Michael Jecks - The King of Thieves

Second Wednesday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Queen Isabella’s chamber, Louvre

‘I hear you wish to leave us,’ the Queen said flatly.

Baldwin and Simon stood before her, Sir Richard a pace or two behind. She was sitting in a pleasant little chair with decorative cushions that looked more comfortable than the down pillow on the bed behind her, Baldwin thought. She was a picture of regal authority, sitting there so serious, rather like a judge.

It was Simon who answered. His voice was a little choked. ‘My Lady, I came here to protect your son on the orders of the Bishop Walter, and I would not leave your service if I thought that there was aught I could do to keep him safe. But the truth is, there is nothing for me to do here. I would remain at your command if there was anything I felt I could add, but you know full well that you have many men to guard you here.’

‘And you, Sir Baldwin?’

‘My Lady, I have been away from my wife and little children too long. You can surely understand a parent’s need to see them. You have suffered from being removed from your own.’

‘You do not need to remind me,’ she hissed, eyes blazing. ‘But you would leave me and return like that mediocre cleric Stapledon, wouldn’t you? Bishop Walter de Stapledon has fled and left me here in dire need, all because he refused to pass to me the money that my husband had already allocated for my use. It is because of him that I am forced to remain here. I could scarcely leave France while my debts were still outstanding, could I?’

So that, Baldwin considered, was to be her excuse. Now that Bishop Walter had run from the city with the letter from the King providing funds, she was forced to remain. It was the Bishop’s fault.

She looked them over. ‘You have other matters which concern you?’

‘What could there be?’

In answer the Queen stood. She waved her hands and all her servants walked from the chamber, leaving only herself and her son with them. ‘You know all the stories. The Despenser’s most implacable enemy is here in France.’

‘Yes. We had heard that the threats issued against the Bishop were probably made by him,’ Simon said bluntly. This was no time for prevarication.

‘You believe that? You believe Sir Roger Mortimer is here?’

‘We do,’ Baldwin said. ‘My Lady, this is none of our affair.’

‘And yet you refuse to aid me. You will remain a man of the King’s?’

‘The King’s, yes. Not Sir Hugh le Despenser’s. And I am not your enemy, Lady, merely a man who seeks not to break his oath of allegiance. Do not think the worse of me for that. Sir Roger Mortimer himself refused to raise his standard against that of the King. If he had, the King would have been defeated by him and his host, I am sure. But Sir Roger chose the path of honour and lowered his standard, surrendering himself.’

It was no more than the truth. Sir Roger had been the King’s most successful General. When he rose with the other Lords Marcher from the Welsh borders, they could easily have squashed the force sent against them, and yet Sir Roger Mortimer and the others would not fight the King. They were not traitors or rebels, but honourable men protecting what was theirs against an intolerably avaricious man — Sir Hugh le Despenser. So Sir Roger surrendered to the King’s standard and was imprisoned. Escaping when his death warrant was signed, he had no choice but to take the path of flight. And now open rebellion, perhaps.

‘You think to suggest you are the same as he?’

‘I think to persuade you that I am a mere rural knight who has been caught up in affairs which are nothing to do with me, which are not of my making, which are of no interest to me. I have done my duty to you and to your son this year, and all I seek is an opportunity to return to my home. Simon and I both fear for our estates.’

‘So you will return to your homes, not to the King?’

‘We shall perhaps report that you are both safe, but no more.’

‘You say so, too, Bailiff?’

Simon swallowed. ‘Majesty, my wife and my home are threatened by the same man who threatens you. I have a duty to get back home to protect them.’

‘Despenser threatens you?’

‘He threatens both of us,’ Baldwin explained, ‘but he has bought Simon’s house. Our fear is that he may try to evict Simon’s family while he is abroad. His covetousness does not know any limit.’

‘That is true enough,’ the Queen said. ‘Very well. Sir Richard, you have been most unnaturally silent today. What will you do?’

‘Me Lady, I’m a simple knight from the King’s own manor. I can’t think to oppose him. So if the truth be told, I’ll ride back, report, and then go home. And damn glad I’ll be to see it!’

His bluff manner satisfied her, plainly. She smiled and sat again. ‘You are all released from my son’s service, if he agrees.’

The Duke of Aquitaine was silent for some while, staring at the men in turn. ‘All right. I can accept their departure. But only on one condition. When I call for their help, they will come to my aid. Is that clear? I wish you all to swear it.’

Second Thursday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Road to Beauvais

He was utterly exhausted. The last two days had really taken it out of him. Bishop Walter was inured to travel: a man who must regularly ride from one side of his diocese to another, and who was so involved in national politics that he must ride to London often, could hardly be otherwise. But this panicky flight was a different thing.

The road here was a rock-strewn track with grass in the middle and low hedges on either side, not unlike the roads in Wiltshire. There had been some very straight sections, but this part was as curving as a rope thrown upon the floor. It meant that they could not be seen from afar, but it also meant that they were unaware of other travellers until they were almost upon them.

There was a need for haste, that much was certain. They had to march fast, and yet avoid the appearance of urgency. If any should notice them and their hurry, any pursuit would find it too easy to track them down and capture them — if capture was the worst that could happen. It was more likely that they would be taken and executed on the spot, with outlaws accused of the heinous crime. It is what he himself would have done in the King of France’s position.

All the while on the road, while his staff tap-tap-tapped the way, and his clerks and servants followed with quiet anxiety, he was aware of the pressing fear that drove them all. The French could appear at any time, swords waving. There was nothing that he and the others could do about it. And Mortimer and the Queen would be delighted to see him dead.

Not that the Queen had actually threatened him. Not directly, anyway, so far as he could remember. It was merely the hints. And the fact of that man gripping him by the throat. That incident had set the fear of death in his heart. It was not something he had ever been aware of before, this terror of being slain like a dog. He supposed it was how many peasants lived, with the constant awareness that the slightest infraction or error could lead to a dagger in the back or a sudden overwhelming assault from a group of men in armour. For the first time he felt an appreciation for the grinding, numbing terror that was a part of so many lives.

They had stopped for a late breakfast of porridge and some bread a few miles back, and now they had full bellies after chewing on some pease pudding which they had secreted in their purses that morning. But Bishop Walter would not give them much time to rest. They must continue. He only prayed that the rain would hold off for a few more days. He dared not ask for rooms at an inn, in case they were followed and their passage reported, so although they could halt and ask for bread or pudding, he would not allow them to use a bed. Their mattresses were the fields and the hollows under hedges.