Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

The gaolers heard a knock at the door, and one hurried to open it. Outside were two more men, one wearing a shirt that was filthy with stains, while the other had on a thick, smith’s leather apron. They walked in and began to make a fire at the pit. Metal tools were set about this, just as they would be at a smithy, but the tools were lighter. Their purpose was not to bend hot metal but to sear human flesh.

‘Do you know these two men?’ Pons asked politely. He waved a hand at the newcomers. ‘They are the King’s executioners. You have your own men, I am sure, Your Highness, but no one who is quite so expert at squeezing responses from the recalcitrant. And that is what they will do with you. You had our friend Jean the Procureur killed. I will know why, and who paid you for that.’

For the first time, the King turned to him. There was a flickering rage in his eyes, and he gave the impression of danger still — no, Pons had to amend that. It wasn’t danger, exactly. It was more the aura of power and command. Like some General captured after a battle — bloody and beaten, perhaps, but still a man confident of his own position.

‘Someone betrayed me,’ he said. ‘The fool who gave away my house at the Seine, he was one.’

‘And you murdered him. That will cost you your life,’ Pons said affably.

‘And now there is another. Someone who told you where to find me yesterday. Few knew where I would be.’ His voice was cold, but rational as he mused on the problem.

‘It was her — the whore, Amélie. She led you to me, didn’t she?’ he said of a sudden. ‘No one else would have known where to go — only her. When I see her again, I shall show her her own entrails.’

Pons smiled without humour. ‘An interesting suggestion. However, you are here to answer, not gain answers. Who paid you to have Jean le Procureur killed? Who paid you to have Guillaume de Nogaret and his wife killed? Oh, and who was it who slew André? Was it you?’

The King slowly let his gaze fall from Pons’s face, to run down his old green tunic, all the way to his boots, and then up again to his face. There was no emotion in his look, only a cold disdain. And then, he turned his attention from Pons to the wall.

‘You won’t answer? No matter,’ Pons said with a shrug. ‘Get the fires good and hot, lads. We’ll be able to show this so-called “King” what will be waiting for him after the hangman’s finished with him at Montfaucon.’

Louvre

The Cardinal crossed the great hall with his clerks, his head bowed as he absorbed the news he had received.

That Sir Roger Mortimer had returned was not so surprising. It was something, in fact, which he and the Pope had urged upon the King of France. King Charles was less keen to have the man here, but then he was also unhappy about his sister remaining in France. It was one thing to have her irritating the hell out of her husband, a man for whom Charles had little respect and less liking, but quite another to keep her here. The King of England was correct — it was wrong for her to remain away from him. Her place was at his side.

However, the Cardinal thought that the Queen could herself usefully become the focus of all those who had cause to resent the King and his associate — his ‘friend’, Sir Hugh le Despenser, may God fill his bones with liquid lead! That foul pirate deserved to be deposed, and were the Queen able to build a small force, the Cardinal felt sure that it would be received well in England. There were so many desperate to see an end to the reign of the disreputable Despenser. That was also what the Pope and Cardinal Thomas fervently desired. And whatever the Pope wanted must be good for all Christendom.

The Cardinal prided himself on his worldliness. He was a practical man, when all was said and done. Among those in the Church, there were some few who were able, like him, to take harsh political decisions, but few who also had the clarity of purpose and the determination to do all they might for the good of the Church. The Pope himself appreciated his single-mindedness.

But now he had a strange feeling that there were matters which were advancing without his involvement, which was a little alarming.

In one of the King of France’s smaller chambers, there was a gathering already when he arrived.

‘Cardinal,’ Queen Isabella said, rising from her chair and bowing, as gracious as ever. She was a lovely thing, this Queen, quite the sort of woman who could tempt a saint, the Cardinal considered. She kissed his ring with every sign of humility, but none of her display convinced the Cardinal. Women were utterly dangerous, and ones like this, with brains and beauty as well as the heady air of command which surrounded her like a canopy, were the most dangerous of all.

The Duke of Aquitaine was next. The young man bowed with as much respect as the Cardinal could hope for. His tutor was behind him, and Lord Cromwell too. But it was the other man who attracted the Cardinal’s attention.

‘Sir Roger,’ he said.

The Queen smiled winningly. ‘Cardinal, we hope and pray that you will listen to us for a moment or two.’

‘I am happy to listen,’ the Cardinal said flatly. He would certainly make no further commitment.

‘Sir Roger and I are desolate at the terrible way that the kingdom of England has been laid waste by the avarice of one man,’ she said. ‘There is every risk that my son’s inheritance will be thrown away. If the Despenser saw an opportunity, he would not hesitate to kill my son; if he saw profit, I believe he would even slay my husband. I hope I do not shock you?’

‘On the contrary. I am fully convinced of the truth of your words.’

‘In order to protect my son, I do not dare send him back to his own land. I think it would be dangerous in the extreme. And I dare not leave him here alone. There are enemies in the pay of the Despenser all over France. I am sure you understand this?’

‘So you intend to remain here in Paris? What of your expenses, my Lady?’

‘Cardinal, I confess, I rely on the support of my brother in his kindness.’

‘And you intend to remain here for how long? Until your husband is dead? Would you deprive him of your companionship, of the companionship of his son?’

‘I can see no other way to protect my son.’

The Cardinal nodded, glancing at the boy. And he was only a boy. In God’s name, he might be a Duke, but the title had been bestowed on a child. Not yet thirteen, was he?

‘You wonder at my commitment, Cardinal?’ Duke Edward asked calmly.

‘I entertain no such doubts, Duke. No, I was reflecting that yours is a hard choice.’

‘You mean, to stay here with my mother, or go home to my father?’ the Duke said with a wry grin. ‘Is it so hard? I have the choice of a loving, gentle and kindly mother, or a father who is so twisted with his fears and his love of his adviser that he has no time to speak to me. He spends all his waking moments fearing the plots of his enemies within his realm, and cannot see that the one sure means of protecting himself is to remove the man whom all despise. To remain here, or to return home — the choice is easy.’

‘And if your father should disinherit you for your betrayal?’

The Queen said sharply, ‘If he were to try that, his attempt would …’

It was Sir Roger who took a half-pace forward. ‘His attempt would fail. I would take the country in the defence of the Duke.’ So saying, he bent his knee and bowed his head at the Duke.

‘Very impressive. But if you intend to do that, you will need men,’ the Cardinal said.

‘I will ask my brother,’ the Queen said eagerly.

‘And he will refuse you.’

‘He may not — he may allow me to use some of his men.’