Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘Shut up, Adam,’ Philip had said sharply.

‘What do you say, Jack? Will you sing?’ Ricard asked now.

‘Ah, now you should hear my voice, Ric. I have the purest notes this side of the mountains.’

So saying, he walked away, whistling. Philip and Janin exchanged a look, and it was Janin who glanced at Ricard with a vaguelyconfused expression on his face. ‘What do you suppose that means?’

‘I reckon it means I’ll be getting the bastard to sing most of the songs on the way,’ Ricard said. He huddled more closelyinside his cloak, feeling a drip work its way down at the back of his neck and trailing on to his shoulder. Charlie wriggledand grunted, and Ricard was tempted to snarl.

He hated hearing his name shortened.

Saturday next after the Feast of Piranus 9

Dover

Simon Puttock was relieved to arrive at Dover, although there was a strong sense of revulsion at the thought of once more beingforced to board a ship and cross the sea.

It was not an irrational fear that he held of seafaring. He had experienced all aspects of sailing, and he disliked them.Ships rolled and bucked alarmingly, he had discovered. Even when a man stood up on deck, running the risk every few minutesof a soaking, the fact that the horizon rotated about the prow made him need to heave. Any food he consumed would immediatelyreturn and have to be discharged over the side. And when all this was endured with moderate patience, the next disaster wouldbe either an attack by pirates or a shipwreck. Having suffered all of these more or less natural calamities, Simon was notkeen to explore the delights of sailing once more.

‘There they are,’ he said, pointing to the group nearer the harbour.

Baldwin looked where he indicated. It had been noticeable that the King and Despenser had travelled much of the way together,while the Queen and her ladies and knights had been kept towards the rear of the long column of travellers. Now, at last,the three were standing together, while Lord John Cromwell listened near the Queen’s shoulder. ‘Lord John is taking his dutiesseriously, I am glad to see.’

‘He would, wouldn’t he? The man is honour bound to protect her, after all.’

‘I suppose so,’ Baldwin said. ‘But I wonder who picked him? It was unlikely to have been her Majesty.’

‘I hope it wasn’t Sir Hugh le Despenser, then,’ Simon muttered. Both knew how poisonous relations had grown between Sir Hugh and theQueen in recent months.

The sound of laughter came to them, and they both peered at the group.

‘Is that the Queen?’ Simon asked.

‘I believe so,’ Baldwin said. ‘And she is kissing Sir Hugh!’

‘I don’t think I can believe what I’m seeing,’ Simon said.

Queen Isabella was chuckling and exchanging pleasantries with the King’s favourite, and as they watched, she rested her handon his arm and spoke to him again. Then she was away, kissing her husband respectfully, and curtseying to him before walkingoff with Lord Cromwell. The King and his friend watched them as they made their way down to the harbour.

‘Perhaps all is well again now,’ Simon ventured. ‘She is travelling in some style, after all. She must have money from theKing. Maybe he’s realised her value to him?’

‘And maybe it was all a ruse to lull his suspicions,’ Baldwin said. ‘There is something else in her mind, I am sure. She loathesSir Hugh. I am quite certain of that. The two men in the world whom she hates more than any other are him and our friend thebishop of Exeter. It is inconceivable that she could have so changed her feelings in the last weeks.’

‘Well, how has she been when you have spoken to her recently? Are you sure there has been no difference?’

‘Simon, you have been with me at every moment on this journey. When have you seen me with her?’

‘Never?’

‘No. She has been with her women at all times and has avoided being with me or any of the other knights.’

‘Why should that be? Perhaps she wishes to remain alone so that she can consider what she must say to her brother?’

Baldwin looked at him. ‘What is she likely to want to say? She has advisers and clerks aplenty. The only things which they will not be privy to are the loving things which a brotherand sister will say when they are meeting for the first time in some ten years or so.’

‘Ten years?’ Simon was quiet for a moment. ‘To think of leaving your own land and not seeing it for ten years …’ He lookedat the ships in the harbour with a reluctance that bordered on terror.

‘Simon, do not panic! We have among the best shipmen in the world here to take us over the sea.’ Baldwin laughed. ‘I do notthink that it will take them very long to carry us over the little puddle that separates us from France.’

‘It was not only that which worried me,’ Simon said. ‘It was the thought of what is waiting for us at the other side.’

Friday before the Feast of St Edward the Martyr 11

Poissy

Jean had reached this town on his way homewards, before realising that there was nothing for him there. Where was there anythingfor him to find? His old home was burned to the ground, his wife and child were dead, his father and his brother had bothdied in the wars trying to defend the honour of his comte — and now that he had failed in the simple task he had been setby his comte, helping to guard an old fort, there was nowhere for him to go. He was homeless, and unless he could persuadehis comte that the slaughter of the guards was not his fault, he would be thrown into gaol himself.

After hurrying to Les Andelys and hearing the comments, escape to Paris had seemed the best option. He should tell someonethat Arnaud had gone mad and killed all the other guards. But when he looked at himself, he realised that when he had pickedup Guillaume much of the man’s blood had drained on to him. Suddenly, he wondered how another would look at him, a strangerto this area, telling a wild story about someone else who went mad and butchered all the guards, while he alone survived — although smothered in the gore of the dead. It would not look good. Especially since his accent was so different. He spoke the beautiful dialect of the Languedoc, while all the people about here had the harsh twang ofNorman French. He was an outsider again, and here he must be viewed askance.

No, rather than that he would return to his lord and report to him, direct. But in so doing, he would again be open to criticism.Why had he not reported to the nearest town, sought out the King’s officers and ensured that the murderer was found? Explainingthat he was terrified would not serve to protect him. He had a duty to perform, and his cowardice had ensured that the criminalhad escaped. There was no excuse for that.

So here he was, in a small town to the north-west of Paris, wondering what he should do to extricate himself from this mess.The more days passed, the more trouble he faced. If he had sought out his lord on the first day, perhaps he would be all right.As it was, he was now a thief himself. At the first opportunity he had stolen a fresh shirt and hosen, while his leather jackhad been carefully washed in a stream to remove all the blood. So now he was condemned no matter what he tried.

At least he had a place to rest his head. The other guards had no heads to rest. And Arnaud was perhaps still on the loose.

There was one possible silver lining to the cloud, though. Perhaps, if people had found the château and all the bodies, theymight think that he was one of the victims as well. They could assume that he had been slaughtered along with Guillaume, Ponsand the others. Yes, that was a thought: maybe Jean had died in the eyes of the officials, and was no more. Could he be free,at last, from the taint which had been with him for so long?