‘You do realise how this makes you look, Cook?’ Jean had said sternly.
‘What? Me sleeping there, me having the key to the chest, me being the one who shouted at him most, that sort of thing?’
Jean had grinned slightly at that. ‘Well, yes. Why should I not think you guilty of this crime?’
‘First, if you can find a single man to say that I beat the boys more than they deserve, the man’s a liar; second, do you think I’m stupid enough to kill a boy and then hide him for some days, only bringing him into my own place of work when no one had already found him?’
‘You mean he wasn’t there for long?’
‘I don’t know. But he wasn’t there when the King was still here. The chest was in use all the time until the King left the castle to go to meet his nephew. Ask any of the kitchen staff, they can all confirm that.’
‘I thank you. I shall do so,’ Jean had said.
And now he reflected on all he had heard. There was a great deal to absorb, though, and as the rain began to fall again, he started to hurry his steps.
Since the arrest of Nicholas the Stammerer, he had for some days walked cautiously with Stephen behind him, but in the last few days his caution had left him. Stephen was behind him, he knew, and that knowledge in itself was enough to make him confident.
Jacquot saw him approach from six hundred yards away. His hearing was not good, but his eyesight was adequate to recognise a man by his gait and bearing from many yards away, and today he recognised his quarry.
He eased himself out of sight in among some shadows at a doorway. The street was becoming quieter as men hurried home to avoid the curfew, and now he saw the Procureur’s servant striding along. A strange man, this, with his vacant expression and loping walk, because Jacquot had heard him talking to his master, and there was clearly a good brain in his head. He probably enjoyed leading others to assume he had little in his skull.
There was no point in killing him. Jacquot’s main ambition was to remove him as a threat. He couldn’t allow him to prevent his assault on the other man, nor to cry out or alert him.
Jacquot waited silently as Jean walked past, head down, and it was not until Stephen passed by him that he sprang out. In his hand was a small leather sack with a clod of earth inside. Jacquot cast a look about him for anyone watching, and then took three swift steps and swung.
At the last moment, Stephen turned and saw him. He was about to shout – he got so far as to open his mouth – to warn his master, when the clod of earth struck his head. His legs wobbled and he toppled.
Jacquot did not stop. He had removed the guard, now his attack was safe. There was a bend in the lane coming up, and he dropped his chin, hurrying his pace, eyes fixed upon the target. Jean was a dark blur in the distance. A torch was alight at the corner, where a tradesman felt anxious about waylayers in the entrance to an alley, and the Procureur walked around the light, staring into the alleyway, aware of dangers.
There was another torch at the next entry, and Jacquot hurried his steps, bouncing high to reduce the sound of his approach. Jean appeared to pay no attention, but as they came close to the next alley, he walked away from the entrance again, staring in for any danger there.
He would never have seen Jacquot, who slid in between his back and the opposite wall, never have noticed the quick flash of the blade, and possibly, very possibly, he was dead before his brain had realised that the blade had been thrust home so expertly. All he knew was that a hand had grasped his breast for an instant, and then the sliver of steel, darkened over a candle flame, pressed down, and there was a sharp pain in his shoulder, his muscles, and then his heart … and Jacquot gripped his body as it collapsed, easing it gently into the shadows. The blade was released, the knife wiped twice, briefly, on Jean’s shirt, and Jacquot muttered the Pater Noster as he watched the trembling of the corpse, listened to the rattling of the heels and heard the snoring of the last breath.
Then Jacquot rose and walked quickly up the lane to the next street. He was content. The job was done and he was about to become considerably wealthier.
Chapter Twenty
Feast of Archangel Michael*
Louvre, Paris
Baldwin and Simon enjoyed a quiet day. They participated in the Mass held in the castle’s chapel, although Baldwin was keen to remove himself afterwards. There were many churches in Paris, he told Simon, and all were more elegant than this one in their appearance, more religious in their devotions, and a damned sight warmer to boot.
