Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Was it possible? Were the crimes of his past finally laid to rest?

Boulogne

It was mid-morning when Simon gratefully followed the suit of all the knights and climbed into the saddle once more.

Dear Christ in heaven! They’d reached France within hours of leaving England, making landfall at Wissant, and the same daythe Queen had commanded that they should make their way to Boulogne and give thanks for their safe and swift journey. Well,Simon wouldn’t argue with that. They had arrived in one piece, which was more than he had hoped for when they set off. Almostas soon as the ship pulled the sails up, or whatever the blasted shipmaster called it, there had been a dreadful crack andone of the sails had simply burst. One minute it was a whole sheet, the next there was this almighty report and the thingwas in shreds. Apparently it happened quite often. In his post as representative of the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth, hehad heard of such things, but this was the first time he had witnessed it, and he did not enjoy it.

Still, it was the only disaster on the journey. The sailors ran up and down the lines at either side of the cog, and soonthe sail was replaced, and then they were making their way quickly enough, with just a little bucking and rocking to unsettlehis belly. He only had a chance to throw up four times before they reached the French shore.

As soon as they made landfall, he expected to unload the ship and set off to meet the French king’s representatives, but no.Instead Queen Isabella had been determined to see the church of Our Lady in Boulogne, where she made offerings and devotions.The whole town seemed to turn out to meet her and her entourage, and all thirty or so were invited in and given a royal welcome,lodging and food. There the party remained for five days, with no one showing the slightest inclination to get a move on,other than Simon and Baldwin.

It was not until the sixth day that they received the order to gather up their belongings and leave the town. At last they would make their way to meet the king of France’s representatives.

Simon was unhappy. ‘Baldwin, you’re perfectly comfortable here, aren’t you? But the people seem … different. Is it theirclothes?’

‘It is everything, Simon. It’s the clothes, the language, the countryside. Do you not feel that it is special? I think itfeels cleaner, more wholesome somehow, than England.’

‘What, you mean Devon?’

‘No — I was thinking of England near here. London and Kent. They are curious places compared with this lovely landscape.’

Simon looked about him. ‘What is so lovely about this?’

Baldwin snuffed the air. ‘The scent of garlic, of grilled fish, of lavender, of wine … all these things and more.’

‘You can get all those things in England.’

‘True enough, but in this country they seem more natural, in some way. Look about you!’

Simon did. He huddled his chin down against his gorget and shook his head to resettle his hood over his ears. ‘Yes. It’s verypleasant. Except just now I would prefer to be at home in Lydford with a great fire roaring on the hearth and the smell ofwoodsmoke and spiced wine to warm my heart.’

Baldwin said nothing, but smiled to himself for a few moments. Then a picture came to his mind of Jeanne sitting at his ownfireside, with Richalda and little Baldwin nearby, and suddenly the vision brought a lump to his throat.

Pontoise

Le Vieux was feeling sick again. He had to stop at the side of the road and throw up. That was all his lunch wasted, then.

‘Come, Vieux! We have to-’

‘Shit! You go on, Arnaud. I am too old for this.’

‘You? I never thought I’d see the day you said that!’

Arnaud was staring down at him with a mirthless grin on his face. He wasn’t bothered by the sight of the dead men. No reasonwhy he should be — as executioner as well as torturer, it would have been a surprise if he had been. Yes, Arnaud was a hardman, certainly, but so was le Vieux. He would not submit to this sudden weakness. He’d seen dead men often enough before.‘Very well, but I’m exhausted and hungry. You go on. I’ll follow and get myself some plain bread. I’ll see you at the baker’soutside his house. You know it?’

‘Of course I know it. I will be there as quickly as I may.’

Le Vieux nodded and slowly made his way to the bakery. It was some little way from the town’s gate, and there was a benchnot far away where the older men of the place were wont to sit in the sun during the warmer months. At this time of year itwas mostly deserted, but that was all to the good, so far as le Vieux was concerned. A man had a brazier nearby on which hewas roasting small pastries, and le Vieux bought one, breaking it open to let the steam burst out and cool it, eating it quickly,mouth open, to save his lips and tongue from scalding. It was delicious. He sat back contentedly, his mouth full of the flavourof nuts and spices, his belly comfortable, for a while.

His head was still hurting appallingly, but there was nothing to be done. He would have to wait until it was cured. Perhapsit would help to have his blood let out a little. Maybe he ought to seek a physician or barber in the town.

There was a thump at his shoulder, and he was startled awake again, finding himself looking up into the eyes of Arnaud.

‘Well enough rested, eh? We have much to do.’

‘What? Why?’

‘To catch that bastard Jean, naturally. If he escapes, there will be trouble for us. We have to catch him, silence him.’

‘What do you mean?’

Arnaud sighed. ‘Look, do you remember anything?’

‘Of course I do! Just because I was knocked on the head doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what happened! I remember everything ! We were guarding the King’s bitch, but when she’d gone, we were all sitting about, and then …’

‘Yes. And Jean escaped, and he knew all that happened in the castle. So we have to catch him or kill him as soon as we canbefore he can tell anyone else about us.’

Le Vieux nodded with a grimace. Jean knew too much about their actions.

Arnaud looked up at the sky, then to the north. ‘This weather is going to break soon. It’ll be snow in a couple of days, youmark my words. We have to move fast to tell him.’

‘Who?’

‘The Comte de Foix. Our master has ordered us, Vieux.’

Boulogne

Fortunately there was much to distract them as they began to make their way on horseback down through the steep old streets,and out into the open countryside.

‘Christ’s bones!’ Simon gasped as they passed under the city gateway, and Baldwin could see that he was not alone in shock.Among the English party many were just as surprised to see that there was a large gathering of people here to see the Queenoff. Many were knights and squires, all mounted and caparisoned, with gaily coloured flags fluttering in the cold breeze.It appeared that many wished to honour the sister of their king, and the knights and other nobles were to join Queen Isabella’sparty.

Their leader was a tall, powerful knight with the bearing of a man born to command: Pierre d’Artois, a senior member of theFrench nobility, to whom the other knights and counts submitted. Greying, he was plainly not a young man, but the blue eyes in his brown face were shrewd and confident.

For the English, to see so many war-like Frenchmen was somewhat alarming. True, they had papers promising safe conduct, butall too often such papers could be ignored. Although there was some pride in the Queen’s face at the sight of such an honourguard, Baldwin was less happy. Poor Queen Isabella had suffered the indignity of having all that made her life pleasant removedfrom her in recent months, and one thing she had sorely missed was the respect that she had been used to since birth. UnderDespenser’s rule, even her children had been taken from her. Now, here in her homeland, she was being treated as a queen oncemore.