Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

Louvre

In the castellan’s chamber, Hugues was startled by the sudden opening of his door. He rolled over to grab for his sword, and Amélie squeaked as she was thrown from him.

‘Get rid of the whore, Hugues — we have business,’ the Cardinal said coldly.

Second Tuesday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Courtyard of the Louvre

Baldwin and Simon were outside as dawn broke, and they watched as the small party of pilgrims walked across the grounds to the gate as it was opened by Arnaud. He paid no attention to them as they set off on their way.

‘That is that, then,’ Simon said.

‘Yes. Godspeed to the Bishop,’ Baldwin said with feeling. ‘I only pray that he makes it safely to the coast. It would be a dreadful disaster, were he to be found on his way and killed.’

‘I would miss him,’ Simon said.

‘I too,’ Baldwin said, but with less sympathy. The truth was that Walter Stapledon had been an ally of the Despenser for too long now, and Baldwin was not certain where the Bishop’s loyalties lay. He was worried that Sir Walter’s main interests were all too self-centred. Only earlier this year, when Baldwin and Simon had found evidence which showed Sir Hugh le Despenser in a less than attractive light, the Bishop had promised to hold it in safe-keeping, and then had given it to Despenser himself, who had promptly destroyed it.

But no matter what his thoughts of the Bishop’s personal actions and his integrity in matters of politics, the man had the gift of inspiring others. All too often in the past he had inspired Baldwin himself. It was only more recently that Baldwin had found his blandishments more easy to ignore — or try to. Somehow the Bishop usually managed to get his own way.

Not here in Paris, though, Baldwin reminded himself.

‘Baldwin?’ Simon nudged him out of his reverie. ‘Yesterday, while we were talking to the cook, you seemed to think you were getting an insight into the killings here. Is that right?’

‘Partly, I think, yes. I have some idea about the boy Jehanin’s death. He was at the gate when de Nogaret entered the castle, and when de Nogaret asked where to go, the boy was told to show him there. And here we have the mystery: all at the gate must know where the Cardinal’s chamber was, so why instruct the lad to take a guest so far away from it — unless the motive was murder.’

‘True — which means that de Nogaret must have been known to his killer. Someone inside the castle knew he was coming, and knew the time — thus was able to plan to have the man directed to the chamber.’

‘Precisely, Simon. The killer did know de Nogaret was arriving. And he had his victim brought to the room where he would be able to slay him in peace. He couldn’t afford to take him there himself, as it would have been witnessed. And that, I think …’

‘… Is why the poor lad was murdered in his turn. Just to keep his mouth shut,’ Simon breathed.

‘I believe so. This killer is cold-blooded enough to remove any who could prove to be dangerous to him. First de Nogaret, then the kitchen knave, then Madame de Nogaret, and I think probably Jean the Procureur. Perhaps because Jean was getting too close to the truth.’

‘Did he not make any notes in the scroll?’

‘I have looked at it in detail,’ Baldwin said regretfully, ‘but I can find nothing important. I think our only hope is that this appalling King of Thieves will finally tell us what he knows.’

‘It is possible, I suppose,’ Simon said without conviction.

‘Yes. Just,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘Ach, come, Simon. Let us go to the Temple and see what the good Pons may show us. We may even be granted some uplifting news there — one never knows.’

Chamber near St Jacques la Boucherie

Jacquot was moderately happy with the way his takeover had gone. The sudden removal of the King was achieved with a minimum of fuss, the transfer of power to him had been implemented, and most of the men in the gang were happy to see some form of continuity rather than out-and-out gang warfare between rivals. That would be bad for business.

‘How did you alert the officers to the King’s location?’ he asked Amélie.

The chamber was small, low-ceilinged and cold. They had been forced to light a small brazier, and the coals glowed reassuringly in the dull light.

She was standing at the side of it, clad in a soft linen material with a heavier woollen robe of red velvet over the top. Looking at him, she smiled. ‘It was easy. I told the officer I knew where the killer of the Procureur was to be found.’

He nodded. It was all a game to her. This was her attempt at subtlety, no doubt, to remind him that she knew what he had done, that he had killed the Procureur. With information like that, she could try to run the whole of the gang, if she wanted. But she couldn’t, because by some mysterious quirk of fate, she had been born a woman. Despite having been given the mind of a cruel and unfeeling man, she could never rule the Parisian underworld because none of the men would accept a female ruler. Therefore, she must have a figurehead — a puppet to rule in her stead — and he was the one she had selected.

‘You would betray me without blinking, wouldn’t you?’ he said rhetorically.

She smiled at him, that slow, feral twitch of the lips which he had seen so often before. It was the practised smile of the whore, he thought, that signified the slow awakening of desire. She had beguiled the King with it, just as she had sorely tempted other men in the gang.

He shrugged. ‘Don’t bother. You know it doesn’t work with me.’

‘No? Why not? Other men love me — don’t you?’

‘As much as I’d love a snake. You are as smooth, and as lethal.’

She smiled more broadly now, and began to lift her linen skirts. ‘You mean you’d refuse me?’ she murmured.

‘I would not dare to trust you.’

‘You are so hurtful,’ she laughed. The skirt was already about her waist, but she held the material in her hands, bunched before her belly, so that the cloth hung down concealing her sex. ‘Don’t you want this?’ she taunted him, gently waving it from side to side.

‘When I want a whore, I’ll go to old Angeline,’ he said without rancour.

She dropped her skirts. ‘Why not. The raddled old cow could do with a man again. What do you intend now?’

‘Now?’ he repeated. ‘I have the business to continue, woman. The old King was adept at all forms of work. I needs must emulate him.’

‘Well, do not work yourself too hard, will you?’ she said. ‘I have great plans for us while we rule the gang. I wouldn’t want you to be too exhausted.’

As she turned and made her way from the chamber, he was sorely tempted to reach for his knife and put an end to her there and then. There was something about her that grated on him all the time. She was so knowing, so ruthless, so bloodthirsty. There were none of the feminine traits in her; only those of violence and destruction. If she had been born a man, he was confident that she would be the new King — and that he, Jacquot, would already be dead.

At the gate to the Louvre

Sir Richard caught up with them as Baldwin and Simon were leaving the castle, Wolf bounding at his side.

‘You trying to avoid me?’ Sir Richard demanded, only half-joking.

‘Not at all,’ Baldwin smiled.

‘Has he gone?’

They had spoken to Sir Richard as soon as they had been able, late the previous night, so he knew that Bishop Walter was intending to leave that morning.

Baldwin looked over his shoulder at a pair of French guards who appeared a little too interested in them. ‘Let us go and meet with our friend Pons at the Temple as he suggested. We can speak on the way.’