The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover: (Knights Templar 24)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘At night, you mean? He says he’s got a woman, doesn’t he?’ Philip said. He was not convinced. ‘That man in London said he was spying on the Queen. I think he was telling the truth there. Jack’s dangerous.’

  ‘So you do think he’s a Despenser man? That evil bastard! Christ alone knows what Despenser will do with anything he can learn about her, poor lady. She is always kind to us.’

  ‘Yes. Now shut up! Do you want him to hear you?’

  Adam was silent for a moment. ‘Why’d he want us here, though? If he was going to kill Peter to get a place with us, so he was going to be here in any case, why would he need to tell us he was going to spy?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s not so stupid as some,’ Philip grated. ‘Now shut up!’

  ‘Well, it makes little sense to me, that’s all I’m saying. Mind you, I never trusted him. Always dodgy, I thought.’

  ‘Hush!’ Philip had stiffened, and now he stretched his neck, head to one side, listening intently. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  ‘Oh. Oh, shit!’ Adam said mournfully. ‘I’ve never—’

  ‘Shut up, or I’ll kill you myself!’ Philip hissed.

  Steps outside in the passageway. Not one pair, though; it was two men. One was familiar, and Philip was convinced that it was Jack – he recognised that pause between each footfall, while the arrogant prickle swaggered like a man-at-arms. The other, though, was unfamiliar. It wasn’t Janin or Ricard, he was sure enough of that. But no one else tended to come up here where the musicians had their room. Who on—

  The door was thrown wide, and Jack walked in quickly, another man behind him moving to Philip’s right as soon as the two men were inside. Neither had knife or sword at the ready, but neither seemed to think they were necessary.

  ‘Ah, Philip. My old friend. I think you have met my companion? He told me you would be here. He’s come to help us. I told you the Queen was in danger, and he’s heard the same. So there’re going to be more of us to keep an eye on things. That’ll be nice to know, won’t it?’

  And he smiled easily at them both. Not that they were looking at him. They were staring at his companion.

  The man from the glover’s house.

  The Queen was in her room when de Bouden tapped on the door. She looked up from her book, and seeing him, she closed it gently as he bent in an elaborate bow.

  ‘There is much sense in books like this, William.’

  ‘My lady?’ He peered closely. It was a great book bound in white leather, which he recognised immediately. The Queen was well known to be fascinated with the stories of King Arthur. No man could be in her presence for even a short while without sensing her attraction to the stories of the old English king.

  ‘I have another book. Do you know the story of Aimeri de Narbonne?’

  ‘I fear I have not had the pleasure of hearing it,’ he said, hoping that soon she might tell him to stand straight again. His back was beginning to complain.

  ‘Lady Ermengarde, Aimeri’s wife, complained when he decided to send his sons out into the world to seek their fame and fortune. She couldn’t bear to lose all her children. Yet children have to grow up, don’t they, William?’

  ‘Why, yes, Majesty.’

  ‘Even my boys will become men some day. Edward is close to adulthood already.’

  ‘Um. Yes.’

  ‘The thing is, because she complained, Aimeri beat her. And you know what she did? She prayed to God to bless him and his arm for so sensibly bringing her back to reason. Naturally she was only a woman and mustn’t question her husband’s decision. She even asked him to beat her more so that she could be reminded of her place. What do you think of that, William?’

  He had not been her clerk and comptroller for years without seeing the danger of responding. Instead, indicating with an inarticulate mutter that his back was giving him gip, he waited.

  ‘Oh, stand up straight, William. Staying bent like that will break your back. Well, I think that the man who wrote that story was a fool. If he seriously thought that a woman would make a comment like that when her man was beating her, he had no brain whatever. She was being sarcastic. Does a woman have no say in how a man may treat her sons? Even if she is noble-born herself?’

  William gave a wary smile. ‘Your Majesty, you have to understand that the man has the responsibility for protecting the family and seeing to it that his sons can make their mark in the world. If he did not seek to ensure that the sons would forge their own way, the wife might make them stay at home, and that would not help them to honour God with their great deeds, would it?’

