‘What of the other deaths?’ Simon asked. ‘The other musicians reckoned you were always out and about when someone died. Is that true?’
‘Yes. And it’s true that I was often away when no one was hurt. But you see, my Lord Mortimer sent me to look after the Queen. And that is what I did. I kept an eye open for her every night while I could.’
‘Even the night Enguerrand de Foix died?’ Baldwin asked sharply.
‘Oh, yes. But I can tell you this: I didn’t see who was there, but I know who wasn’t.’
‘Who?’
‘The man Robert de Chatillon wasn’t, for one. He stayed in his tent. I saw his master leave and walk up the lines to where he died, but no one else came out of his tent.’
‘Did anyone come in from outside the camp, do you think?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I couldn’t swear no one did, but there was another man I did see. He was a little, short man, and I think he was a chaplain. Not the English one, but another fellow. Saw him a couple of times. He was travelling with the Queen’s Chaplain until we reached Pontoise.’
‘Pierre is his name, I think,’ Baldwin said.
Chapter Forty-Two
When Sir Charles returned to the château, there was little warmth in his welcome from Lord Cromwell. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I had thought to bring you a trophy, my lord.’
‘You went off on one of your mercenary jaunts, you mean. You thought only of yourself yet again, and sought money from the traitor. At the same time you left Her Majesty all but unprotected. It was unforgivable!’
‘You say that? If I had found the King’s enemy and brought his body to you, I suppose you would have refused any part of the reward.’
‘Do not accuse me of your own vile greed, man! I am a man of honour. I would not have done anything that could have threatened the Queen!’
‘Truly. How very honourable of you,’ Sir Charles sneered.
‘Do not speak to me in that manner!’ Cromwell hissed.
‘I shall speak to all in any manner I consider suitable, my Lord! I am not your vassal. And while I am here with you, I am still the servant of the King himself. I shall do my duty to him as I see fit.’
‘It is not your duty to him you seek. It’s the filling of your purse. Just like your real master, Sir Hugh le Despenser!’ Cromwell called after him.
Sir Charles hesitated, but then continued on his way. The damned fool! Did he really think that he, Sir Charles of Lancaster, was the friend of Sir Hugh? He was only attempting to avenge Paul, nothing more. The idea that he was even remotely similar to Sir Hugh was ridiculous.
He walked to the chapel and peered inside. Where yesterday there had been only his man’s body lying under a sheet before the altar, now there were three. He had to go to each, lifting the sheet to peer at the man beneath. Two who looked as though they had died in a brawl, and then poor Paul.
‘Old friend, I am sorry,’ he said. Suddenly tears filled his eyes, and he had to kneel at his man’s side as they streamed down both cheeks. ‘I did all I could. I searched for him, but when I found him, it was as it had been for you: he had been following me. And yet he said that you did not die at his hand. He expected me to believe that, Paul. As though I could believe it.’
It was a shaming suggestion. Insulting to think that a man of Sir Charles’s intelligence could be persuaded by such a laughable assertion. Although he had not killed Charles himself when Charles was in his control. That was odd. Sir Charles would have slain him at the first opportunity, and he must have known that. Yet he didn’t return the favour.
No one else could have wanted to kill Paul, though. He had no enemies. And Mortimer had admitted beating him. Still, it was peculiar that he had done nothing to Sir Charles.
Baldwin and Simon were in their room drinking some spiced French ale when Sir Charles came in upon them.
‘I have some news for you, Sir Baldwin.’
‘Yes?’ Baldwin stood and poured Sir Charles a large cup of ale. ‘Please, take your rest here in front of our fire.’
‘I cannot deny that it would be pleasant.’
Simon could tell how affected he was by the death of his man. Sir Charles was pale, and his confidence appeared to have taken a knock. His usual ebullience was replaced with a dulled quiet. There was a quality of stillness about him which was entirely abnormal for him. Now he took the drink and sat on Baldwin’s stool, staring into the flames.
