Michael Jecks: The King of Thieves

Meanwhile, there were compensations. Life here in France was far less austere than her existence had been in recent months. Although she could not afford distractions of her own, there were many invitations from others, to parties, hunts, diversions of all kinds.

All she hoped was that the truce should hold a little longer, and that the negotiations should continue. Here she felt free once more.

She would not return to England to be insulted and slighted, to be gaoled in a gilded cage.

Louvre, Paris

Arnaud, the porter at the south gate to the castle, heard the cries before the messenger appeared, panting and anxious.

‘What is it, man?’ he demanded. He was seated on a bench behind his makeshift desk, booted feet up on it, his back resting against the wall behind him. Without a candle, the servant could only see a low blur in the gloomy room after the bright sunshine outside.

‘A man came to speak with the Cardinal d’Anjou, and he’s been murdered.’

Arnaud closed his eyes and shook his head, then said, ‘Go and find the guard, tell him to see to the body, and then fetch the city’s prosecutor. The Procureur should be present as the matter is investigated. He will take charge. Go! ’

But when the boy had fled from him, Arnaud suddenly gaped with a distracted air. ‘Which man has been murdered?’ Then, with a stern expression on his face, he slapped the pommel of his sword in a gesture of decision, called to one of his officers and left the gate in his hands while he himself strode off towards the hall to visit the castellan, Sieur Hugues de Toulouse.

The Louvre had a magnificent hall, as befitted the King of France, and the castellan’s little room was attached to the eastern end. It was a small square chamber, with a large table and a stool, and a bed area behind. A fireplace and chimney had been added, and a cheery fire hissed and spluttered, making the porter jealous when he thought of his own chilly and comfortless little room.

Today, though, when he entered, the castellan was busy. A slim, dark-haired beauty was sitting astride him as he lay on the bed behind the desk, and she turned and met Arnaud’s appraising gaze with a tilt of her head. He smiled at her. He’d seen her earlier when she had entered the castle. You didn’t forget a face and body like hers.

‘You want something? Eh? Hurry up!’

‘Sieur Hugues, I …’

‘You waiting for a formal introduction? This is Amélie. Amélie, this is Arnaud, the porter. Arnaud is the man who should be guarding our gate, but instead he’s here in my chamber staring at your bubbies.’

The castellan’s words and tone proved that he had no desire to discuss matters at the moment, and Arnaud quietly stepped from the room and closed the door.

He would have to come and see him later, when the castellan was less ‘busy’.

Procureur Jean de Poissy eyed the messenger without comment for a moment, chewing a hunk of bread with some hard cheese. A tall man, with a long face surprisingly unmarked by scars for a knight who had spent so much of his life fighting in his King’s causes, he was elegant and urbane. Unlike many warriors, he was also intelligent.

‘Who is the dead man?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. He didn’t give his name.’

‘Who killed him?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Why was he killed?’

‘I …’

‘… don’t know. No, nor do I, but these are the questions we must ask, heh? So, take me to the unfortunate fellow, and we shall see what may be discerned.’

Château du Bois

The Queen waved her ladies away when Lord John Cromwell was announced. Only little Alicia was permitted to remain when Lord John and William de Bouden entered. There was no need of a chaperone with these men.

William gave her a curious look, and she felt a cold hand clutch at her heart, suddenly fearing that somehow her husband had changed his mind and ordered her immediate return to London. But then she saw that there was an odd stillness about him, as though he was listening to Lord John with his entire soul.

‘Your Royal Highness,’ Cromwell began, ‘I have received some news from England. It is not all good, I fear.’

‘Continue.’

‘The King has discussed the position here with his council, and they have concluded that the best means of resolving all the issues, is for him to come here himself.’

‘The King? My husband will come here?’ Queen Isabella gasped. ‘But how will he do so? Will he leave the realm under the control of our son?’

‘My Lady, I do not know more than this,’ Lord Cromwell said. He was quiet a moment, and then looked down at the ground, frowning. ‘But …’

The Queen maintained her silence, but motioned to Alicia to fetch the jug of wine from the sideboard. Alicia floated over the floor, a graceful figure in all she did, and soon both men were sipping from large goblets.

Lord Cromwell pursed his lips, and then looked up with some sort of resolve in his eyes. ‘My Lady, I think you will be ordered to return to England upon his arrival.’

Aha! she thought. ‘I fear you are right. And I shall be forced to return to my prison, guarded by those set to watch over me.’

‘I think that would be a great shame, my Lady. Further …’ His eyes slid towards William, and the Lord appeared to take some courage from the impassive man at his side. ‘Further, I think it would be a mistake. You are crucial to our negotiations with your brother.’

That was why she was here. To ensure a continued peace with her brother, King Charles IV. After the little war last year, King Charles had confiscated all the English territories in France. It was Isabella’s job to try to win them all back. And she had all but succeeded. All that was needed now was for the King to pay homage to the French King for those lands which were held under feudal tenure. The rest didn’t matter. And until the King came to pay homage, the Agenais would remain under the control of the French King for now, while the courts decided what should happen to it.

The French had set the date of the assumptio of the Blessed Virgin Mary *— one month exactly from today. That was the date when he was supposed to be here in France, to perform the formal homage at Beauvais.

But she was sure that he would not come. He was sly, as she knew all too well; cunning enough to escape this. To perform full homage to another King would imply that he was little more than a vassal to the French. A man who might be called ‘King’, but who in reality held his crown not because it had been bestowed by God, but because he was permitted to do so by his superior. King Edward would never tolerate such a climb-down.

‘I shall be delighted to see my husband again, of course,’ she said carefully. Lord John was still the man set to guard her during her journey here, not selected by her, but by Despenser and her husband.

‘We have heard that he is to delay his journey. The date for him to meet with your brother is now to be two weeks later, on the Feast Day of St John the Baptist. *’

The hand was at her heart again. Did he mean that she was to return at once, then? But no! That would be too cruel. She would not go yet. To voluntarily return to a prison would be …

‘My Lady, I do not think you should return. You should remain here. There is much still to do, and it would be wrong for you to hurry precipitately from Paris. Better that you should wait for your husband here.’

She nodded, not allowing a smile, but as the two men backed their way from her room, she was convinced that the air in her chamber had grown musty and unwholesome. She was suddenly hot, dizzy, and she gasped, swaying, before rushing to the window, throwing the shutter wide and gulping at the air.