Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

‘No, because I will speak with him and advise him not to,’ the Cardinal said firmly. He looked at the Duke, then at Sir Roger. ‘You must understand, this is one venture that the King of France cannot assist. For him to intervene in the national affairs of your country would be seen as despicable, for he would be harming his own brother-in-law. It may not be.’

‘But I am his sister,’ the Queen said with a winning smile.

It did not disarm the Cardinal. He was immune to such wiles. ‘You are the responsibility of his brother-in-law. You are King Edward’s wife.’

‘So the King will not aid us?’ Duke Edward asked.

There was a coldness in his manner which the Cardinal did not like to hear. The boy should have been whipped more often if he would show such disrespect to his betters. ‘I shall advise him not to,’ he repeated.

‘What of other Christian Kings?’ the Queen asked quietly.

‘If you were to seek assistance from others, that would be no business of the King of France,’ the Cardinal said. ‘I only advise the King.’

‘That is good,’ the Duke said, with a quick look at his mother. ‘Then our future is clear. We must bide our time.’

The Cardinal shook his head. ‘Not for long. I declare, I do not trust the Despenser to remain satisfied for long.’

Queen Isabella averted her face slightly. ‘My husband was a good father, a good King for a while. But now his friendships are perverted by that evil man. I would that I could command that Despenser had never been born. Without him, my husband might have remained at my side, and not sought the affection of others.’

‘I fear that had he not found Despenser, he would have found another.’

‘True,’ the Queen sighed. She dabbed at her eye. ‘So, there! I must remain here in exile, clad as a widow for a while longer. And I require a General who can find me a band of men to wrest the kingdom from the Despenser, to save the King, and to save the realm for my son.’

The Cardinal nodded. ‘So be it.’

But as he looked at Mortimer, the Queen, and the Duke her son, he was sure he could see a different tale unfolding. And he saw that there could be good profit for a man who was prepared to help.

Second Monday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Temple, Paris

It was late in the afternoon when the King finally broke.

Every man had his limit. That was what Pons privately believed. He was experienced in the use of torture as a regrettable, but necessary means of gaining answers in many investigations. This time, however, he was actually enjoying it. Pons was one of many who had been glad to call Jean the Procureur a friend.

They had begun by interrogating the three others who had been taken with the King. Each had endured a while, but it was clear enough that they knew nothing of value. As soon as the brands approached them, they began to gabble all they knew. It was scarcely surprising, Pons reflected, bearing in mind that they had all the marks of the executioner’s tools on them from previous offences. They knew how much they could endure.

The King was different. He stared at Pons coldly as he listened to the agonised breath of the others, knowing that it would soon be his turn.

Still, he had some courage. Even when his nerve broke, it was not a complete submission. Each word was forced from him by the application of a little more pain, each partial confession dragged out with chains.

‘The … man … of … God. He paid. The priest at the Louvre.’

‘What is his name? Which priest?’

‘He swore death to Jean.’

Second Tuesday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Louvre

Stapledon had no idea of the approaching crisis as he prepared to leave his chamber that morning with Simon, Baldwin and Sir Richard.

‘Heard a new joke yesterday,’ Sir Richard was saying. ‘This old fellow was asked how old his son was, and he said, “Me Lord, he’s seven and twenty.” “How so? Why is he not twenty and seven?” “Because, me Lord, he was seven afore he was twenty.” Ha! A good joke, eh?’

Simon eyed him balefully. ‘Yes, most amusing.’

‘Your head bad again, Bailiff?’

Simon winced at the loud tone. ‘I have a slight liverish complaint, I think.’

‘You should be more careful, my friend,’ Baldwin said with a smile.

‘You try being careful when you’re out with him,’ Simon said quietly. ‘It’s impossible. The man soaks up drinks like a towel.’

‘I believe even a towel must reach the limit of its absorption,’ the Bishop said, making a rare joke.

‘I’ve seen no evidence,’ Simon grumbled.

‘Eh?’ Sir Richard said. ‘I missed something?’

Baldwin was about to answer when there came a loud knocking at the door, and he watched as Simon marched to it and opened it wide.

‘I would like to speak with the Bishop, if I may,’ Pons said.

The King of France eyed the group before him without comment for a long time. ‘This is very serious, you appreciate?’ he said finally.

‘Of course we appreciate that!’ Bishop Walter snapped. ‘I am being accused of a major crime, on the flimsiest evidence imaginable … If it were not such an insult, it would be laughable.’

‘Evidence based upon the statement of a man who was suffering torture,’ Pons said meaningfully.

‘A man suffering torture may say anything to save himself,’ Baldwin replied coolly. In his mind he could imagine the agony of the fellow as the tools were deployed about him. He had heard too much of the tortures which had been inflicted upon the Templars.

‘You were not popular when you first arrived here, my Lord Bishop,’ the King continued. ‘When you were rude to your Queen, you angered many of my people; when you then argued with the Procureur as he was attempting to do his job, you made still more enemies. I do not think your stay in Paris should continue for any longer than is absolutely necessary.’

‘I cannot leave without the Queen, and she refuses to return with me.’

‘I say nothing of that. It is none of my business. But the peace of my realm is very dear to me. I will not have mayhem and other infractions of my law as a result of an unwelcome guest. You must consider your position, my Lord Bishop, and also consider whether you are aiding or thwarting your King’s ambitions.’

They were dismissed. As they left the King’s presence, Pons made a mocking bow to the Bishop, but Stapledon was unworried by that. He was more alarmed by the reaction of the people outside as he left the audience chamber.

Not one stirred. No one spoke or moved to disturb the silence. It created a monstrously intimidating atmosphere, and Baldwin felt like a deer forced to walk between two packs of hounds — and all that held the hounds at bay was the will of the berner.

Back in the Bishop’s room, Stapledon crossed to his chair and sat shakily, passing his hand over his brow. ‘What have I done to deserve all this? I swear to you all, I had nothing to do with that man’s death. I couldn’t have! I wouldn’t know where to find him if I’d wanted to!’

Baldwin shot a look at Simon and Sir Richard. ‘I believe you, my Lord Bishop. But the man’s death happened a little while after he left the castle here, and that was the very same day that you argued with him. It does make the matter look black against you. Perhaps, though, Simon and I with Sir Richard here could look into it and clear your name? There must be some sort of evidence that would show who was in truth responsible.’

‘Please do go and see what you may uncover, then,’ the Bishop said. He had taken a jug of wine from one of his clerks, and now he sipped the strong red liquid. ‘I would have my innocence proved. I am here among my enemies against my wishes, and I must demonstrate that I am guiltless!’