‘Mortimer caught me. Much as he did Paul, I think,’ he said after a long while.
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘Not at all. No. I think he wanted to let me know that he knew what I had been trying to do – to catch and kill him. But he didn’t seek to kill me.’
‘He would think that the French king has had enough of bloodshed during the Queen’s embassy,’ Baldwin reasoned.
‘And that would threaten his own position, were he to extend the embarrassment himself. But why, then, did he kill Paul? And why deny it? I would be proud of capturing an enemy and destroying him. But he did deny it. He stated that he had nothing to do with Paul’s death. I do not understand that.’
‘What did he actually say?’ Simon asked.
‘The main thing he said was that you should look for a treasure.’ Sir Charles frowned, trying to recall the precise words Mortimer had used. ‘He is leaving the city now, and wanted you to know that. He said that the man and woman in London hailed from Normandy. She was a cook’s maid, while her husband was a leather worker. Both were at the Château Gaillard, but they left there and took something with them when they left for London.’
‘Did he say what sort of treasure it might have been?’ Baldwin wondered.
‘He said it was a matter of pride rather than joy,’ Sir Charles said.
‘Pride rather than joy?’ Baldwin repeated. Then his face cleared as he remembered the conversation he had held with Mortimer when he had been caught by the traitor. ‘A boy?’
Simon eyed him narrowly. ‘A boy? Is that what you discussed with Mortimer when you saw him?’
‘Yes. We were talking about our sons.’
‘That is all he told me to say to you,’ Sir Charles said. He stood, tottering a little on legs that were over-tired. ‘I can tell you no more. But Sir Baldwin, can you help me with this riddle? Why would he tell me he had not killed Paul when surely no one else could have done so?’
Baldwin eyed him a moment. ‘Sir Charles, the way Paul was killed, with his belly opened and his guts brought into the open air. Another man was killed in that same way last night or early today. You remember Robert de Chatillon?’
‘Clearly.’
‘He too is dead. A man tried to allege that his murderer was Sir John de Sapy, although he denies it. The man who accused Sir John was an executioner called Arnaud.’
‘The same Arnaud who had a son with the lady at the Château Gaillard,’ Simon breathed. ‘Arnaud said that the boy died, though!’
‘Perhaps he was lying,’ Baldwin said. Suddenly he was in a rush. ‘Sir Charles, I am sorry. I do not think that Mortimer killed Paul. Perhaps it was this same Arnaud? He killed for a living, and he had a desire to continue. He was used to hanging and drawing people. And opening their bellies in this manner is much in the way an executioner would work.’
‘Why would he do that to Paul?’
‘I think he was mad,’ Baldwin said simply. ‘He probably killed Enguerrand de Foix, and Paul and Chatillon. Someone killed them all, for I doubt that there could be another who suddenly chose to murder one or the other. One murderer is enough. There is no need to invent more.’
‘Mad?’
‘He met Paul after Paul had been beaten, and saw an easy target. Perhaps he felt in the right. He was, after all, a man who was committed to the upholding of justice. He saw his own job as being just that: to punish those who stepped outside the law.
If he found someone wandering the streets late at night, he may have felt that killing him was justified.’
‘Where is this murderer?’
‘He is in the chapel now, dead.’
But even as he said it, Baldwin was wondering who the man was who was lying there with him. The man whom Baldwin had prevented from killing Arnaud.
Saturday following Good Friday23
Baldwin and Simon were about early, walking in the yard, when they saw Ricard and Charlie. Janin and Philip were nearby, playing idly on their instruments, and Charlie was dancing, crouching low, then springing up to his full height. He clearly thought he was leaping high into the air, but in reality his feet never left the soil. Meanwhile his right arm moved back and forth like Janin’s, up and down, up and down.
‘Ricard,’ Baldwin said as they passed. ‘Be very careful of him. There are some, I believe, who may want to hurt or kill him.’
‘What, Charlie?’ Ricard said with amazement. ‘You said that before – but who’d want to hurt him?’