  ‘You think that all women merely want to cosset their little boys? I would endeavour to look after my youngsters, and that is quite right. It is the duty of a woman to be maternal. But to suggest that she would willingly acquiesce when he beat her … it is obscene.’

  ‘The Lady Ermengarde would see that her punishment fitted her offence. A woman should not question her man’s decisions, after all. A wife should honour and obey her husband.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘While he is in his right mind, your highness.’

  She gave a short grin, as cynical and unhappy as any he had ever seen on her face. ‘Well, as the daughter of a king, married to another king, I would protect my children against any threat I perceived, and would not willy-nilly obey a foolish command. Nor would I submit to being beaten. Never!’

  William had never seen her quite so discomposed. It was natural for her to be upset on occasion, and he had seen her in tears before, when her husband had snubbed her, ignored her, or simply behaved as though she was no more important than one of the servants in his kitchens. That was normal enough. This, though, this was different.

  ‘Your highness?’

  ‘I wish to meet him again.’

  ‘Who?’

  She looked at him very directly. There was no one else in the room, other than her blonde maid, Alicia. ‘You know. The Peacock.’

  His heart sank. It was days since he had last been told to find Mortimer and deliver a message. ‘Your Majesty, that would be rather dangerous now. Have you heard of the man killed out at the front of the castle?’

  ‘Do you think me deaf and stupid? Of course I have heard. It was a man-at-arms, Sir Charles’s servant, wasn’t it? So what?’

  ‘The man was hunting the Peacock. He and Sir Charles were intending to bring him to bay and capture him so that they could take his head to the King.’

  ‘How foolish. It would take more than two men to do that. The Peacock is a wary fighter. As that man has learned, I suppose.’

  ‘But how can I bring him here to you again? Before, it was easier. Now there will be men all over the place, trying to ensure your safety. If I bring him here, there will be many who will seek to kill him,’ William protested. ‘The knights are all men who desire money, your highness. They will be keen to catch him and show their devotion to the King by executing him. He is a traitor, after all. And Sir Charles will egg them on. From all I’ve heard, he is most anxious to have revenge on the man who killed his man-at-arms.’

  ‘You will speak to the Peacock and arrange for him to meet me here this evening as dark falls. Do this for me.’

  ‘Your highness,’ he agreed miserably.

  Sir Charles had left the chapel a little while before, just as all the servants were making their way to the hall for their lunchtime meal, but he didn’t follow them. He was not even remotely hungry. The idea of food did not occur to him. There was nothing he desired. All his attention was fixed upon the one aim: finding the man who had killed his servant and seeing him die.

  There was no doubt in his mind who was responsible. Roger Mortimer had realised that Paul was following him, and had killed him. No one else could have wanted him dead. So Sir Charles would see Mortimer sent on his way to hell, and would take his head himself.

  Mortimer must have plenty of men of his own in the area, to have been able to catch Paul. Paul had been badly beaten up, and so surely the t
raitor must have had many fellows at his back. Otherwise, Paul would have been able to defend himself. Sir Charles had little doubt about that. Paul had been an excellent fighter.

  Yes, a good fighter. Sir Charles had seen him in one battle defend himself against three men, and he despatched them quickly when he saw that some other scrote was trying to make off with his horse as he fought. Then there was that time in the tavern here in France. A lad had stumbled over Sir Charles’s foot, hurting his toe, and as a result they’d been drawn into a fight with a whole group of peasants. It was Paul who killed most of them, another man they only met that day killed one more, and when they left the inn it was Paul who remembered the boy who’d started all the trouble, and went back to kill him too. He would not leave unfinished business, Paul. An excellent man-at-arms. The best squire Sir Charles had ever had.

