Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

One man in particular was lounging near the alehouse at the gate, Ricard saw. He watched them all for some while as they played, and then strolled towards them as the dancing fragmented,one girl giving up and tottering away breathlessly, dropping exhaustedly on to a stool.

When Ricard felt that they had played enough and exhausted that tune, he glanced over at the others, indicating it was timeto end. Janin nodded back at him, Philip closed his eyes in acknowledgement, and Adam grinned, his lips still about his littlewhistle. After one more round of the tune they all stopped together.

There was a sudden burst of applause, and Ricard stood to take a bow. He swept off his hat, intending to hold it out for acollection, but folk saw his move and began to leave hurriedly before they could be asked to donate. All except the man Ricardhad noticed. He remained, although he ignored the proffered hat.

‘Very good. You lot play well together. You could do with another drummer, though.’

‘We had one. He died.’

‘Oh, that was your friend, was it? I heard about a man found up at the London ditch.’

‘Someone killed him up there.’

‘He was drowned in the shite, wasn’t he? Why’d someone do something like that to a fellow?’ the man wondered aloud.

Ricard didn’t like this conversation. He replaced his hat on his head and turned away to put his citole back in the bag.

‘Have you found anyone to replace him?’ the man asked.

Ricard gazed at him. He had an odd accent. He certainly wasn’t from round here, not from London — and not from Surrey or Kent,as far as he could tell. The fellow was not overly tall. He had calm grey eyes, a pleasant smile, and crows’ feet that showedhe was a man who enjoyed life. His grey hair was cut short in the old fashion, and he was cleanshaven. His clothes were clean,his linen shirt so spotless it was almost painful to look at. ‘Why are you so interested?’

‘I was thinking, if you needed another drummer, perhaps a bodhran player could come along with you?’

Ricard eyed him up and down, considering. He was about to answer when he heard a call from the hall behind him, and they werecalled to the Queen’s presence.

Queen’s chamber

Baldwin smiled as he was introduced to the other men in the chamber, but inside he was still anxious. If only he had been able, hewould have remained at home with his wife and their children.

But no man could refuse the King’s summons with impunity. He had demanded Baldwin should come here, so Baldwin had complied.At least he had Edgar, his sergeant from those far-off days when he had been a Knight Templar, to stay in his manor with hiswife and ensure that she was safe. His son was causing him concern, though. The lad would not suckle as children should, inBaldwin’s experience. Like any other rural knight, he had bred many animals, and he knew as well as any other husbandman whata young creature needed. A boy like Baldwin needed plenty of milk, and while he refused to suckle from both breasts he wasnot gaining as much as he ought. While Jeanne was reluctant to admit that her son was not feeding enough, she accepted thathe might be able to do better, and Baldwin had instructed Edgar to enquire as to whether there was a woman in Crediton whowould be willing to act as nursemaid and wet nurse to his little boy. That way, perhaps he could ensure not only that hisson received adequate sustenance, but that his wife was given some time to rest and would suffer less from exhaustion.

He should be there, though. It was ridiculous that he should be drawn over to London now, with the likelihood of being sent to France to escort the Queen, when his duty meant remaining at the side of his wife.

Except no man had any duty which could take precedence over the interests of the King, of course. All were the King’s subjects,and owed their lives and wealth to him.

The others here were a mixed bag, though, he thought as he studied them.

William de Bouden he knew by reputation. The shortish, thickset and glowering ginger-haired comptroller was, so far as heknew, honourable and reliable. He had been the Queen’s Comptroller before, and Baldwin had heard that she was furious whenhe was removed from his post. However, all her friends and servants were taken away from her at the same time, so her rageat his departure was probably only an indication of her general discomfiture, rather than at this specific man’s removal.

One of the King’s better generals was going to lead the Queen’s diplomatic party: Lord John Cromwell. Tall and dark-haired,with narrow features but bright, intelligent black eyes, he had been Lord Steward to the King’s household for some while,and although he must have felt the same concern as barons like Mortimer before the supposed rebellion of the Lords Marcherthree years ago, he had remained true to the King. Baldwin wondered at that. He had himself stayed constant, but the doubtshad been terrible.

There were three other knights in the room being granted their brief audience with the Queen, and one was familiar: a tall,fair, handsome man with the haughty blue eyes of one who knew that the world existed to amuse and satisfy him — Sir Charlesof Lancaster.

Baldwin had met him with Simon while they were travelling on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, and he had been with themon their return when they had been shipwrecked off the island of Ennor. Sir Charles had been a loyal vassal of the Earl of Lancaster, but when the Earl had been killed after his ill-conceived opposition to the King, SirCharles had been left without a master. Like so many other homeless and rootless knights, he had left the country to travelabroad, seeking fame and fortune in the only way a chivalric man could, at the point of sword or lance. But even there hisattempts to gain some prestige and honour failed. Now, however, he had clearly become less a mercenary, more a respected householdretainer of the King. He wore the King’s own badge at his breast.

The other two, so Baldwin learned as they were introduced, were Sir John de Sapy and Sir Peter de Lymesey. Neither was knownto him. Sir John was a man of middle height, with a square face and calm grey eyes, while Sir Peter was a little taller, moreof Baldwin’s own build, but with a strangely rectangular face and dark eyes under heavy brows. Both stood with their handson their swords, and bowed only cursorily. At least Sir Charles bowed like a knight honouring a lady, Baldwin thought as healso bent at the waist. However, when he straightened up again, he saw that amusement in Sir Charles’s eyes, and wonderedwhether the ostentatiousness of his reverence was purely to conceal his cynicism about the lady’s position. All knew aboutDespenser’s hold on the King.

‘ Ah, Sieur Baldwin de Furnshill, n’est-ce pas? ’ the Queen was saying, and Baldwin urgently bowed again, returning his attentionto her.

‘Your highness,’ he responded, also in French. It was fortunate that he, like almost all knights, was multilingual. Everyman who served the King must learn the King’s first language, French, as well as the common English tongue. In Baldwin’s casehe must also speak some Latin for conversations with the clerks in his courts and with the men of the Church, and he had beenforced to pick up some of the old language that was still so common about the west of Devon and Cornwall. In comparison with that, the French of this lady was a great deal easier.

‘You are alone here? Your friend the bailiff is not with you?’

‘My lady, I came here alone, I fear.’

It was true enough. He would have given much to know that his old companion Simon Puttock was at his side. There were so manydangers he could conceive during this mission to France. It would have been comforting to know that Simon was with him.