There was no doubt that the weather had changed now. Even the Duke wore a thicker tunic and a cloak lined with a band of glorious tan fur. It was that time of year when a man stopped thinking about what might be fashionable, and set his heart on more practical wear.
The Queen was ever religious, of course, and Baldwin was sure that she would be spending her day of rest reading some of the Gospels and remaining quiet until the hour of the meals. Meanwhile, he determined that Simon and he would take their ease among the streets of Paris.
‘It is a great city, this, Simon. One of the very finest the world can show us. All about you there are magnificent buildings, as befits the city of Philip Augustus and Charles Martel. There are few in the world who could equal the exploits of those two.’
‘Who was Charles Martel?’ Simon asked.
‘Martel was a great warrior. It was he who stopped the Moslem invasions of the Christian lands. If not for him, the Saracens might even now rule France, Simon. And if that, what would have prevented them from overrunning England too? He met them in a battle at Tours, which is where they were stopped, and Martel pushed them back until they were over the other side of the Spanish March. Then he turned his attention to the Germans, and fought them until they were kept away over the Weser, and brought safety and stability to the northern borders too. That was all many hundreds of years ago, but we owe our Christian faith to him, in large part. God chose him to protect His lands.’
Simon was wearing a sceptical expression.
‘At all times, the French have been the guardians of our religion,’ Baldwin added helpfully. ‘Philip Augustus was the first Holy Roman Emperor. He conquered all the heathens and created the Christian lands we know today.’
Simon grunted.
‘Come, Simon, at least attempt a display of interest. I have been forced to learn much in order to entertain you today.’
‘Oh, this is new to you?’
‘Not entirely,’ Baldwin grinned.
Simon grimaced. ‘I am worried, Baldwin, and walking about here will not help.’
‘What troubles you? Is it Meg?’
‘Yes. Every moment I spend over here I begrudge. I want to be at home again. I am anxious that she could be in danger, or at the least, fearful of attack from Despenser and his men.’
Baldwin was about to make a comment when there was a loud roar. ‘There you are! I was lookin’ for you both. You going out for a walk about the city? Excellent. I will be with you in a moment.’
‘Sweet Jesus,’ Simon groaned.
‘Do not be so antisocial, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘The good Sir Richard de Welles is a kindly man, and he is a loyal servant, too.’
‘My head has experienced enough misery caused by him already,’ Simon muttered.
‘And he brings our Duke, too,’ Baldwin said.
It was true. As Simon turned to look, he saw the young heir to the throne walking a little in front of Sir Richard. Behind them both was the tutor, Richard of Bury, and a short distance further back, Sir Henry de Beaumont.
‘Had to think of a reason to get the Duke out of that place,’ Sir Richard confided to Simon later. ‘Didn’t want him closeted with that snake de Beaumont. No telling what the man might get up to.’
He was worried, but so was Baldwin. There was a real risk that this embassy to France could be fracturing along a number of lines: those loyal to the Queen, those loyal to the King, those loyal to the King’s son. And in that environment, he was sure, the
only certain loser would be the son.
Sir Henry had fallen back as they walked among the great buildings and crossed the bridge to the Île de la Cité. Here Richard of Bury began to expound on the history of France and of the great cathedral of Notre-Dame. Simon listened with half an ear, Baldwin saw, and gradually he himself fell back until he was next to Sir Henry.
‘Sir Henry, what do you think of this?’ he asked.
‘It is a splendid memorial to that marvellous Lady.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘She must be proud to be so praised. Few women can expect such glory.’
‘Few indeed.’
Baldwin glanced across at him. The knight was quiet, but every so often he cast a sidelong look at Baldwin as though wishing he could speak his mind without fear.
At last, as the Duke and Sir Richard strode on ahead, Richard of Bury drawing their attention to some new decoration or another aspect of the cathedral, Sir Henry de Beaumont said quickly, ‘A word, Sir Baldwin?’
‘If you wish.’
‘There is much wrong with our kingdom. In past times, barons have risen up against their ruler when that ruler became less than deserving of their total support.’