  ‘Christ’s pain, but I miss him!’ he moaned. He was in a corridor in the main castle – but he didn’t know how he’d reached it. He must have been walking in a dream. Christ’s bones, but that was worrying. If he could wander about like that, not even paying attention to his surroundings, then he was in a worse state than he had already thought. He needed to concentrate, to keep his mind set on his purpose. There was no earthly point in his finding Mortimer, only to be slain by the bastard because he was distracted from the task at hand. That way lay death.

  ‘Sir Charles. I was sorry to hear about your man. I know you’d been with him for a long time, eh?’

  It was Sir Peter de Lymesey. The tall knight stood nearby, peering over at Sir Charles with his slightly hooded eyes, much like a hawk. He was not a demonstrative man. More a knight who would do anything he needed to protect himself. Someone who might help for money, too, Sir Charles thought suddenly. As was Sir John de Sapy. And both could fight well. They’d proved that over the years.

  If he was to attempt to capture and kill Mortimer, he would need men capable of fighting.

  ‘Sir Peter, I have a proposal for you.’

  Philip and Adam walked into the bar area with feet that felt like lead.

  ‘There you are,’ Janin said cheerily. ‘Want some ale?’

  ‘He told me what you were planning,’ Ricard said sourly. ‘Are you both mad? If we couldn’t jump him all together, how in God’s name did you think you’d be able to—’

  ‘We weren’t going to just jump him. We were going to knock him on the head once and for all,’ Philip admitted.

  ‘So you were going to waylay him and stab him to death? Here in the castle with the whole of the Queen’s retinue on hand? Ingenious!’ Ricard said witheringly.

  ‘Trouble was, he turned up with some other bastard in tow. The two together made it impossible.’

  ‘How so, Philip? And you so brave!’ Janin said lightly.

  ‘He said someone warned them. Who knew? Only you!’ Philip snarled.

  He reached across the table to grasp Janin’s shirt, but missed as Janin leaned back, and then, while Philip was still across the table, Janin gripped his outstretched fist and laid the point of his little knife at Philip’s throat. ‘Don’t try to hit me, Philip. I really don’t like it.’

  ‘Let go of me!’

  Suddenly there was a loud wail. All of them had forgotten Charlie, but now he crouched in the corner of the room, his ball forgotten as he stared at Janin and Philip with eyes full of terror.

  ‘Shite! You bastards cool down,’ Ricard said, and went to the lad.

  Janin nodded, and held on a moment longer, his eyes fixed on Philip’s, but then he pushed the man’s hand away.

  Ricard took up Charlie, cuddling him close, pressing the lad’s head into his shoulder with a face that was torn with grief. ‘Are you two mad? Are you all going lunatic? What is all this, eh? We’re musicians, not brawlers in a tavern. We’re mates, aren’t we? We’re the Queen’s Men, in Christ’s name! What are you two doing? Look how little Charlie boy reacts when you do that, will you? He’s had enough grief, hasn’t he?’

  ‘It’s partly because of him,’ Philip said.

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘The man with Jack. It was the man from his house in London,’ Philip said with a nod towards the boy. ‘Your friend, the man who suggested we should come here with the Queen. He was there, with Jack. Jack is his man.’

  ‘We knew that. He had the mark of the bloody peacock, didn’t he?’ Ricard snapped. ‘What of it?’

  ‘I want to know who he is. But I want to know who told him we’d be looking to get Jack, too. Jack said his friend knew we’d be there. So who told him, eh, Janin?’

  ‘Not me,’ Janin declared. ‘Did you discuss killing Jack in the street? In a tavern? Where?’

  ‘In the quiet. We’re not stupid!’

  ‘Well, I told only Ricard, no one else. Why’d we want to go to the man who got us into this mess? You must have been overheard by someone.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me to say it, but that man is responsible for Peter’s death,’ Adam said. ‘I never liked Jack, but you wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, you prickle! You were the one who demanded that we should take him on, and don’t ballock about it now. It’s your fault he’s here!’ Janin said.

