Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘All I would say is, dicker like hell for anything you want to buy. Last time I was here they tried to fleece anyone with an English accent in Paris,’ he said after a moment’s consideration.

‘What about the women, though?’ Sir John demanded.

‘I was talking about the women,’ said Sir Charles.

Jack was aware of their looks long before they sprang their attack. If only all enemies were so transparent.

They had reached a town called Pois, and here they were allocated rooms in a tavern, while most of the other members of the honour guard, and the Queen herself, were given rooms in the better inns.

It was a nuisance that the entourage was always so spread about. Jack had been hoping that all their halts would be in larger inns so that he and the others would always be billeted near the Queen and the maids. It was next to impossible for him to keep an eye on her while he and the others were housed over a half-mile away. The distance was no trouble, naturally, but it was difficult to cover it without being observed by the watch. Every time he walked about in daylight, he was aware that he was different from the locals. His dress, his looks — even his ruddy manner of walking — set him apart. The folks here dressed more flamboyantly, they were darker of hair and skin, and Christ’s teeth, they all swaggered as though they were God’s own gift to the land. In contrast, his gait was as sober as his clothing. Dull, dull, dull. And it added insult to injury that that should mark him out as different. Usually, it would make him stand out not at all. He would fade into the background, unnoticed. Not so here.

Ah, he caught a glimpse of Philip circling round behind him. Meanwhile Ricard was right in front and trying to hold him in conversation — that was a first. Did they really think that they could jump him?

Philip began his move in a lumbering manner, just as Jack would have expected. Probably the most dangerous of them, and clearly the most ruthless, Philip was still built more like an ox than a greyhound. He was not built for speed. Where was the boy? He must have been left with someone else.

Jack turned, almost audibly sighing when he saw that Philip was still a couple of yards away. ‘Did you mean to surprise me?’ he asked.

His contempt turned to indignation when his legs were suddenly yanked from under him, and he was thrown to the ground. Only his elbows stopped him from bashing his face on the rough timbers of the floor, and that did not improve his temper. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘It’s what you’re doing that we mean to learn,’ Philip snarled.

His anger was plain enough, but Jack was not about to surrender without a battle. He was on the ground, his face pressed to the boards, and Janin and Ricard had his arms. Adam or someone was on his ankles, holding them together. All in all, it was a remarkably successful assault for a bunch of pathetic, incompetent musicians. Which made it doubly humiliating for a man like him.

‘So? What now?’

Ricard was at that moment staring at a rope which lay on the table some feet away, and mouthing to Janin that he should try to reach it. He looked down at his captive. ‘What?’

‘What do you intend to do with me? Torture me? Pull out my nails? Or just break my legs? Sirs, this is uncomfortable.’

‘We want to know what you’re doing here,’ Philip said. ‘And yes, if you don’t answer, I’ll be happy to tap splinters under your finger- and toenails. It’s up to you.’

‘I am travelling with you and playing music, of course. What else have you seen me do?’

‘Nothing — because every time we stop for a night, you disappear.’

‘What of it?’

‘Nothing. Perhaps. But the fact that you were so enthusiastically pressed upon us makes us all a little nervous,’ Ricard said. The rope was still on the table, and Janin was paying him no attention. ‘Why was de Bouden so keen for you to be a part of our band?’

‘You’d have to ask him that. All I know is that you were coming over here, and I was asked to travel with you to aid in the defence of the Queen.’

‘Who by?’ Philip demanded, simultaneously with Janin’s: ‘By whom?’

Janin peered round at Philip, who studiously ignored him. ‘Eh?’

‘That is for you to guess.’

‘No. It’s for you to tell us,’ Ricard said, and looked at Janin for approval. He felt quite proud of the way that had come out. He sounded quite firm, he thought. Firm and definite. Then Jack’s next words burned any pride away like acid.

‘Since if I tell you, it’s likely you could be killed, I think it’s for you to guess, don’t you? I wouldn’t want Charlie boy to be orphaned again.’

Beauvais

Baldwin and Simon were glad to be installed in a large, comfortable bed. The previous night had been uncomfortable before the adventure of the explosion and Enguerrand de Foix’s death, and sleepless thereafter, so a bed with a real rope base and a soft mattress over it was an almost undreamed-of luxury. It was worth the risk of lice and fleas to sleep in comfort again.

‘How’s your face?’ Simon asked.

‘Not too bad. The Queen’s salve helped.’

‘It was good of her to bring that stuff to you.’

‘Yes.’

It had been late in the morning when Alicia appeared before them on a little mare.

Baldwin had bent his head to her courteously. He had liked the Queen’s lady-in-waiting when he first met her in London. ‘My lady.’

‘My queen saw how dreadfully scalded you were after last night. She thought a little of this salve might help you,’ Alicia said, holding out a small pottle of some thick juice.

‘The Queen?’ Simon repeated, awed.

‘She was once burned badly,’ Alicia said by way of explanation. ‘She found this mixture always soothed her and took away the pain.’

‘I see. That is most kind of her. Would you give your lady my deepest thanks.’ Baldwin bowed. He could remember hearing that ten or eleven years ago Queen Isabella had been caught in a fire in a tent, and her arms had been dreadfully scarred. She still suffered from burns, it was said.

‘I will.’

‘Do you find the journey pleasing?’

Alicia gave a small smile. ‘How could I fail to? We are out of London and away from all the trials and sorrows that place has brought us.’

‘I only pray that our queen may find more ease when we are returned,’ Baldwin said with feeling.

‘That is not likely,’ Alicia said with a regretful shake of her head. She graced them with a smile each before riding away to rejoin the Queen.

‘She meant Despenser?’ Simon said.

‘Of course. He poisons all whom he meets,’ Baldwin said.

‘But if the Queen succeeds in her mission, that will surely put her back in the King’s favour?’

‘Does he have favour for her any more?’ Baldwin had responded.

Now, though, as he sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated the candle burning on its spike set into the wall, he wondered whether he was being unreasonable. Maybe he was doing his king a disservice by assuming the worst of the man. After all, King Edward had fathered four children on this woman. If she could return to England in honour, with a treaty that did not shame him, would that not make him respect her again? And when a man respected a woman, love was surely never far behind. Possibly this would be the making of them both.

There were only the two options: if the Queen failed to win back the Gascon territories her standing would be destroyed, for if she could not even benefit the King in his dealings with France she was of little value; but if she managed to win back Guyenne and agree a peace, then the whole reason for her marriage to King Edward would be confirmed, and she could go home to England with her head held as high as the skies.