‘I think it was he they wanted to kill when his mother and father died,’ Baldwin said.
Leaving Ricard staring after them with horror, Simon and Baldwin continued on their way to the Queen’s rooms. There was a specific location, to the left of her door, which was perfectly positioned to catch the morning sun. As it crept up over the outer curtain wall, the light first struck the great hall’s wall and then slipped past and hit here, and by the time the two friends reached the spot they were in the full glare of the morning sunshine. It was delightful to be able to sit and absorb a little of it.
‘You see, Simon, I think that the killings, both those in England and the ones here in France, all have the same root. And I believe that all have been ordered by the same agency.’
‘One man killed all of them?’
‘Not necessarily – although it is possible. However, one man has, I think, ordered them all killed.’
Baldwin was silent suddenly, peering across the yard, and when Simon looked in the same direction, he saw Earl Edmund strolling about. ‘Him?’ Simon asked.
‘No. I do not think so. There are some aspects which I still find confusing, though. Let us speak to him.’
The Earl was glad to be called. He had spent much of the previous night musing over his actions in the past, wondering what he might achieve in the future. All in all, it was a depressing reflection.
After the farcical war in Saint-Sardos, when he had been summarily ejected from Guyenne by the French forces, he had been treated with contempt and disdain by the King his brother. Despenser had placed him in an impossible position, refusing to respond to his urgent pleas for resupply of men and matériel, until his forces had been destroyed. Since then, the King had made it clear that he was not welcome at court, and he had begun to do all he could to ruin Despenser. Not that he had met with much success.
Coming here to France to bring messages for the Queen had seemed a good idea at first, but since getting here he’d started to wonder whether the Despenser had an ulterior motive in suggesting that he should come. Perhaps it was part of his scheme to remove him from the King’s household for a while so that Sir Hugh could plot something else to embarrass him. And then again, maybe it was to make sure that Edmund would have a chance to meet Mortimer.
When dealing with a man like Despenser, it was hard to see where his mind was going. All too often, you only learned what he had planned for you when his plan came to fruition, and you found to your disadvantage that he had succeeded.
It was a welcome interruption to his musings when he saw Sir Baldwin stand and bow in his direction. The invitation was plain enough, and he nodded and made his way to join the pair.
‘Good day to you, Sir Baldwin. Bailiff.’
‘My lord, would you mind if we asked you some questions?’
‘I do not think so. It will distract me.’
‘You are troubled?’
‘I have matters that concern me.’
‘Tell me, you met the musicians in London originally, did you not?’
Earl Edmund shuddered. ‘I did.’
‘My lord earl, they have told us about that, and I have to advise you that they did not kill the man and woman in Lombard Street. But tell me, what were you doing there yourself?’
‘I wanted to persuade them to join the Queen’s entourage, but when I got there and found the bodies, I was not sure …’
‘Who suggested them to you?’
‘It was Jack. I knew that he was a member of Mortimer’s group, and he told me that he had checked out the men. However, he assured me that they’d not killed …’
‘They did not,’ Baldwin said with certainty.
‘I didn’t think they had. It was clear that they were appallingly hungover, and when I found them, all were sleeping out in the yard. If they had murdered the people of the house, they wouldn’t have gone to sleep in the rain outside, would they? Anyway, just from their reaction it was plain to me that they didn’t do it.’
‘Who did, then? They all thought it was you.’
‘Me? Ha. No, the couple were dead when I got there.’
‘Who, then, told you to go there?’
‘Sir John de Sapy. He was helping me, and he said that I should meet the musicians there.’
‘Sir John?’ Simon blurted. ‘But he’s no friend to you! He’s with Despenser.’
‘Sir John? But I trusted him!’ Earl Edmund’s face transformed into a grimace of disgust. ‘That prickle has snared John as well? Is there no one immune to his infection? Dear Jesus!’
‘I thank you for your honesty,’ Baldwin said. ‘But I fear that there is little you can do to protect yourself against the man. He has an astonishing ability to cause mayhem wherever he goes.’