  ‘Me? I never—’

  ‘Adam, just belt up or I’ll shut you up myself,’ Ricard snapped. ‘Christ Jesus! I’ve had enough of this! You lot had best calm yourselves and remind yourselves who it is who pays your upkeep while we’re here. Just leave Jack alone, and we can play our music. It’s what we’re here for.’

  ‘But what if he’s here to try to kill the Queen?’ Adam said. ‘We know he wants to spy on her. What if it’s more serious than that?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Janin said. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

  ‘If he killed the man last night, there’s no knowing who else he might kill,’ Adam said, wide-eyed and earnest. ‘He’s a madman, a murderer. For God’s sake, if we don’t tell her, what’ll she think if he’s caught red-handed? She’ll have us all hanged for his crimes. You want that? I certainly don’t.’

  ‘Then what do you propose we should do?’ Ricard demanded sourly. ‘Run away?’

  ‘At least try to tell her. Tell her comptroller, or someone, so we can show we did our best to warn her before the next man dies. All we have to do is say that he’s been off walking about the place when someone died. That fellow last night. Jack wasn’t in his bed when he was killed. Let’s just tell the comptroller. If he doesn’t tell the Queen, then it’s his fault, not ours.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Baldwin and Simon returned to the castle a short while after lunch had been served, but Simon managed to find a sergeant-cook and acquire some bread and a small cheese. These he and Baldwin shared out in the court, for the day was growing warm, with a clear sky and the sun shining as though it was summer already.

  ‘Sir Baldwin – I am glad to see you again.’

  Baldwin looked up to find himself being studied by Earl Edmund of Kent. The sight was not appealing. The Earl was not the keenest mind in the realm, and had attempted to plot the removal of Despenser earlier in the year. In the event, the Despenser had triumphed, as he tended to. Sir Hugh le Despenser had a sharp mind and a committed, absolute ruthlessness. It was that facet of his nature that made him such a dangerous foe. Earl Edmund detested him for his lackadaisical response when the former had been in charge of the King’s men in Guyenne the previous year, and Despenser had been responsible for support and resupply. He still blamed Despenser for the speed with which the Agenais was overrun.

  He gathered his thoughts. ‘My lord earl, it is good to see you again. What makes you travel all this way?’

  ‘It is always good to be reminded of one’s inadequacy. I think that is why I’m here. There were messages to be given to the Lord John Cromwell, and someone had to bring them. I confess, the idea of leaving England’s unhappy shores was appealing.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Baldwin said.
‘It must be very difficult for you.’

  ‘You can have no idea! Bloody Despenser rules all now.’

  Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance. The man’s voice dripped with poison.

  ‘Still, I suppose the truce is holding for the time being?’ the cad asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. We hope it will not be too long before we can pack our belongings and set off homewards again.’

  ‘I hope so. The King is keen to have the embassy finished and returned to our shores. I think he is unhappy because of the cost of maintaining this mission. It is an extravagant expense, but then, I told him, the lands we’re talking about are worth more than England. It is worth being a little extravagant to win them back.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Not that the idea pleases Despenser, of course. But nothing much does.’

  Baldwin said cautiously, ‘I suppose he must be careful of not over-stretching the King’s budget.’

  ‘More likely he’s nervous that the King will be told to hie him over here. If that happens,’ he continued, scratching at his nose pensively, ‘Despenser will have a fit of the vapours, I think. The idea of being left alone in England with all those nice, gentle barons whom he has insulted, denigrated and downtrodden for the last three or four years would make him anxious as hell, I’d imagine.’

  Baldwin and Simon said nothing. This was the sort of dangerous conversation that could cost a man his livelihood, family, lands, wealth and life.

  The Earl sniffed absently, gazing about him. ‘My sister-in-law – is she about here somewhere? I suppose I ought to make my compliments to her. How has she been?’

  ‘She has her own rooms. Would you like me to show you to her?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘No. For a little I should enjoy a chance to wander about here in wanton idleness. I find that I am good at being idle. There are skills even for men such as me. You didn’t say how she was?’

  ‘I am sure she is well enough, but she will be grateful to see a friendly face.’