Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

For the very first time in their long friendship, Baldwin could not hold Simon’s gaze. As Sir Richard protested that, ‘Of course if Sir Baldwin had met the fellow, it would make a difference,’ Baldwin looked away.

‘You may think what you like of the father, Baldwin,’ Simon went on steadily, ‘and you can allow that to colour your feelings towards the son, if you want. But think on a moment. If a man killed the son to avenge some crime, that was unjust. The boy had nothing to do with his father’s offences. And think further — the same fellow, perhaps, killed the son’s wife. What did she have to do with any of those crimes? She was at two removes from the father’s offences. It’d be like Despenser punishing me by killing my daughter and her husband. Is that to be borne?’

‘No,’ Baldwin muttered. He could not curb his loathing for the family name of de Nogaret, but Simon was correct. The idea that the son and his wife should be slaughtered for the father’s offence was disgusting.

‘And there is another aspect to this. If I am correct, the Bishop is standing to suffer punishment because he is suspected of the killing of the Procureur, when the true culprit is the man who killed him to silence him about the de Nogaret murders. By allowing the killer of that couple to escape, you are aiding a man to put all the blame on to our Bishop. Can you stand by and permit that?’

‘No. No, you are quite right, Simon,’ Baldwin said quietly.

‘Ha! Glad to hear it,’ said the Coroner, and belched long and loud. ‘Don’t know what in God’s name you two are muttering about, but if you’re both content to stop blathering and come and help prove the Bishop’s innocence, that makes good hearing to my ears!’

‘So, what do we do?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin frowned. ‘On the day that the Bishop had his argument with the Procureur, it was inside the main gate of the castle, was it not? The Procureur was apparently standing and staring at the gate, which was enough to make Bishop Walter think he was staring at him . But what else might he have been gazing at?’

‘The gate itself?’ Simon hazarded.

‘Aye. Or the people at it,’ was Sir Richard’s contribution.

‘One or the other, certainly. I feel we should begin to think about these deaths there,’ Baldwin said. He took a bite of the chicken breast, then watched as the pale, anxious-looking cook walked on by.

‘What is it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked, noting the expression on his face.

‘That cook. You remember the dead boy? Yet another murder in this castle. Is no one safe?’

They had all three surveyed the main gate to the castle after finishing their capon, but after the fourth muttering of ‘God’s faith!’ from Sir Richard, even Simon had to admit that there was little to see. Only the steady inrush of men and a few women, while a number left by the same route.

‘Baldwin, this is pointless,’ he muttered.

‘Perhaps. And yet there was something which the Procureur thought was important enough for him to spend much time right here, watching,’ Baldwin said distractedly. ‘What could it have been?’

‘Maybe he was just gazing into the distance? Men do when they’re thinking about tough questions,’ Simon hazarded.

‘He was not that sort of man, I think,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘Surely a man with a brain like his, shrewd and quick, would not have stood here idly. There would have been a good reason, I am sure.’

‘Well, aye, that’s possible, but then again,’ Sir Richard said, his thumbs hooked in his belt and glowering about him like a bear waiting for the mastiffs, ‘he may have been staring into thin air, like Simon said. Perhaps he’d been invited to a lady’s chamber? Eh? Or challenged to a fight? There’s any number of innocent distractions.’

Baldwin threw him a despairing look. Neither sounded particularly ‘innocent’ to him. ‘What if we-’ He checked himself and frowned. There, in the gateway, he could see the furious face of the porter. ‘Wait a moment. I shall speak with the gatekeeper.’ And in a moment he was stalking towards Arnaud.

House near the Seine, east Paris

Jacquot was aware that the King would have placed a price upon his head, but there were other considerations just now. With the King and his main cohorts in gaol, and perhaps some of them already dangling on the King’s everlasting tree at Montfaucon, there was work to be done if he was to guarantee his position as the King’s successor.

The first essential was to ensure that any rivals to the King were dissuaded from attempting a full takeover of the city. After the years of the King’s rule, there were not many who stood in any position of authority, but some could try to ease themselves in on the prostitution, or the thief-taking and fencing businesses. Jacquot was not happy to see the efficiency of the group being degraded.

This chamber was the undercroft and storeroom to a tavern over near the eastern wall. He sat on a barrel as the four men walked inside. All were from high up in the King’s organisation. All were well-known to Jacquot.

‘You are here with me because the King is dead,’ he announced.

‘How do you know this?’ demanded a heavy-set man with a scowl of suspicion blackening his face. He was known as ‘the Gascon’ for his birthplace, but Jacquot only thought of him as ‘the bastard’. He was unreliable, short-tempered, and full of malice. He would be the first to be removed when Jacquot’s position was secured.

‘He is in the Temple and has been for over a day. You think he’ll be happy and content in there?’

‘Then what’s going to happen?’ This was a taller, languid-looking man with a round face and deceptively smiling eyes. Called the ‘Avocat’ within the gang, he was the one who kept his eye on the money. He would be a useful ally, Jacquot knew.

‘I am taking over. If there’s a delay, other gangs will move in and cause trouble. All of you will be thrown out and be found floating in the Seine later. This way, all continues as before. It’s better for everyone.’

‘For you, perhaps,’ the Gascon said, and spat. He moved around to Jacquot’s flank. Jacquot ignored him.

‘You can wrangle and fight, if you want. But if you do, it will put an end to the whole group, and there will be no gang to rule. You will lose everything. You want to carry on as it is now? Then fall in with me. I’ll keep the money coming.’

The Avocat was smiling, looking more like a benign old priest than ever. ‘And you can promise this?’

‘There are not many who will dare to resist me,’ Jacquot said. ‘I have a reputation.’

‘So did the King,’ said the Gascon, and drew his knife.

Jacquot’s dagger was already out and resting on the barrel before him. He snatched it up, and the tip rested within the hollow of the Gascon’s throat. ‘I could kill you now, but I won’t. If I do that, it will spark internal fighting, and I need you around to squash all feuding like that. You are in charge of discipline, Gascon. Your money will be increased by a fourth, and I will have you as my own Sergent. But only if you are loyal to me now.’

The Gascon looked down the length of the blade, and then he nodded.

Within an hour, Jacquot had his oaths of loyalty from all four.

Louvre

Arnaud looked at the tatty knight with ill-concealed disdain. ‘You want to know about the Procureur? You should ask the Bishop of Exeter. He is the man who had him killed. Even the felon admits that. You know of him? He was arrested, and he-’

‘Yes, yes, yes, I know of this man and his testimony,’ Baldwin said irritably. ‘However, it was not only the death of the Procureur that concerned me. I was thinking also of the murder before that. The Procureur stood here and appeared to be much taken with something, and I feel sure that it had something to do with his death or the death of de Nogaret. Did he say anything to you about the threat to him, or the other death?’