper instrument, the one that he took into taverns and alehouses. Janin had already begun to crankthe handle of his hurdy-gurdy, and now Adam started to pipe a tune, while Philip tapped out the beat. Charlie stood watchingthem all open-mouthed.

When they re-joined the Irishman, Jack set his pack on the floor and took up a large cylinder of leather. Grinning, he untied a buckle and withdrew a large bodhran and stick. He setit on his knee, his head bent as he listened to the tune, and then nodded once and began to beat the drum. Yet he didn’t usethe simple rhythm of the others, but instead beat at double the pace, thundering on the skin as though he was galloping whilethe others ambled. And he could vary the sound by pressing on the back of the skin, so that it sounded more firm and powerful,or taut and crisp.

‘You’re called Jack, you say?’ Ricard said as they finished.

‘Yes. What do you think?’

‘I think we need to talk before making a firm decision,’ Ricard said, glancing at the others as he spoke.

Jack nodded and told them he would wait to hear their decision — he would be outside. He stood and walked from the room withoutonce looking back, to Ricard’s annoyance; he would have preferred even a brief sign of doubt. This man appeared to have thearrogance of a bishop.

‘Well?’ Philip asked.

‘He can play,’ Ricard admitted.

‘Play? He beat the shite out of Peter’s playing. I miss Peter, but God’s teeth!’ Adam contributed. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, butI can’t lie. I miss Peter, but Jack is better than Peter would ever have been. Did you see how fast his drumming was? I couldhardly see the stick in his hand, it was moving so quickly.’

‘Why is he suddenly here?’ Philip wondered.

‘Who cares? We could do with a decent drummer.’

‘Meaning?’

Adam suddenly realised what he had said. ‘Sorry, Philip. No offence meant; I was thinking of him compared with Peter.’

‘You should remember not to speak ill of the dead,’ Ricard said quickly before an argument could erupt.

‘For my money, we shouldn’t take him,’ Janin said.

‘Why?’ Adam demanded. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, but he’s easily the best I’ve heard in a while, and we could do with someone who can pick upa tune that quickly.’

Janin shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think it’d show much respect for our old companion if we were to replace him so soonafter his death. It hardly shows much feeling for him, does it?’

‘Marg would understand,’ Ricard said. Margaret, Peter’s widow, was sensible enough. She had a good head on her shoulders,and she would know the sort of pressures that were being exerted on them without her husband’s tabor.

‘Marg may, yes — but the problem is not her. It’s him. Jack. Who is he? Where did he come from? He saw us playing, and suddenlyappeared. Just when we lost our main drummer. That to me seems a bit too much of a coincidence.’

‘Oh, come on, Janin!’ Adam scoffed. ‘You trying to tell me that he had some part in killing Peter to join us? Look at us!Who’d want to join in with us unless he was keen on the music? And I have never heard of a man killing a musician to joina band, have you? It’s more normal to join in with some music and see if you fit — just as Jack did just now. No, I say welet him join us. We could do with him, and he’s keen.’

‘Janin?’ Ricard asked. He was watching the hurdy-gurdy player closely.

‘I’m not happy about him. He looks the part, yes, but I just have this odd feeling that he’s not all he makes out to be.’

‘So do I,’ Philip said with a glower at Adam.

‘So it’s two for, two against,’ Adam said.

‘No,’ Ricard said. ‘I agree with Janin. I think we shouldn’t have any new member. And I don’t like the way he just appearedtoday, one day before we leave with the Queen’s party. It seems odd, that. Just think, were something to happen, if he turnedout to be an assassin or something, and tried to kill her, we’d all be taken and tortured as a matter of routine. I don’t want to be crippled because we took a drummer in a hurry.’

‘But he’s the best I’ve heard!’ Adam protested.

‘If he’s so keen to join us, he’ll wait for us to get back. In any case, he may not even want to travel to France. Why shouldhe? He’d probably be more than happy here.’

‘You’ve already introduced him to the Queen,’ Adam pointed out.

‘No. He tagged along while we introduced ourselves. There’s a difference,’ Ricard said. But he hoped the Queen would appreciateit.

Jack the Irishman was waiting outside as they all trooped out, and eyed them briefly before his gaze settled on Ricard.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ricard said. ‘The trouble is, you see, we’re off tomorrow, and the idea of taking on someone new just now isa bit hard. When we’re back, maybe? Look, tell us where we can find you, and we’ll look out for you when we’re back.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I can find you,’ Jack said, smiling. He shrugged. ‘It’s a pity, though. I like your music. You play witha sense of fun — there aren’t many musicians can do that.’

‘Aye, well. Sorry.’ Ricard was suddenly uncomfortable. This man had the most penetrating gaze of anyone he’d ever met. ‘Right,well, we’d best be off, then. Packing the last odds and sods.’

‘Oh? I thought this was all your stuff,’ Jack said, glancing pointedly at their packs. When his gaze rose to Ricard again,there was a small smile at the edges of his mouth.

‘Goodbye. Godspeed, and maybe we’ll see you when we’re back,’ Ricard said uncomfortably.

Baldwin saw the little group of musicians and a small boy crossing the yard, but thought nothing of them. He was consideringSir Charles’s words and trying to find any comfort he could. There was little enough, he had to conclude. He was riding to a dangerous foreign land with a lord whoseallegiance was probably to the King alone, with two knights who were simple mercenaries who were most likely in the pay ofSir Hugh le Despenser, an evil man whom Baldwin had cause to despise, and with Sir Charles, who would sell his mother, ifhe hadn’t already done so. And all these were with him to protect the Queen, a lady who clearly needed all the aid Baldwincould provide, but was the undoubted enemy of Despenser and was presently as good as estranged from her husband. The onlyreason she was being entrusted with this embassy was that her brother was the French king.

