Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

‘He succeeded there, yes,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But he sowed the problem that is beginning to fruit even now. Isn’t that so, Bishop?’

‘The King captured many, Lady Jeanne,’ Bishop Walter said, and nodded. ‘But the simple truth is, his actions afterwards left all those who received his blast of anger with a simmering rage. He took many knights, lords and even the Earl of Lancaster, his own cousin, and executed them. Others he impoverished by taking their castles, their lands, their treasure. I tried at the time to propose that he should show some compassion, especially for the poor women who suffered so much. The widows of his enemies were treated with appalling cruelty. He took all their property, even the dowers which they themselves brought to their marriages. All was removed and used to bolster the King’s coffers. Is it any surprise that many resent his behaviour, when he could be so harsh to them? And these same men, whom he deprived of livelihood and wealth, are wanderers now. They have no homes, no fixed dwellings. So if they decide to turn wolfshead and become outlaw, no one knows where they live. The whole nation is beginning to tear itself apart. When a land loses the benefit of the rule of the law, it grows ungovernable.’

‘You surely don’t truly believe that!’ Jeanne said quietly.

‘What will you do?’ Baldwin asked as the Bishop frowned at the mazer of wine in his hand.

‘I will do all I can to ensure that the realm is well governed, to protect the King, and to serve my diocese,’ Bishop Walter said.

‘When will the Queen return?’ Baldwin asked. He had been sent with his friend, Simon Puttock, to France to guard the Queen on her journey to see the French King.

‘She should be returning any time soon, I imagine,’ the Bishop said. ‘If not now, then when the King travels to Paris; he will no doubt bring her back. It is plain enough that she can achieve little there on her own. She has done her best, I suppose.’

‘The King will travel there?’ Jeanne asked.

‘He must go and perform his homage to his liege lord, the same as any other man,’ the Bishop said with a faint hint of acid in his tone. ‘Some men think that they need not comply with the wishes of their masters, but it is better that they realise sooner rather than later what their duties require. And the King holds his territories in Guyenne and the Agenais from the French King. If he wishes to retain his lands over there, he must pay homage. It is clear.’

‘Because the French King has the larger host,’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes. He has more knights and men-at-arms,’ the Bishop agreed, but without an answering smile.

‘Will you go with him?’ Jeanne asked.

‘Me? My dear Lady, I am too old to wander about the land of France. It is enough for me to make a lengthy journey across my diocese — and more than enough to have to attend the King’s councils. I seek no more long journeys, by land or by sea!’

Louvre, Paris

The Procureur stood in the chamber again where the man had been killed.

‘What was he doing in here? Why was he not taken to the Cardinal’s chamber?’

The servant shrugged. ‘If the man was unknown to the Cardinal, why should our master wish to see him?’

‘Philippe, you have a point. But why bring him up here ?’ the Procureur repeated. There was no reason for it. This room was not even on the same floor as the Cardinal’s chamber.

‘What is this room usually used for?’ he asked suddenly.

‘It was used by a clerk, but he died last year, and it has remained empty ever since, I think. Why?’

‘It intrigues me.’

Jean cast an eye all over the place from his vantage point near the door, and then he moved inside, inspecting the plain walls, the simple roof. There was nothing out of the ordinary or hidden here, he quickly decided.

Perhaps there was something about the location of the chamber, then, that was significant. Jean went outside again and looked up and down the quiet corridor.

‘Philippe — how well do you know this area?’

‘I have hardly ever come up here. It’s not a part of the castle I have been asked to go to.’

‘I see,’ Jean said, and swore to himself. It was a problem, clearly, that this part of the castle was so quiet. It had made it harder to find a witness to the arrival of the man. It would also serve to make it difficult to …

‘I am the king of fools!’ he said suddenly.

Saturday before the Feast of Mary Magdalen *

Lydford, Devon

In his own property, Simon Puttock, lately Bailiff to the Stannaries of Dartmoor, and more recently the representative of the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth, until the Keeper’s death, breathed in deeply as he drained his first quart of ale that morning, sitting on his chair in front of the fire, feeling the warmth seeping into his body.

The previous evening had been unseasonally cool, and he was happy to be here — all the more so because when he went out for an early morning ride, a brief shower of rain had left him sodden and uncomfortable. He was painfully aware that he smelled like a drowned ewe, and was keen to have his clothes dried. Worse, earlier in the year a bully called William atte Wattere, working for Sir Hugh le Despenser, had assaulted him, cutting him about the left shoulder and hand. Both wounds still stung, although they seemed to be mending. However, as he looked about him in his hall, he had to reflect that he had known worse mornings.

His wife squatted near him, adding wood to the faggots on the fire. Her rounded figure was straining against the material of her simple tunic, her fair hair already straying from her wimple.

‘You know, Meg, life is good,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘All I need now is a good woman to sit on my lap, and …’

He lunged, but Margaret had already squeaked and darted out of arm’s reach. ‘You have work to get on with,’ she objected.

‘No. I am without work.’

‘Until you know who has won at the Abbey, you have little to do for the monks, you mean. There is plenty to be getting on with here, and as soon as they make up their minds …’

‘They already have,’ Simon growled. ‘That is the trouble. Robert Busse has decided that he has won the abbacy, and John de Courtenay has too. It makes it all a little difficult to see who will actually take the throne. Meanwhile, the abbey’s funds are all taken by the King while they battle it out. The pair of them must be mad.’

‘That’s not fair. You know full well that the one who is causing the trouble is John de Courtenay. Robert Busse won the abbacy in a fair election. It’s just that John de Courtenay won’t accept that he lost.’

‘Perhaps, but neither is doing the abbey any good. And meanwhile, here I am, wasting away as the time passes,’ he said mournfully. ‘So come and squirm on my lap, woman!’

‘No!’

He had just attempted an experimental swoop when they were both stilled by the sound of hoofbeats. ‘Oh, Christ’s cods,’ Simon muttered. ‘Does this mean there’s been a decision about the abbacy?’

‘It doesn’t look like an abbey’s messenger,’ Meg said, patting her straying fair hair back under her wimple.

Getting up and walking over to her, Simon admired his woman again. She was five years younger than him, and apart from the natural ravages of time at her face, it was hard to see that she was already some four and thirty years old. Even the three birthings, and the miscarriages between, had not dulled her spirit, nor the shine of her hair, and for the rest he found her body more comfortable now than he did before. He slipped his arms about her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder as he peered through the slats of the unglazed window. ‘The fellow is looking about like a lost man,’ he commented.