Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

There were so many people here. Wolf was behind him, and Baldwin kept turning periodically to make sure that he did not spring into the middle and cause a mêlée. He had no desire to see a fight break out because of his beast. Not on an occasion of such importance.

Opposite him were a large contingent of French nobility, all watching the English visitors with suspicion. Baldwin was glad that he was wearing a new red tunic. His old one would have made him feel too much like a country churl in the midst of all this splendour. Armour gleamed with a blue light, the French nobles’ clothing was clearly the best available, and even in his new tunic, he felt slightly shabby.

In the event it was all over quite quickly. Simon Puttock and Sir Richard de Welles, the Coroner, turned up just as Duke Edward, Earl of Chester, arrived and strode to the throne where the King of France waited, Edward’s mother at his side. Before all the men present, the King held out his hands. The Duke knelt before him, and raised his own hands in that universal symbol of fealty, his palms pressed together as if in prayer. The King placed his own hands on either side of the Duke’s and looked about him at the audience of witnesses as the Duke spoke in his high, unbroken voice. And it was done. Immediately the King announced that his warriors would be withdrawn from all the lands held by his nephew, and control would revert to the Duke.

Baldwin glanced at Sir Richard. He had conspired to bring a small haunch of ham with him, and was surreptitiously chewing at it as he listened.

‘Well, Sir Richard, was the ceremony to your taste?’

‘To me taste? Not so fine as a good jug of English ale, eh?’

Simon squared his shoulders and stretched. ‘Maybe now we can soon return home, Baldwin. Surely the Queen’s business here is done and we can serve her on her way home.’

‘That is to be fervently desired,’ Baldwin agreed, but even as he spoke there was a sudden noise.

It was the Bishop of Exeter. Walter Stapledon strode forward and bowed to the King. ‘Your Royal Highness. I have here a letter from King Edward, which demands that the Lady Isabella, his Queen, should return at once to England.’ Stapledon waved the note high, and then held it out to the Queen. ‘Your Royal Highness, the King says that he will tolerate no delay. I have money to pay your outstanding expenses, but I have been commanded only to pay if you will come straight back to England with me to return to your husband, as you are obliged to do. I am afraid the King does not offer you an option, your Royal Highness. He demands your obedience.’

There was a complete silence for a moment. It was as though all the world was waiting to see how the Queen would react to this rudeness.

She responded coolly, staring at the note in his hand with some contempt. And then she looked at the Bishop with eyes that seemed to dart fire.

Sir Richard gave a low whistle. ‘If he was hoping for a quick service of his own, I’ll wager he’ll need a new filly.’

His crudeness about the Queen was shocking to Baldwin, who was about to remonstrate, when the Queen spoke. Her voice shook with rage, beginning so quietly that all must strain their ears to hear her words. And then her voice grew, swelling, until all could hear, and her disdain and anger were clear to all present. It lay there in her perfect enunciation and slow, deliberate speech.

‘I feel that marriage is a joining together of man and woman, maintaining the undivided habit of life, and that someone has come between my husband and myself, trying to break this bond. I protest that I will not return until this intruder is removed, but discarding my marriage garment, shall assume the robes of widowhood and mourning until I am avenged of this … this Pharisee !’

Stapledon held the little roll high overhead, then turned to the King for support. ‘My Royal Lord, you know that a man’s first duty is to his wife. Surely no wife can look for support when her husband has determined that she must go to him?’

The King of France looked to Baldwin as though he might explode with fury himself.

‘D’ye think the Bishop knows of the King’s past?’ Sir Richard said to Baldwin. ‘Poor devil — his first wife was found playing the dog with two tails with a knight, after all. Won’t like to be reminded, I reckon.’

‘I don’t think he could be unaware,’ Baldwin retorted. ‘Why he has chosen such a high-handed manner is beyond me.’

Simon was more sanguine. ‘Because he’s never had a wife, Baldwin. If he had, he would understand the folly of such language and such a conspicuous venue for his demand.’

The King looked at the letter, and then at Stapledon. His voice was cool, but calm. ‘The Queen has come to my court of her own free will. I will not send her away if she chooses to remain. She is a Princess of France and my sister. I will not exile her.’

Baldwin winced. ‘That is your answer, Simon.’

‘Christ’s ballocks. We’re stuck here, aren’t we?’

Furnshill

Margaret was surprised to be told that there was a man in the hall to see her. Jeanne had sent a maid to fetch her, and Margaret strode indoors with a frown of concern on her face. It was unlikely to be a messenger from her husband, so she had a feeling that the fellow would be from her home.

‘You are Madame Puttock?’ the fellow asked, eyeing her haughtily.

He was a youngster, this cleric, but one of those who thought he knew the importance of his own position in the world.

‘Yes.’

‘My Cardinal, Raymond, sends his deepest regards and wishes me to tell you that your house is entirely to his satisfaction. He will be most happy to remain there for some weeks until accommodation can be provided at Tavistock Abbey.’

‘Oh!’ Margaret said. She was dumbfounded. ‘But what of the men who had taken it over?’

‘They learned to regret their impetuosity.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He sighed, but as Jeanne appeared with a great jug of ale, he brightened appreciably. ‘The Cardinal is here to adjudicate between two candidates at Tavistock Abbey. The last abbot, may he rest in peace …’

‘I know. He was a kind, good man,’ Margaret said. She had always liked Abbot Robert Champeaux, and she and Simon had been sad to learn of his death.

‘There are two men who claim the abbacy. Robert Busse won the election, but John de Courtenay chooses to contest it. The Cardinal is here to listen to the evidence and decide who deserves the post. He answers only to the Pope. He fears no man.’

‘Nor does Wattere.’ Margaret remembered with a shudder the man leering at her.

‘Wattere was the man who took your house? He has learned to respect the Cardinal. He is in the gaol at Tavistock Abbey now.’

‘What happened?’

‘The man chose to try to draw a sword. My master called on the stannary bailiffs of the local court and reminded them that the Abbey of Tavistock owns the stannaries. They were happy to arrest Wattere and his men for the Cardinal, and then transported them to Tavistock for him.’

Margaret could only gape.

Paris

The King of Thieves ran his hand along the thigh of the whore at his side. She was a new one, this Amélie. The last had given up, exhausted by the hours he kept, but the King didn’t care. It was better for his natural urges that he spend them with new women at every opportunity.

This latest was a Galician. Strong, fiery, not at all compliant, she would take a little breaking in, he thought. She’d been the go-between for the castle and him for some weeks now, but perhaps he should keep her here with him a while. She had the temper to match her body.