Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

‘He is a frantic fool,’ Queen Isabella snorted. ‘And the sooner he is removed the better.’

‘He is my father’s friend, Mother.’

She noticed the sudden use of the personal. ‘You are quite right. And yet he rapes the whole nation. Your father’s friend treats it as his own private plaything. How many more loyal servants of your father must be dispossessed and exiled because of Sir Hugh le Despenser?’

‘Sir Hugh has the right to protect himself. Mortimer would have seen him hanged.’

‘It is a mutual ambition.’

‘Perhaps so,’ he said. But there was no answering chuckle in his tone. He looked listless and fretful.

‘Darling, you are worried?’

‘Mother, I have seen the effects of the wars on you and the King, as well as on my friends in the household. Good men are dead because of the squabbling between the Despenser and the Marcher Lords. I would not have any more good men die.’

‘What of the realm?’

He glanced at her, and suddenly she saw a man in those shrewd blue eyes. ‘I feel I should be asking you that, Mother!’

She smiled, turning back to the musicians. Putting out her hand, she took his, but only for a moment. There was no answering pressure from his fingers. It was not a lack of love for her, but the mere reminder that she was not his only parent, and that he had loyalty to his father too.

‘Mother?’

Ah, she thought, here it comes.

‘Mother, Bishop Walter has asked me to speak with you, to request that you meet with him. Will you do so?’

‘What does he want with me?’

‘I think, only to speak. He is deeply worried, too. He wants to see if he can heal the rift between you, he says.’

‘Oh, really?’ she spat. ‘Will he return to me my tin mines? My estates? My children? My money? What of the men of my household, the ones exiled by his advice, the others held in English gaols? All guilty of the atrocious crime of loving me and wishing to serve.’

‘He is a different man from the arrogant Treasurer of a year ago, Mother. Now he sits quietly. I think he realises his treatment of you was not fair. And he is terribly fearful of the matter of the man who was killed.’

‘I had heard something of that,’ she said. ‘But you think that he is malleable now? He will be honourable in his dealings with me?’

‘I hope so.’

She smiled. ‘Hope is so misjudged a commodity, do you not think?’

‘I feel sure that the Bishop is better acquainted than I.’

‘So I should speak with him again. That is well. I shall, you may tell him.’

‘I will ask Richard of Bury to see him.’

‘This Richard … you are content to keep him?’

‘He is a good tutor, Mother. He is diligent,’ the Prince said with a slight droop of his mouth. ‘Too diligent on occasion, when the sun is warm and the deer waiting to be hunted. But he teaches well, and forces me to consider the importance of a martial spirit and love of the arts. I have learned all about Alexander, about the Romans, about King Arthur. I sometimes feel I must wade and wallow in their history all my days.’

‘So long as he is loyal.’

‘I think he is the most loyal of all my servants.’

‘Good. We will have need of loyal men before long.’

‘What shall I tell the Bishop?’

‘That I will be pleased to see him in two days. I will let him know where and when. And now, let us give ourselves up to the music.’

‘Very well.’ He listened silently for a moment or two. Then: ‘Mother? Where on God’s clean earth did you find these men?’

Wednesday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Paris

Stapledon stood licking his lips in the antechamber to the Queen’s rooms, keen to get on with the interview, and yet fearful of it. It would not be a meeting of minds, of that he was sure.

‘Bishop? Please follow me in here,’ a servant called from a doorway, and Bishop Walter rose from his bench and glided after the man, his heavy robes concealing his feet.

‘My Lady, I hope I see you well?’

‘Dispense with the pleasantries, my Lord Bishop. You and I know each other well enough to realise they mean nothing. What do you want?’

‘My Lady, I fear for your safety,’ the Bishop said. ‘It is one thing to return to a beloved country, to visit a brother, to see all the places which have appealed so much, but at this time it is dangerous. War is still possible.’

‘You have little faith in my diplomacy, then.’

‘It is not that, it is the value which you hold. You are too important, my Lady, to be left here in Paris.’

‘Oh, that is not a matter of concern, my Lord Bishop. Since you refuse me my own income from my estates in Devon, and since you also now will not extend to me the money which my husband allocated for me, I am forced to live away from Paris for much of the time. The King, my brother, is not so parsimonious as to see me resort to beggary to keep myself fed and clothed.’

This was a pointed comment, and the Bishop flinched. ‘My Lady, all I did, I did for the good of the realm. It was my duty, and I discharged it as I thought best. I am very sorry if any action of mine was enough to disturb you.’

‘Not for long, my Lord Bishop. I was a little discommoded to have all my children sequestrated, I confess, but what is that for a woman, compared to your mature judgement.’

‘My Lady, let me …’

‘ No , my Lord Bishop. Let me explain to you . I want the money which the King my husband sent with you. I want it in my coffers, because that will allow me to fulfil my duties to him. It will also permit me to ensure the safety of my son. I and he will not be here forever, and we must leave a good impression. That means largesse, feasting, entertaining. Have you ever known an impecunious ambassador? Yet you insist on making me one such. It is not satisfactory.’

‘My Lady, I would gladly, but the King was most insistent. He said that you must return.’

‘I say I wish to have the money first.’

‘Your Royal Highness, sadly-’

‘So you will refuse. That is a great shame. You know, of course, that the French court blames you for the death of the Procureur?’

‘That was nothing to do with me!’

‘Really? All say you were seen quarrelling violently with him. And all Frenchmen know how argumentative the English are. And how prone they are to grabbing weapons and attacking.’

‘But on the day he died, I was-’

‘I am sure you have a perfect alibi, Bishop. However, it will not suffice. A man with your wealth can easily afford an agent to do your bidding.’

‘My Queen, will you not please consider returning home?’

She looked at him, and now allowed a small smile to stretch her mouth. ‘Of course I will. As I said in the court, just as soon as that pharisee is gone, I will be happy to go home.’ She rose. ‘I will not return to my husband until Sir Hugh le Despenser and his father are gone from the kingdom forever.’

Temple

Pons returned to the gaol alone when the message reached him. Vital was asleep, and there was little need to wake him, so far as Pons could see. There had been many similar messages in the last day or two, and always it was a whining cur of a peasant demanding to be released.

The streets here were crowded about with tall, timber-framed buildings, but as he approached the river and the Île de la Cité, the streets broadened suddenly, and the walls about him became stone. The gaol where this man was kept was at the northern gate to the Île, the Grand Châtelet. Here, Pons nodded to the guard, and was soon inside.

Walking down the circular staircase was treacherous in the extreme. The water was a constant sound here, with droplets falling from the ceiling, and green slime clinging to the stonework all around. Pons was sure that if he was to be left here for any time, he would be driven mad. The sound of water dripping, the wash of the river, the clanking of chains, the constant smell of faeces from the buckets in the little cells, all would contribute to a feeling of intolerable despair.