He paused hopefully, clearly anticipating some comment from Baldwin, but the knight merely nodded agreement without speaking.
‘Of course, at the time, many of them were looked upon as disloyal. But there is a higher loyalty, is there not? To the Crown itself, and not to the mere figure of the man who wears it at any particular time. You and I, Sir Baldwin, we have both made our own oaths, have we not? To the Crown and to—’
‘The King. And yes, it is a matter of honour that we uphold those oaths,’ Baldwin said uncompromisingly.
‘Can we? Can you? You know what that man Despenser is doing to people all over the kingdom, Sir Baldwin! Men and women, kidnapped, murdered, their estates broken up, their children orphaned, their inheritances stolen – and all while the King looks on without compassion or care. So long as his friend Sir Hugh le Despenser is safe and happy, he is happy too. Is it any way to rule the nation? The people deserve better, Sir Baldwin. They deserve the rule of law!’
‘And you would impose this rule of law by breaking the most important rule of loyalty? You would impose it by breaking with your King?’ Baldwin said with heat. ‘What kind of rule would you put in its place? A tyranny of another sort, no doubt. What credence can I put in the judgement of a man who would contemplate removal of the legitimate King placed there by God Himself?’
‘You mean you would prefer to see the Despenser there at the seat of government?’
‘Of course not! The man’s insanely avaricious.’
‘His greed is without limit. He will not be satisfied until he has consumed the whole of the kingdom.’
‘Perhaps so, but that is no reason for me to prove disloyal to the King. I will not.’
‘Without the aid of men like you, what will happen to the kingdom? What will there be left for the Duke? What will there be left for the people of our island?’
Sir Henry had stopped now. He was speaking with all the passion and persuasion he could muster, and Baldwin could not stare into his eyes without feeling a compulsion to agree.
He stared up at the cathedral. ‘Sir Henry, our people have lived through the depredations of the Vikings, through the invasion of the Normans, and will survive any number of trials caused by the King and his friends. If you say, do I think that there is a better way to rule, then I would have to agree. If you suggest that the Despenser is uniquely venal and vile, I would have to agree. But if you say that there is only one manner in which the country can be saved, and that it involves removing our King, I would have to reject that. I will not agree to the proposition that a man has a right to rise against his lawfully anointed King. That way lies insanity.’
‘Perhaps. But if it does, it is a more wholesome and rational insanity than the madness which we suffer right now. The rule of law is broken, Sir Baldwin. The men whom Despenser has deprived are wandering, landless, shiftless, and hopeless. They rob and break into homes for food, and the more confident the Despenser grows, the more he steals, and the more wandering men there are with no money, no hope. It is a tragedy for the whole kingdom, Sir Baldwin, and you propose to stand by and watch it unfold, doing nothing to protect those who most need our support?’
‘And whom would you put in the King’s place?’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Another knight who desired an earldom? A knight who desired nothing for himself, so he could be all the more malleable to another hand? Or another? Who would you have sit on the throne and accept a sip from this poisoned chalice?’
‘There is another already.’ Sir Henry’s eyes flicked towards the Duke, standing with Sir Richard and his tutor.
‘You would have that child put on his throne? And who then would hold the power? Oh, you sound so plausible, Sir Henry, but all you suggest is false! A boy of not yet fourteen on the throne of England? He would need a man with great power and authority behind him to maintain the Crown, and that man would have to fight all those who were against him and wanted a return to the old system. You would have the boy risk his life to protect your hide for a few years?’
Now he had come to his point, Sir Henry spoke swiftly. ‘There is a way. If his mother were prepared to protect her son and see that he was given a smooth ride to the throne, then all would be well. I say we should remove the Despenser, and if necessary – only if necessary – remove the King as well, and have the Duke installed under the wise direction of his own mother and a small council. All to govern in the interests of the nation. That would be best.’
‘Of course – if you wish civil war to lay waste to the majority of the island. Are you mad? Do you seriously believe that you can persuade enough barons to agree to this lunacy? You would have war in moments of the boy being placed on the throne.’