‘You hardly need to tell me that.’
Chapter Forty-Three
It was at the middle watch of the day when Père Pierre arrived at the château and asked mildly whether he could see Sir Baldwin.
‘Sir Baldwin, the King has asked me to come here and answer your questions.’
The knight was unable to conceal his feelings. His eyes were bright with anger as he took in Pierre’s features, but the priest met them without blinking. He had no need to concern himself with this man’s feelings. His duty was to a higher master.
‘You are Père Pierre from Pamiers?’ the knight asked him.
‘Well, I originally come from a little way outside. My family name is Clergue. But I became known as “Pamiers” because that is where I worked with my dear bishop, Jacques Fournier. We were there for some years.’
‘What were you there?’
‘A clerk. I was set the duty of saving the souls of heretics. Have you heard of the Waldensians?’
A second man, whom he recognised as the bailiff, had joined them now, and was leaning against a wall with his arms folded. He shook his head, and Baldwin had to explain.
‘They followed a man called Waldes, who came from Lyons, I think. He was a little insane. He wanted the Bible translated into the common tongue so all could understand it. Preachers took up his teaching and began to spread his words.’
‘Yes. They were all snared by his foul lies. He wanted to destroy the Church. So the Pope had no choice, and declared all those who followed his teachings to be heretics. Jacques Fournier and I went down to Pamiers to bring men back to their senses.’
‘Tell me: how many were fortunate enough to die in the process?’ Simon asked nastily.
‘Jacques was always a thorough man. He killed only very rarely, when the criminal was obdurate. His patience was exemplary,’ Père Pierre said, allowing a trace of asperity to enter his voice.
‘I am sure you are right,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘And you were the man who took notes during the interrogations?’
‘I was fortunate enough to be able to help him from the time when he first arrived there. I had already been there with Bishop Pelfort de Rabastens, you see, but he had quarrelled with his canons, and all his time was taken up with disputes. It was only when he left – about eight years ago – that Jacques ar
rived and set up his own inquisitorial office together with the Dominican brother Gaillard de Pomiès. From then I began to take all the records.’
‘You were already there?’ Simon asked. ‘Did you know the man called Jean who tried to kill Arnaud?’
Père Pierre was frankly shocked by that news. ‘It cannot be – you mean he has come all the way here?’
‘Yes. We know that he was a guard at the Château Gaillard. Did you know him before that?’
‘He was in the service of the Comte de Foix.’
‘That same man who died on the journey here?’ Baldwin said.
‘His father, who is dead now, God bless his soul,’ Pierre said, rapidly crossing himself. ‘Count Robert died at Courtrai, God bless him!’
‘Jean was in the garrison, wasn’t he? When Berengar went mad.’
‘Yes. He had been held in Pamiers because he displayed a wanton disregard for the honour of the bishop. He was held, while his heretical views were examined, and then he was allowed to leave, so long as he wore the star of the heretic.’
‘But he didn’t stay there?’
‘Arnaud had been there at the same time, and Arnaud picked him to help at the château.’
‘Were you involved up there too?’ Simon asked.
Pierre glanced at him. He remained leaning against the wall, but he was frowning for some reason. ‘I was often up there in my capacity as chaplain.’
‘To see the Lady Blanche?’ Baldwin snapped.
‘On occasion. I took messages to her.’
‘Did you see her child?’
‘Child?’ Pierre could not help his voice rising. These fools had learned about her child!
‘You know about him, then. Was that the reason you went to London and killed them both?’
‘I have not been to London.’
‘You were there with Sir John de Sapy. You see he has already told us much.’
‘I do not know …’
‘Her name was Thomassia, wasn’t it? That is what the musicians thought, anyway. And her husband was Guy. Both were from the château. I think that they were aware of something about the lady who was installed there. As were the men of the garrison. So you and Arnaud were told to remove all the evidence. You were told to see that all the men there were killed.’
The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover: (Knights Templar 24) Page 41