Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

A clever boy, he rose quickly through the Church, and was educated to a high standard. As a result, he entered a career in the law, and after some years came to the attention of the royal court. Soon he was the King’s most trusted adviser. When there was a hard task, de Nogaret would be called upon to assist. It was he who drew up the spurious accusations against the Jews and had them thrown from the country, their debts all cancelled, the money diverted to the Crown. And then there was the matter of the Templars. It was Guillaume who had drafted the accusations against them. By all accounts, his enthusiasm for persecution of those in the Church knew few bounds. And then he had been sent to Italy, too, to capture the Pope.

Jean picked up his pen again. This was very important, he knew. The full matter of de Nogaret’s son must be recorded, since his father had been responsible for a major incident in the autumn of 1303 — the seizing and punishment of the Pope. It was a shocking affair, of course, but it had shaped the world today.

The old Pope, Celestine V, had been a hermit, and was more or less forced to accept the post by the cardinals about him. A mere matter of months later, he had been persuaded to relinquish the job, and his successor, Boniface VIII, had taken his place. However, many believed that a Pope was chosen by God, so it was not possible to abdicate. They considered the new Pope to be a cuckoo in the nest, and sought to find and reinstate the old one. Celestine had gone into hiding, but he was found and taken back to Rome, where he died shortly afterwards. All thought he had been murdered on the orders of Boniface VIII.

This successor was an acquisitive man utterly ruthless in his search for wealth. For him, the turn of the century was a fabulous bonanza, in which he sold privileges and made vast sums. But he was as determined to bring secular rulers to book as he was to fleece Christians generally. He issued a ruling that proposed the Pope to be superior to all earthly rulers. And in so doing, signed his own death warrant.

His behaviour had been causing concern for years when he issued this latest provocation, and the French King was willing to take up the challenge. De Nogaret was given his instructions, and a short while later he was at Anagni, where the Pope was finalising his plans to bring Kings to book. Boniface’s palace was attacked and ransacked, his wealth taken, and he was himself captured. He died a matter of days later, some said because of a blow from de Nogaret or his allies. Others said he was driven so mad by the loss of his vast fortunes that he killed himself, driving his brains out by slamming his head against a wall.

Jean finished his notes. ‘De Nogaret was at Anagni,’ he murmured, ‘but de Nogaret has died. Possibly the dead man was Guillaume de Nogaret’s son. But what was he doing, here in Paris? Why did he seek to meet the Cardinal — and why did the castellan deny knowing him?’

Jean set his reed aside and rubbed at his temples, studying what he had committed to the scroll.

It made little sense. No, he must search deeper, and answer those questions. He sighed, exhausted, and rolled up the scroll, storing it away safely in his chest before yawning, finishing his wine, and preparing himself for his bed.

Furnshill, Devon

‘So your house is gone?’

Margaret nodded unhappily. Peterkin was asleep in the solar already, and the two women were sitting on a bench before the fire, drinking some of the end of last year’s cider. ‘Wattere came and threatened me with my life — and with rape. I had to leave before anybody was hurt by him.’

Jeanne felt her heart go out to her friend. To lose everything now, just when the work of harvest was complete, was a dreadful blow. It was one thing to lose a house, and another entirely to lose the crops which had been husbanded so carefully in the last months. ‘Was anything saved?’

‘What could we rescue? I had to pack all our belongings and get out as quickly as possible. There was nothing I could bring. Not with only one cart.’

‘Well, when the Bishop is back with Baldwin and Simon, they will see to your house and ensure that all is returned.’

‘That is good, Jeanne, but what can they do against Despenser? He has ruined us, and there is nothing we can do to defend ourselves. We have lost everything !’

Monday following the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary *

Paris

Jacquot sipped at a mazer of wine as he entered the chamber, affecting an ease he didn’t feel.

The King did not look in his direction. He was studying the breast of the girl who lay at his side, exploring it with the frowning innocence of a young boy. But he knew when Jacquot entered.

‘You failed!’ he snapped. ‘You swore he would be dead within the week. But that was — what? Three weeks — four weeks ago?’

‘I will kill him.’

‘When, do you think?’

‘As soon as he walks abroad alone. As soon as he’s unprotected. What, do you want me to be killed?’

The King was driven to smile. ‘That,’ he explained, tracing the line of the girl’s nipple with a forefinger, ‘is your concern, not mine. All I know is, I took money for this service, and you haven’t done what you were supposed to, have you? Perhaps you’re too old now, Jacquy? Are you too old? Does the thought of death at the hands of the Procureur fill you with dread? Or is it just that you don’t want to be a part of my little force here? Do you think you could take over from me, perhaps? Have control of my men?’

All was spoken in that quiet, sing-song voice that showed his real anger. There was one thing that maintained the King’s authority in Paris, and that was his power to promise results. If a man paid for the destruction of an enemy, the King would guarantee it. And that promise, that certainty, kept the money coming in.

‘If it was a crophead, you’d have done it in a moment. But I suppose a priest is easier, eh? They don’t have such …’ his finger had dropped to the girl’s navel, and now she bit at her lip as he moved lower … ‘such ability at defending themselves, eh? No, a Procureur is more hazardous. Perhaps you are scared?’

‘I fear nothing, King. Not even death,’ Jacquot said. And it was true.

Ever since he saw his last child into the grave, he had held no illusions. A God who could permit the deaths of his little ones and force him to suffer so much, was no God for him. What use was a God, in any case? God had seen to the deaths of so many, and always the innocent died first. There were some who said that God was testing men, but to them Jacquot would ask: why ? If He wanted to test a man’s soul, He should pick a man who had been alive long enough to have some sins, not a beardless child.

Jacquot could survive now, mainly by his wits, but also by the exercise of his skills. There was no assassin on the streets of Paris who could compare with him. In his profession he was pre-eminent, and he knew it.

‘You have failed, though — whether you are fearful or not. So, I have to wonder what I should do for the best. You see, there are others who want to serve me. The Stammerer over there — he would like to serve me. He is keen to test his knife in another man’s blood.’

Jacquot did not even bother to glance at the fresh-faced, smiling boy in the background. He knew Nicholas the Stammerer perfectly well. Nicholas was the kind of man who would pull out a man’s nails — not from any need to extract information, but purely from interest — to see how much pain his victim could endure. He was only sixteen years old, so Jacquot had heard. ‘You want to entrust the Procureur’s death to him ?’