Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘Well, that was what I thought.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘I was knocked out early on. I didn’t see what happened,’ le Vieux admitted.

‘That was why. He knocked you down, then started to kill the others. It must have been easy enough if they weren’t expecting him. He’s a lunatic — he must be. You’ve seen how he was with the prisoners. Torture and murder is his delight. You have to help me — together we can stop him.’

‘Stop him?’

‘Kill him. He’s mad! I know him. I saw him years ago, back in my home town, down in Pamiers. He burned some folks there, and he enjoyed it. He was dancing about them, taunting them as they died. He has to be stopped before he can kill any more. You are still with him, and you can’t tell when he’s likely to push a knife into your heart! You aren’t safe until he’s dead, and neither am I, because while we’re alive, the truth about what he did in Château Gaillard may come out. He can’t take that risk.’

Le Vieux nodded slowly. There was a slowly dawning horror on his face. ‘I thought you had done them in. It never occurred to me … The idea that Arnaud could have knocked me down and killed all the others … I hadn’t even considered it.’

‘I didn’t think you could have,’ Jean said. ‘What was worse was that when I got to the town to get help, they already knew the garrison was dead.’

‘Come with me. I think I know what to do,’ Le Vieux said, and set off at a trot towards the palace.

Baldwin had been for a long ride that day, and when he returned he dropped from the saddle with the bounce of a man who had enjoyed a day’s exercise after too many days of lassitude. He cast the reins at a waiting groom, and only when he’d seen the man start to rub down the beast did Baldwin leave and go to find himself something to drink. It was deeply ingrained in him that he should always see to his mount before attending to his own pleasures. A horse was more than an animal — to a knight it was his principal weapon as well.

The French did not believe in weak wines. Those served here in the King’s palace were magnificent, and it was good for Baldwin, so he felt, to be reacquainted with them. It was many years since he had last lived in Paris, and the opportunity of drinking the wide variety available was proving to be immensely pleasurable.

He watched as a man-at-arms crossed the court with a younger fellow behind him. They went quickly, men in a hurry, as so many did in this great royal palace. Everybody appeared to be in a hurry here.

Lord Cromwell was standing in the doorway, and he walked over to Baldwin. ‘This is a peculiar place, eh, Sir Baldwin? Everyone is so busy — except for me. I feel useless here.’

‘I had to go for a ride to remind myself what a horse feels like.’ Baldwin smiled.

‘The Queen is here to negotiate with the French, hoping to rescue some fragments of our once great Angevin empire from her blasted brother, the French king, but you and I, we kick our heels, while the French run around as though there’re not enough hours in the day. There’s nothing for us to do, not until we get the signal. Either we send messengers back with new proposals for the King, or we gradually slide into irrelevance. If there’s no movement, nothing’s going to win back Guyenne for us,’ Cromwell said sadly. ‘I always loved that territory. I have been there several times. Have you?’

‘Yes.’ Baldwin could remember a green landscape, hilly like Devon, but with long, tree-lined valleys, and hillsides covered in vines. He remembered warm sun and cool evenings. A blessed land. ‘It would be a great loss to the kingdom.’

‘Amen to that. Dear God, how much longer must we wait here? I have lands to manage, business to see to for myself.’

‘I have a son just born,’ Baldwin agreed sadly. ‘I wanted to spend the springtime with him and my wife — instead I am out here.’

The lord nodded glumly. Then he looked at Baldwin with a slight frown. ‘Did you ever make sense of the death of that count on the journey here?’

Baldwin bridled, and Cromwell noticed.

‘I am not blaming you, Sir Baldwin. But you are more experienced than any others here in investigating murders.’

‘I am sorry, my lord. It’s just that every so often I catch a sidelong look from someone I’ve never met which seems to suggest they think I did it. In truth, I know nothing about him. All I know is, he and I had words on the way here. That is all.’

‘No one has given us any trouble over his death, anyway, which is a relief,’ Lord John said. ‘It could have become embarrassing were someone to have taken it into his head to accuse you of murder.’

‘There are many who consider I did it.’

‘Damn their souls! It doesn’t matter, in any case. It was an odd event, though. I’ve never heard of a similar one. Firing a charge of powder, then stealing your knife — that is strange.’

‘There is nothing new under the sun,’ Baldwin said with a grin. ‘When there has been a murder, I always tend to find that it was because of some obvious reason. Usually it’s money, or a desire for power, and sometimes a lover removes a competitor for some woman’s affections. Only rarely is it a chance encounter.’

‘This wasn’t chance, then.’

‘No. Clearly somebody had planned something. They had the powder there before they took my dagger to thrust into the Count’s chest.’

‘Was it your knife that killed him?’

‘No. His throat was cut, and I believe that was done some while before the murderer realised I was there. I think I heard the man die. By the time I reached the scene he was already dead; my dagger was only a distraction.’

‘I wonder what he was doing there, then.’

‘So do I. I was called out there by a weak bladder, but he was a much younger man. And there is that one thing that concerns me.’

‘What is that?’

‘My lord, the assassin had an elaborate explosive set up. Surely if someone desired to kill a man like the Comte de Foix, they would have to ensure that he came along at the right time.’

‘The assassin knew he would be there that night?’

‘Not just that night. He must have known that the Comte would be there at that time. Which implies an arranged meeting.’

The lord was silent for a few moments as he absorbed this. ‘I understand you have had much experience of inquiring after murders?’

‘I have had some success.’

Lord John nodded. ‘Do you have any suspicions as to who might have wanted to do this?’

‘I hardly knew the man, and don’t know his enemies. However, I think I know how the assassin planned to kill him: he intended to cut his throat, and then make it look like an accident with a hand-cannon. He had the powder and the board. He cut the Comte’s throat, and was going to position him over the board to make it appear that the powder had been fired up into his throat. How would anyone have shown otherwise?’

‘There was no gonne .’

‘Taken away when the plan went wrong. When I turned up, the killer had to distract me, so he fired his board in a hurry, and that gave him a swift idea: to take my dagger and make it seem as if I had stabbed the Comte. He had no way of telling it was me, but my dagger was a useful device. Then he snatched up his gonne , but forgot to collect the board, and was off.’

‘I see. An interesting theory. Be careful, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I shall,’ Baldwin said. He watched the lord walking away, and in his mind there was a feeling that Cromwell had been trying to put him on his guard all through that conversation. Perhaps he was warning him that the matter of the Count’s murder was not yet over. Someone wanted to punish him for it still.