He grunted to himself. It was not the most cheerful of reflections, he told himself. And there was one other aspect to thislitany of woe: his position as a renegade Templar.

In his early years he had been as devout as any pilgrim, and when he was old enough he took a ship and sailed to the HolyLand to protect the last Christian toehold: Acre. He nearly died there, and it was the Templars who rescued him and savedhis life. For that, as soon as he was fit again, he had willingly given his life to the service of the Order. When the Orderwas rounded up on Friday 13 October during the first year of the King’s reign, he had been away on Templar business, and escapedthe mass arrests and torture. As such, he was a renegade, and if found he could be executed immediately.

Ach, it was little enough risk. The Templars had been disbanded eleven years ago; the actual arrests were seven years beforethat. It was very unlikely that anyone would still be about in Paris who could recognise him. The chances were he ran thesame risk of being seen and recognised here in London as in Paris. And if the worst came to the worst, he could rely on theprotection of his letters of safe conduct.

Yet it was true that if a priest in the Church recognised him and denounced him, those letters would become useless. Even if he were to escape arrest in France, he would no longer be safein England. There was nowhere where the long arm of the Church could not reach him.

With that grim thought, he turned to make his way back to his room to prepare for the coming day, only to find himself confrontedby a tall man with laughing dark grey eyes set in a face burned brown by the wind and sun. At first, he could only gape. Then:‘Simon! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘The same as you, old friend. I’ve been summoned to aid you in the journey to France.’

Queen’s cloister, Thorney Island

Blaket was already in the little alcove near the gate when Alicia reached it. In her arms she held a lamb’s shank and a skinof good dark wine, and she proffered her gifts before allowing him to take her in his arms again.

With his face buried in her neck, he said, ‘I hate to think of those musicians being near to you.’

‘I could wish I hadn’t told you about them,’ she replied. ‘It makes you so grim, my heart.’

‘If anyone tries to harm you, I shall stop them,’ he said firmly.

‘Do not worry. The man who tried it wasn’t there.’

‘No?’

‘Apparently he was drowned in the city ditch. De Bouden told me just now. The musicians were considering finding a man totake his place.’

He cuddled her closer, but even as he did so he grew aware of a stiffness about her body. ‘What?’

‘The man in the ditch — that wasn’t you, was it? You didn’t kill him because of what he did to me?’ She stood upright, hereyes fixed on him with an immeasurable concentration. He had killed before, as she knew.

‘You think I did that?’

‘Did you?’

‘No. It was not me,’ he said.

‘Good,’ she said, and appeared to melt into his embrace again.

‘Perhaps it’d be best if they stayed behind?’ he wondered.

‘Why, love, are you jealous because they can wind an instrument? Would you prefer that to me? Because you have me, don’t you?’

He grunted and placed his hands on her backside, pulling her nearer. ‘In that case, they can do what they like,’ he said.‘I’m content!’

New Palace Yard, Thorney Island

It was some little while later that Ricard and the others separated for the afternoon. They each had different tasks to undertakebefore they left in the morning. For his part, Ricard wanted to make sure that he had provisions — smoked sausages for thejourney, some dried meats, and plenty of gut for his strings. A musician never knew where he’d be able to pick up the nextsupply. And now he had an extra mouth to think of, he thought to himself, glancing down at the boy.

‘You the musician?’ a man asked.

Turning to him, Ricard found himself confronted by yet another messenger in the King’s livery. ‘Yes? What now?’

‘You are to come with me.’

Sweet Mother of Christ, these flunkies always think that their business is so bloody vital, Ricard said to himself as he tookthe boy’s hand and followed the man round the side of the great hall and in through a small door. He was taken through anotherhall, through a little door and up some stairs until he had no idea where he was inside the palace complex. The place mighthave been designed to confuse a body, he thought. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Here.’

A door was opened, and he found himself thrust inside.

‘Sir William?’ he said with some surprise.

William de Bouden was seated at a broad table, his fingers steepled before him. ‘Ah, Ricard de Bromley. And you …’ headded, looking pointedly at Charlie. ‘Well, good day to you. Are you prepared for your departure tomorrow?’

‘Well, there are one or two matters. Mostly ready, yes.’

‘I have heard you were speaking to a servant. A drummer.’

‘The Irishman? Yes, we made some music with him.’

‘He is very good, I understand.’

‘Good enough,’ Ricard agreed, thinking of the rapid drumming of the bodhran. But then he frowned. What was this about? Whywould de Bouden wish to speak about the Irishman when he had so many other matters to concern him, not least the safety ofthe Queen?

He was answered immediately. ‘The Queen liked the look of the man. She knows he is respected as a drummer, and would enjoylistening to him during the journey. If you have space, you could bring him with you. Do you have too many men already?’

‘Well, no, I suppose …’

‘That is settled then. The whims of a queen are not to be lightly disregarded, man. You may go now.’

And Ricard found himself outside the door. With a perplexed, ‘Well, ballocks to that!’ he shook his head, wondering why deBouden wanted the man with them. He certainly did not believe the story about the Queen asking for him. There must be anotherreason.

And then he remembered — he hadn’t the faintest idea how to get back outside from here.