Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

‘No. Nothing I can think of. Only that he was interested in the way that the man de Nogaret arrived that day. He kept asking who’d taken him up to the chamber where he got himself killed.’

‘Could you help him?’

Arnaud shrugged. ‘It was a boy — a cook’s knave called Jehanin. He was here and took the man from the gate to the room.’

Brothel, west of city wall, Paris

Hélias could not weep any more. She had gone to the funeral as a mark of respect for her old friend, but it had given her no consolation. It only reinforced her urge to seek revenge.

The surprise arrest of the King had made many of her whores gasp with shock. No one had thought that the King could be removed so easily; he had appeared to be untouchable. And today there was a set of rumours flying about: a man from outside town was to take over from the King — a man who was even more ruthless than his predecessor. That idea was enough to send some of the wenches into fits of the vapours.

‘Calm yourself,’ Hélias said yet again as little Katérine dissolved, petrified that one of her most profitable punters, a ‘planter,’ who supplied false jewels to the unwary, would never come to see her again. The idea that he might be killed now that there was a new master trying to impose his rule, made the girl realise the transient nature of life’s little delights.

‘He’ll clear off out of Paris, and then I won’t get the bolt of wool he promised me!’ she wailed, until Hélias caught her a smart cut across the rump with a riding switch she kept handy for that purpose. ‘Ow!’

‘Shut up! Go and find another fellow and stop that whining, you slut! You want to be thrown from my home? Find yourself another room somewhere else? Just now, when your favourite punters may disappear into the Seine? Eh? Then be still and leave me alone to think !’

There were few of the strumpets on whom she could rely, but one was Little Bernadette, the girl from whom she had first received the news about poor Jean.

It was rare for Hélias to be sensitive when it came to men. Jean had initially been just another one of her clients important to her only for as long as he kept paying — but then as she grew to know him, the usual sense of contempt which Hélias felt for her customers began to peel away, and in its place was a feeling of warm companionship. Jean had not been coming to her to slake his natural desires for quite some while, in truth, and yet the times when he did visit were usually more enjoyable for the lack of sex. Instead they would discuss the city, the law, affairs of corruption or moral degeneracy, without rancour or irony. And then they would laugh as they raised their glasses. She would miss him hugely.

And he would be avenged.

‘Bernadette? Has your man heard anything about Jean’s murder?’

The man, one of the girl’s regular clients, was a known thief-taker. He would work to find men guilty of specific crimes for a bounty, handing them over to the city’s law officers when the cash was ready for him. Often that was an end to the business, but on some occasions there could be better profits. Sometimes the King would pay handsomely for a man to be brought to him — either because the man was to be released, or because he was guilty of an offence against him, in which case the Seine would claim him. At other times the King would merely point to those who were his enemies. There were many who wanted to set up business in Paris. So much easier for the King and his comrades if such people were removed. All the better if they were removed by King Charles’s Sergents.

‘Yes, he’s been here,’ the girl said.

‘And?’ Hélias prompted, reaching into her purse for a coin.

Bernadette shook her head and made Hélias put the money away. ‘Not for this. I want Jean’s killer as much as you. My man said that the new leader was probably the one responsible. There are rumours about him trailing after Jean for some days, so most think he did it.’

‘On his own?’

‘There was a contract between an unknown man and the King.’

‘Find out who it was. I want to know who put the money on Jean’s head. Once he’s found, we can arrange for him to be made to regret his decision.’

Louvre

Simon and Sir Richard walked along after Baldwin, crossing the courtyard and peering inside when they reached the kitchen.

Baldwin had to search for the cook. The kitchen had all the fires roaring, and the heat and noise was appalling. The boys lay on the floor, winding the great handles that kept the spits turning, or stood preparing vegetables and stirring pans full of stews and pottages. The flames were like small demons teasing new souls into hell, and the bellowing of the cooks and thin, reedy responses of the knaves, the clatter of pans and bowls, the roars of anger at failures, the snapping and crackling of twigs blazing in the ovens, all combined to create a cacophony so intense that Baldwin felt his head must burst.

Eventually he saw the cook. He was over at the farther end of the room, clouting a boy about the head for some misdemeanour, and when he noticed Sir Baldwin, he came straight over.

‘You again,’ he said with resignation.

Baldwin nodded. ‘Has anybody learned who could have killed your kitchen boy?’

‘No. Who cares about a nonentity like him? Poor little monster.’

‘You were fond of him?’

‘Of course I was! I thought of him — I think of most of the knaves in there-’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, ‘as my family. There’s not one of them I wouldn’t fight for. Not one.’ He fingered his heavy cook’s knife as he spoke, a faraway look in his eye that told of his feelings about the boy’s killing.

‘There was another man who was killed here,’ Baldwin said gently.

‘Yes. The man found in the Cardinal’s room. That was the same day poor Jehanin went missing.’

Baldwin looked at Simon. The Bailiff had not missed the relevant comment.

‘So,’ Simon said, ‘if the lad disappeared that same day, what part of the day was it? Morning? Afternoon?’

‘It was the same time as the body was discovered. That man, de Nogaret, was found just as I was bellowing for Jehanin. I was trying to find the scallywag, because he was supposed to be back, not off skiving somewhere.’

‘Where had he gone?’ Simon pressed him.

‘I had a need of some ortolans, and sent him to the poulterer, but the lad never returned.’

‘Did he get back to the castle?’

‘Well, Arnaud was certain he had at first. Told me he remembered little Jehanin walking in — but, then I wondered if he was right. After all, if Jehanin had returned, why hadn’t I seen him?’

Baldwin wore an expression of dawning realisation. He explained: ‘Because as soon as he came into the courtyard, he was asked to take a man to a room, intending to deliver him to a meeting, as had been planned, but that meeting was to be a murder. . and your Jehanin was slain in order to ensure his silence.’

‘The man was there, though. Why kill my Jehanin? And why conceal his body while leaving the man’s on full display?’

‘Good questions, to which I have no answer as yet. But I shall before long,’ Baldwin said with certainty. ‘And now, we will take our leave of you.’

Sir Richard hastily swallowed the piece of tartlet he had stolen from a tray. ‘What was that all about, then?’ he asked Sir Baldwin, spraying crumbs as he spoke. ‘Why’d the fellow tell us all that about his knave?’

Baldwin stopped and glanced back at the cook, still standing, shoulders slumped, at the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Because he truly cares for his apprentices and knaves. And at last I am beginning to gain an understanding for the story here.’