‘Do you think we are so foolish, Sir Baldwin—’ Sir Henry began. The words choked him in his throat, and he paused and looked away. When he met Baldwin’s gaze once more, there were tears in his eyes, and he spoke more slowly, more quietly. ‘Do you think that you alone have any honour and integrity? Do you think you possess a monopoly of chivalry? I tell you this, Sir Baldwin, if there was any other way I could see to remove the Despenser and have the realm return to peace, I would wholeheartedly pursue it. If I could believe that the King would rid himself of this canker, I would remain content. If there was some evidence that he would once again return to enjoy the affections of his wife, I would be joyful. In Christ’s name, do you think that I want to ruin the realm? But look at it, Sir Baldwin! I urge you: look at it sensibly! What other action can be taken, than the forcible removal of Sir Hugh le Despenser and, if necessary, the removal of the King himself. The realm is dissolving before our eyes, and you want to quibble about a chivalric ideal!’
‘Do not think to lecture me, Sir Henry!’ Baldwin spat. ‘I was fighting for Christianity against heathens in the Holy Land while you were yet in training with wooden swords! I learned my catechism in the Siege of Acre. I have seen what happens when a kingdom collapses, I have received the buffets of fate already. And you dare to accuse me? I am older than you, and if there is one thing I have learned in my life, it is that it is better to support the ruler, no matter what. As soon as the ruler is toppled, all suffer. And I will not be a part of any alliance which seeks to overthrow the man to whom I have given my oath.’
‘Then may God forgive you, Sir Baldwin. Because I do not think that many others will.’
Later, when the Duke and his tutor and Sir Henry had returned to speak with the Queen, and Simon and Sir Richard had rejoined Baldwin, Simon was surprised to see how sombre he was.
‘Do you feel all right?’
‘I am quite well. But I am fearful.’
‘I thought that was my province,’ Simon said with dry sarcasm.
‘Perhaps today I feel the need of some anxiety of my own.’
‘Was it the whippersnapper?’ Sir Richar
d asked. ‘I saw him havin’ a word all quiet, like, and wondered what that was about.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said quietly. He glanced about him. ‘If the King sought to protect himself and his son by having Sir Henry and others here to serve him, I fear that the ploy has failed.’
There was no need to explain. All three understood the dangers. ‘What does this mean for us?’ Simon asked after a moment.
‘That we may well be entering very dangerous territory, Simon. If there is to be some form of assault on the Crown, all those who have proved loyal to it must inevitably be endangered. And that means you, me, and our families.’
Simon closed his eyes for a moment, lost in his own private fear. He saw in his mind’s eye his home, emptied and desolate, his wife and son on the road with a handcart holding their few possessions … and he saw himself. His head on a spike at London Bridge, along with all those of other men considered traitors. There would be no life of honour for his son. His wife, his lovely Meg, would die in poverty, bemoaning her fate, perhaps blaming her husband for the misery to which she was subjected. There was nothing else for his family, he knew, if he was labelled as a traitor by some new administration.
‘Aye?’ Sir Richard belched. ‘And so what? Eh? Come, Sir Baldwin. You’re old enough to have lived through worse times than this, eh? If some lyin’ bastards try to steal the kingdom, they may succeed, and they may fail, but they won’t bother with the likes of us. They’ll be worrying about all the rich fellows first. Don’t you worry, Bailiff. You’ll be all right too. You’re little better than a churl so far as these mighty lordings are concerned. And you know what they do respect? Loyal service, man. Anyone who tries to take the Crown will want all those like you to be on their side in the future. So, me friends, don’t worry yourselves, but drink up! And let’s have a toast to the stability of government, eh?’
But even as Sir Richard hefted his great quart pot and urged them to do the same, Baldwin saw his true feelings in his eyes. Sir Richard, for all his protestations of ease, was more worried than Simon and Baldwin.
The King of Thieves: Page 20