Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Arnaud. Arnaud. The torturer. The mere thought was enough to make Jean feel sickly in his belly. He had saved Jean’s life,perhaps, but Jean could not like him. There was no trust between them. How could Jean trust the man who had done such things?

Yes, it was Jean who was most affected by Arnaud out of all those in the chamber. After all, he knew what the torturers fromthe Inquisition could do to people. He’d seen it.

Thorney Island

The Queen of England was no stranger to fear now, yet the terror was closer, more poignant, the stronger her hopes of freedomgrew.

Alicia was already in the hall when she returned from the second meeting with her husband. ‘Your highness?’

‘Yes. He has confirmed it,’ Isabella said. She was still quite shocked, and as she held up the papers for Alicia to see, shesaw that her hand was shaking.

‘It is one thing to be told, it is another to have the papers,’ Alicia said.

She read them quickly, but Isabella made no further comment about them. All that mattered was that the papers were genuine.Safe conducts for her and her party to travel to France to visit her brother and negotiate the truce for Guyenne. All there,all clear, all precise and correct. If he were to withdraw from the plan now, it would send her demented, she was sure. Itwas her last hope, her last opportunity of freedom. Once she had succeeded in shaking the dust of England from her feet, she would be secure once more.But she had to get away. She must not allow anyone to see how much she craved this journey, because if her husband or hislover, the dreadful Despenser, were to learn how deeply she desired it, they would realise that she had deceived them.

‘My lady, you are safe!’ Alicia whispered, so quietly her lips barely moved.

‘And you? You are happy to have those musicians back?’

Alicia nodded. ‘They will suit our purpose.’

‘I will have him castrated if he tries to hurt you.’

‘I would do it myself if I thought he was a danger — to me or to you!’ Alicia breathed. ‘I’ve already told Richard about theman. He’ll look after me.’

Isabella had learned how to dissemble and pretend to be a play-actor. She gave a fleeting grin, but then glanced at Aliciawith a cold, outraged demeanour, and imperiously held out her hand for the papers. She did not so much as glance in the directionof the other women in the room.

They were all the spies of Despenser.

3rd day of Lent 6

Alehouse at gateway to Palace Yard, Westminster

They were all nervous as they marched under the entrance gate to the great palace complex of Westminster on Thorney Island.Charlie, in Ricard’s arms, buried his head in Ricard’s neck. It was odd — just that little proof of the lad’s sense of vulnerabilitywas enough to make Ricard’s breast swell. He felt as if he could kill dragons to protect him. And then they fell under theshadow of the gatehouse, and his courage cooled. The mere sight of the huge belfry at the abbey next door made him duck his own head down. There was too much moneyand magnificence here for them. And of course they were here to do the bidding of someone else and spy on the Queen.

‘One thing I still don’t understand is,’ Janin had said as he scuffed his boots along the road to the palace, ‘why they wantus so badly. There must be some good reason why they want a motley band of brothers like us to be near the Queen.’

‘Maybe that’s it?’ Philip said. ‘They think we’re so motley, no one would suspect us of any deviousness.’

‘Well, naturally they’d respect our position. Perhaps it’s just that. They know that a Queen’s Musician is likely to be ableto keep close to her, eh?’ Ricard grunted.

They were no nearer an answer when they reached the alehouse inside the gateway. It was here that they were supposed to meettheir companion Peter. He was to introduce them to the Queen’s Comptroller, but when they gave their names to the guard atthe door, they were told to wait and someone would be sent to find their companion.

‘He’s a musician, you say?’

The man’s suspicion was not hidden, but few in these troubled times were not distrustful of strangers, and no one was morewary than a king’s guard. There had been attempts to assassinate the King and his friend since Mortimer the Traitor had escapedfrom the Tower.

Ricard answered for them all. ‘Peter Waferer — he plays the tabor. He ought to be up and about by now.’

‘Wait here.’

They were forced to hang around for a long while. It was soon apparent that no one had seen Peter that morning so far, andas the sun climbed in the sky the guard quickly grew bored with their presence. He called a lad over and asked whether themusicians could be taken to the Queen’s Comptroller. Soon they were being escorted over the great yard towards the exchequer buildings, two extensions added to themassive hall built by William II more than two hundred years ago.

The main exchequer chambers were full of black-garbed clerks working on numbers, and there was a large table with a chequeredcloth on it, although all the men seemed to be scrawling on parchments or in books rather than looking at the money on it.And there was a lot of money, enough to make Ricard salivate, almost. There was no sign of the man they must see, though,so they were taken out through a small door into the great hall itself. Here there were several courts hearing cases, thejudges sitting in attitudes of either boredom or keen attention. They followed their guide down behind the court of CommonPleas and King’s bench, past a massive marble table which was, so Ricard was told in a hushed tone, the Chancery, before beingled out through the rear of the hall into a small chamber nearer the river. At last they met William de Bouden.

‘Who in God’s name are you lot? What’s that brat doing in here?’

The bawled demand was enough to make all of them drop their heads, and their guide respectfully bowed and apologised.

‘My lord, these are the musicians for the Queen. They’re here to join her on her journey, if it pleases you.’

‘No, it bloody doesn’t. Scruffy-looking bunch of tatterdemalions! Where in hell did you find them, eh?’

The guide was sensibly silent at that question, but Ricard felt that somebody ought to speak, so he pulled off his hat respectfullyand cleared his throat.

‘You hawk and spit in here, man, and you’ll spend the next year in the King’s gaol!’

‘My lord, I was only going to say that we played for the Queen some while ago, and she remembers us. Perhaps she wanted us to join her when she rides off to wherever she’s going.Where is it? York? Lincoln?’

‘Bloody York? Lincoln? Christ’s bones, man, she’d hardly need musicians for a local journey like that. No, she’s off intodanger in France, and some of us are going with her. Sweet Mother of God, though, these bastards stink! She will want nothingto do with them.’

The guide bent his head. ‘Earl Edmund himself has asked that you take them. The embassy is to be as flattering to her honouras possible. The Earl respectfully asked that you find some money for them, so that she has her full dignity during her embassy.No ambassador would think of travelling so far to meet so prestigious a ruler without some form of musician, and Earl Edmundis assured that these are actually very good players.’

‘Earl Edmund said that? Dear heaven! When someone with his intellect sinks to selecting musicians, there’s no telling whatsort of man he may find.’ He curled his lip at them. ‘Well, you can’t put them in front of her looking and smelling like that.Take them to the wash house and see that they’re made presentable. Throw away those rags of theirs, and give them some moresuitable clothes. The Queen’s own colours, mind. You’ll all get the usual fare: food and drink with the rest of the seniorservants, two tunics a year, and occasional tips when you play well. All right? The boy can’t come, though.’