Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

But Charles had some advisers of his own, whose loyalty was beyond doubt. He looked around him now, and beckoned Françoisde Tours.

‘What did you make of that?’

François was older than the King by a decade. He was a lean, tall, ascetic man who spent much of his time, when the King wastravelling, in the Île de la Cité, the ancient palace that had grown to become the centre of all administration for the Frenchstate. Now he stood and bent respectfully at the King’s side.

‘He plainly wished to see how you would react to the idea of Queen Isabella’s coming here to meet and treat with you in herhusband’s place.’

‘So that means that the Pope himself already knows that the English are likely to send her, then.’

‘I should think it likely.’

‘And he is concerned as to how I may respond to her.’

‘I would assume that would be because of her part in the affair of the Tour de Nesle, my liege.’

The mere mention of that episode was enough to make King Charles forget to maintain his equanimity. His face flushed, andhe had to clench his jaw a moment to prevent his angry words from spilling out, but then he regained control, his featureslost their angry colour, and he could breathe a gentle sigh.

‘I have forgiven her that.’

‘I was analysing the situation, your highness. If I gave offence, I-’

‘No, François. You were correct to mention it. You must always feel free to advise me without fear. I cannot trust your judgementif you are anxious about raising certain matters before me.’

But it was a difficulty, as both men knew. King Charles still had no children. His father had died eleven years ago, and KingCharles was the fourth king since then. He was the last in the male line of the Capetian blood. If he were to die withouta son, his family would have failed.

If only that slut Marguerite de Burgundy, his brother’s wife, had not been so promiscuous. The bitch took delight in all things,and her position as the wife of the future king of France gave her leeway unavailable to others. But when she was discoveredin her adultery her fall was devastating. She was dead within the year — but the damage was already done. It broke his father’sheart, and Philip the Fair was dead a twelvemonth later.

Blanche, Charles’s wife, was found to be guilty along with Marguerite. She was taken from him and thrust into a foul dungeonto rot. She deserved her fate — they both did — because they had put cuckolds’ horns on the two princes, but it was a desperateposition for the royal family. Suddenly both heirs had lost their wives. And without a wife, neither could breed.

Blanche’s marriage to him was not annulled for some time. At last, three years ago, it was, and immediately Charles remarried- this time the lovely Marie of Luxembourg. She conceived and bore him a son, but mother and child both died in the birth.Louis, the boy had been named. His second son. The first, poor Philip, had died aged only eight in the year his mother’s marriageto Charles was annulled.

‘Your highness — would you like some wine?’

‘François, no. I am fine,’ the King said. ‘I was remembering my sons.’

‘I am sure that your wife will bear you many strong and healthy boys,’ François said soothingly.

‘I hope so.’ Jeanne d’Evreux was as beautiful as she was young. At only fifteen years old, she was perfect for producing achild. Or so he hoped.

It was odd to think that he was about to marry his third wife; that he had already fathered four children, but all were dead.He mourned them all, but he had a duty as king, and that was to leave his realm in the capable hands of a boy.

Still, it made the visit of his sister poignant. After all, if she had not denounced his first wife, Blanche would probably havewhelped more boys for him. His line would be secure. Instead here he was, fighting to find a woman who could bear him hisheir and save the line of Capet.

François bent a little nearer. ‘There is one other matter, my liege. The Château Gaillard. The lady has been removed, andall is taken care of.’

The King looked at him with eyes that glittered with anger. ‘ All is taken care of?’

There was an edge to his voice which François had never heard before, a thrilling of hatred. ‘As you say, my liege. The lady,and all those who could have told the story.’

‘Good. And now you will never mention that place nor her to me again.’

François nodded and walked from the room.

The cardinal was waiting outside when François arrived. ‘Well?’

‘He is happy that all proceeds.’

‘You told him all?’

‘Only about the garrison.’

‘Did you tell him one man escaped?’

François said nothing, merely stared at him.

‘You know it as well as I.’

‘Cardinal, the man will die. Already men from Les Andelys search the roads between there and his home in the south. No matterwhere he goes, he will be found. And destroyed.’

‘Good. A heretic like that must be removed, like a rabid dog, before he can infect other good people.’

‘Never fear. He will.’

The cardinal nodded. He felt only an increasing glow within his breast. This embassy would be the culmination of so much effort, with good fortune, and then the hosts could be collected and men and arms would sail once more for the HolyLand. The king of France would command the combined forces of Christendom, and at last Jerusalem would return to the controlof Christ’s people.

And the man who had orchestrated all this would, perhaps, be granted the post of papal representative in God’s holy city.

New Palace Yard, Thorney Island

Ricard grunted to himself, head huddled down under his hood as the rain began to fall again. ‘Sweet Jesus, this bloody weatheris enough to make a duck pissed off!’ He pulled his cloak tighter about him and Charlie.

Janin at his side was protectively shielding the bag containing his hurdy-gurdy under his heavy cloak. ‘I don’t know aboutthat, but I’m certain sure it won’t do my strings any good.’

‘Rain is the one catastrophe that helps none of us. We’ll just have to rely on Adam’s piping and our singing if we’re calledon to entertain the party.’

‘Philip’s singing?’ Janin asked doubtfully.

‘Hmm.’ Ricard looked over at Philip. He was standing with a scowl of such ferocity, Ricard was surprised the rain had thetemerity to continue to fall.

They had been up before the dawn, all ready and prepared to leave, but then when they were about to depart, although the Queenhad arrived, the King had not. It seemed that he and Despenser were huddled together in the palace discussing some mattersof great importance. Either that, or they were still lying abed, Ricard thought grimly.

Their new companion was a little distance away from them. He had a slight smile on his face, but then, Ricard had always heardthat the land of the Irish was as wet as a vill’s pond. He was probably used to it.

‘What about you, Jack of Ireland? Can you sing a tune or two?’

‘Me? I suppose I know a few.’

‘Good. We may need you to save us from Philip’s voice, then,’ Ricard said.

As Philip protested his ability, Ricard narrowly studied Jack from the corner of his eye.

Janin had summed it up when Ricard told the others last night.

‘Well, he can play. Perhaps it was just that — the Queen’s Comptroller wanted a good musician to replace Peter.’

‘And perhaps cats can fly,’ Philip had said. ‘Our friend Peter dies, and then this new drummer is foisted on us? Too muchof a coincidence, I’d say.’

‘Look, maybe you don’t like him, but I think his playing is still a lot better than Peter’s used to be. Sorry, I know noneof us likes to admit that, but there it is. I think it’s better to be honest about things.’