Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

No one had confessed to the murder, but Robert was sure that there was something shifty in the English knight’s eyes when he was questioned by Artois. Artois was considered one of the King’s most intelligent knights, a man with courage, but also a shrewd mind. Often he could read a man’s heart and see what lay within. And today Robert wanted him to study Sir Baldwin and see what he uncovered. There had to have been something. Robert had not been with his master all that day, but he had witnessed the anger and heard the brief but sharp exchange between the two on the road. He’d asked Baldwin about that the night before, in front of Artois.

‘The argument? Yes, we had some words, but it was nothing that could justify my slaying him. He did something that made a noise and scared my horse. That was all.’

‘What did he do?’ Artois had asked.

It was Robert who had been best placed to respond. ‘My lord, the Comte had been demonstrating his new hand-cannon. He fired it and the sound disturbed this noble knight’s horse. But I believe this knight was significantly discommoded by the sound. Perhaps he sought to take revenge on the man who had so scared his mount?’

Artois had nodded, his eyes on Baldwin. ‘Do you know whose dagger that is in his breast?’

‘It is my own. Someone must have stolen it earlier.’

‘You expect us to believe that?’

‘Yes.’ Now it was the other man, Lord John. ‘You do not forget that we travel under the protection of your king? This man is as safe and as free as he ever has been. He knows that, and there is no need for him to dissemble. If he says it was taken from him, you have to believe him.’

Artois had ignored the lord. He had gazed fixedly at Baldwin. ‘I saw you with this man earlier. I ask you: did you have any part in his death?’

‘I did not. He disturbed my horse, and we spoke briefly, but there was no threat in me.’

‘He did not fire his cannon at you?’

‘My lord, I do not know what this hand-cannon is. We do not have them in England, so far as I know.’

‘Really?’

The disbelief in his tone had been plain to all about them. Robert, though, was intrigued by the detail which no others appeared to have noticed. ‘Was there not a loud report here tonight?’

‘I was scorched by the flames he threw at me,’ Baldwin had admitted.

‘You certainly have the appearance of a man who has been burned by a cannon’s flames,’ Artois had agreed.

‘You say his cannon was here?’ Robert had asked. ‘But where is it now?’

That was a question which no one had answered last night. It was not lying near Enguerrand’s body, that was all anyone would say. Now Robert looked over at the racks of weapons at the rear of the tent. The gonne was there, on its long pole.

There was a scratching at the tent’s opening, and he turned to see a pair of scruffy churls waiting. He was ready to shout, but the bellow died as he recognised them. ‘What do you two want?’

Arnaud smiled. ‘Is that any way to welcome us back?’

Neither Simon nor Baldwin had slept since returning to their own tent late in the middle watches.

‘Simon, I swear I do not know how my dagger came to be in his breast,’ Baldwin said again as the sun rose and the walls of their tent lightened. He was lying back on his rugs, a cloak over him as he worried at the problem.

‘You are safe, anyway. Even Artois accepted that while you are a member of the Queen’s retinue, you are safe from prosecution.’

‘Yes. Even if all consider me guilty of murder in the middle of the night.’

‘I am sure the Queen doesn’t.’

‘No. She did graciously confirm her trust in me.’ Baldwin nodded. ‘But how did my dagger come to be used to kill him?’

Simon grunted. ‘I suppose you are sure that it was yours? Not merely a similar one?’

‘I took my dagger before leaving the tent, and the sheath was empty when you found me. No, there is no doubt.’ Baldwin scowled again with the effort of memory. ‘I remember that I had it with me — I took it out when I first heard the noise. And then there was the flash … the cannon … and I was blinded. I covered my eyes … I believe I must have dropped it then, but I cannot remember.’

‘So the man took your dagger and stabbed the count as he came closer.’

Baldwin could hear the doubt in his voice. ‘Either Foix was dead already and my knife thrust into him to throw suspicion on me, or he was not there, and hurried up after hearing the cannon go off, only to be stabbed.’

‘It seems unlikely. You always say that you dislike coincidence — here you propose that you and he, the only two men who have argued on this journey, should have met by chance in the middle watches, and a murderer happened by and fired a hand-cannon at you, then took your dagger and killed de Foix. He took your dagger only because you happened to drop yours after his gonne was fired. And he missed you, although he was close enough to singe your beard.’

‘Worse than that — the killer had no reason to guess that I would be up from my tent in the night. I do not believe it myself. If I was sitting in judgement over my own case, Simon, I would not consider my evidence credible either.’

‘No. It means someone knew you had a problem with de Foix, that he saw you get up from your tent, and already had the gonne prepared. He discharged it, scorching you, grabbed your dagger when you dropped it, and could then go and stab de Foix.’

‘Put like that, it hardly makes more sense,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘It’s light, Simon. Let us go and see whether there is anything else we can learn.’

Simon nodded, and followed his friend outside. In the chilly light, he sucked in his breath at the sight of his friend’s face. ‘In Christ’s name, Baldwin! You have been speckled with flame.’

‘It feels as though someone has flung a panful of cinders at me,’ Baldwin said ruefully, gingerly touching his cheek, his brow and his nose. ‘The effect was most disconcerting.’

‘Yes. That I can easily believe,’ Simon said. His friend’s face was raw in some places. ‘It’s a miracle your eyes are all right.’

‘There is a little residual pain, but not much,’ Baldwin said. He squared his shoulders and set off towards the place where de Foix’s body had been the night before.

Under the orders of Artois, the body had been gathered up last night to protect it from marauding animals. Baldwin had been too tired and fractious to argue, although he did bitterly point out that any evidence in the area was likely to be lost in the dark. Artois had given him a not friendly stare for that comment, and Simon had hurriedly led him away.

Now it was plain that his words had been all too accurate. The whole area about the body was trampled into a mess of mud and broken stems of grass. Baldwin looked at it all in silence, before grunting in disgust. Still, he crouched down and peered at it closely for some little while.

‘Nobody found the gonne last night, did they?’

‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see it myself, but I’m not certain what it would look like.’

‘It was a cylinder of metal set atop a length of wood. Probably ash or beech, I would think. The pole was thrust into the rear of the cylinder, so it looked like one long staff, thicker at one end than the other.’

‘How long was the length of wood?’

‘About two and a half feet. And the cylinder itself was another foot or so long, I think. I saw it only the once, when he was discussing the explosion with me. Then I had no idea what it was, but a hand-cannon makes sense. It was like that.’

‘And it went off, burning you like that?’ Simon asked dubiously. ‘Surely, even if it was only a tiny cannon, there would have been a small stone or something in it. Shouldn’t it have hit you when it went off? Did it just miss you?’