Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

‘Not so well accustomed? Sweet Jesus’s ballocks, Sir Baldwin, we hardly had enough last night to persuade a nun to run to the privy. Hardly any at all.’

There was a hiss from the man at Sir Richard’s right. ‘Can you keep quiet? We’re trying to hear what the King’s saying.’

Sir Richard’s expression did not alter. His beaming countenance turned to his neighbour, a fellow in his early twenties, and Sir Richard looked him up and down for a moment in silence. ‘Did you speak to me, my young friend?’ he asked at length.

‘Sir, I would be grateful if you could be silent until the King has finished,’ the man growled.

Sir Richard’s smile widened. ‘And so you should, my young friend. You look damn familiar, though. Let me see, have we met?’

‘No.’

‘But we must have … no, don’t say a word … have you ever been to Exeter? I am Coroner there, you know.’

‘No.’

‘Aha! Then it must have been while I was in court, then. Were you ever in Axminster? Chard? Honiton?’

‘No,’ the man said, and his teeth looked to be set like a man with lockjaw, Baldwin thought.

‘Then at the King’s courts? Did I meet you at his hall at Westminster or York?’

‘No, I haven’t-’

‘I know. It was in a battle. Were you at Boroughbridge?’

‘ No! Now will you-’

‘You weren’t at Boroughbridge? Were you at Bannockburn, then?’

‘Sweet Jesus! No!’

‘In that case, lad, I wonder where I, a warrior, a man high in the esteem of the King, a man who has been to battle on the King’s behalf, and who has served him these last thirty years past, I wonder where I could have earned your contempt?’

‘I …’

‘Should keep your bread-hole shut when your betters and elders are talking, boy. So, Sir Baldwin, Simon is not feeling himself?’

‘I fear he regrets entering the third and fourth alehouses with you last night,’ Baldwin admitted.

‘He looked more like a corpse than the last two-month-dead body I studied before coming here,’ Sir Richard said musingly. Then he brightened. ‘Still, I always say that the best cure for a sore liver is a little more of the same. It never fails to cure me when I feel a little out of sorts.’

Baldwin smiled. To imagine the Coroner ‘a little out of sorts’ was like imagining a raging bear at the baiting rolling over and cradling its head. It was inconceivable. He turned his attention back to the scene before them.

The Earl of Chester had just stood, and now held his hand high while those nearer him cheered and the noise rippled round the rest of the men standing there.

‘There we are, then,’ Sir Richard declared, clapping his own hands loudly. ‘Hooray! Hooray!’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘He’s no longer a mere Earl — now he is a full Duke.’

It was a week and a day since the Earl had been given the two counties, but with this ceremony, the King had settled upon him all the rest of his extensive territories in France. Now, with the whole of the British Crown’s possessions in his hands, the Earl, a Duke of France in his own right, could meet with King Charles and pay homage for all his English possessions. He would be the first English Prince to own such a fabulous demesne.

‘Makes him an attractive target, don’t it?’ Sir Richard said as the crowds separated.

‘I do not think he need fear dangers here,’ Baldwin said, looking about them with a small smile.

‘I was thinking of France, as well you know. I may live in Devon, but I know dangers when I see ’em. And just now, with the French snapping at the borders of all the King’s lands, this little lad would be a tempting morsel for them to pluck up, eh?’

Baldwin shrugged. ‘Sir Richard, all we can do, you and I, is guard his body as well as we may. I personally think that the French King would do all in his power to protect the boy and save any embarrassment. It would be a blow to his reputation, were he to treat his own nephew dishonourably.’

‘Aye. True enough. But his men could do it for him, couldn’t they? Especially all the renegades and traitors. Even that blasted Mortimer is over in Paris, so they say. Despenser keeps having fits of terror that the man will return. He pretends he’s not afeared, but you bring up mention of the Mortimer and watch Despenser’s face. Enough to sour a vat of ale! Not that I blame him, mind. The idea that the King’s best and most effective general might land in England and be on your trail would be enough to make most fellows quail.’

‘Not you, though, Sir Richard.’

‘Who? Eh? Me? No. I hope not, anyway. I ain’t a threat to any, because I am content. I don’t need to have anything more than a comfortable berth for me backside of an evening, a jug or two of good wine, and perhaps a small brunette to warm me when the evenings get chilly. Not too much to ask, is it?’

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

Dover

They were fortunate. All managed to clamber aboard the ships without injury, and Simon and Baldwin were there as the King bade farewell to his son. It took some little while, with exhortations that the young Duke wouldn’t enter into any marriage contracts, nor accept a guardian without writing to confirm his father’s approval. Not that it would be forthcoming — he made that clear enough. There was also a small ceremony, at which the priest from the port came to bless them all and their passage, but Simon paid little attention to that. His mind was fixed on the sea already, and all the speeches and chatter as letters were given to Bishop Stapledon and Henry de Beaumont for the Queen, washed over him like a great tidal wave. Just like the ones he could see from here, he thought with a shudder.

The small fleet was soon at sea. All too soon, in Simon’s opinion. With luck they would cross the Channel in no time, and be back on land again.

That was at least Simon’s most fervent wish. He could not remain below, and in preference, he made his way, green-faced and horrible, in time to spew over the side before they had picked up full speed.

It was a consolation that some others were also here. He was by no means alone, even though the sea looked a beautiful blue and had only a very few white wave-crests. The sailors running about the decks on bare feet, and rushing up the stays to the sails, laughed at the sight of so many land-based men vomiting, but Simon was so far gone, he did not care.

‘Hah! Bailiff. Feelin’ a little better? I’ve a joke or two to tell you to pass the time, if you wish …’

Simon glanced over at the Coroner. He had a hunk of bread in one hand, with a thick slice of bloody beef wrapped about it, while in the other he gripped a jug full of wine.

Simon only wished, as he heaved again, that when he died — and please God, may it be soon — he might be able to haunt Sir Richard de Damned Welles and visit upon him the full wrath and hatred which he felt boiling in his blood at this moment.

Paris

He had done nothing, intentionally, since hearing from Hélias. Procureur Jean knew when he was treading on dangerous ground, and this was as dangerous as any in his experience.

The name of de Nogaret was well known in France. The devoted servant of King Philippe the Fair, he had been a lawyer of such skill and understanding, that few if any cases were lost once he had taken them on. The King so admired him that he had him knighted and installed as his own trusted adviser.

It was shocking, therefore, to learn that both the boy and girl from this favoured family had now died, such a short time after arriving in Paris. What were they doing here, de Poissy asked himself, and why were they killed?