Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘Where have you been?’ the Queen demanded as Blaket withdrew his sword without apology.

She was standing close to her fireplace, a book in her hands. A short distance from her was the blonde, Alicia, while Alice de Toeni and Joan of Bar were a little further away, close, as though they had been discussing matters themselves.

‘Your highness, I’ve been talking to the men at the gate, making sure of the facts.’

‘What are they?’

‘The dead man was one of ours. He was a man-at-arms who rode with Sir Charles of Lancaster. The knight doesn’t know when he might have died, but apparently this man Paul was out last night. Probably out seeking the …’ He quickly decided not to speculate on what kind of woman the fellow was hunting for. ‘Anyway, he was captured, I suppose, and robbed and killed.’

‘How?’

‘How killed? Someone put a knife to his belly and paunched him like a rabbit.’

‘I see. And you have examined the body?’

‘No. I left Sir Baldwin de Furnshill to do that. He is experienced in such matters. But I suspect that there is little likelihood of finding the man responsible. There are so many alleys and lanes between here and Paris. The body was placed outside the gates at some time during the night, so it could have been anyone. Not necessarily someone from within the castle.’

‘A killer from the city?’

‘It is said that the city is less vigilant about the walls and gates than it might be. It has not been attacked in the last hundred years.’

‘But you are sure that here in the castle we are secure?’

‘It is my own men who guard this place, my lady,’ he said with a trace of coolness. ‘I trust them.’

‘So you are sure it was someone from without the castle. Who would want to attack a man like him? Was he rich?’

‘No, not at all. I think it was an opportunistic assault. The fellows saw him, bethought themselves that this was a stranger to the town, a foreigner, and therefore an easy mark. Perhaps he had a few pennies on him, but nothing more than that, I should think.’

‘Then it was not possible that this could have been a deliberate attempt to damage the talks between the king of France and me?’ she asked sweetly.

‘I am sure it could not have been, your highness.’

‘You are? I am glad. I should hate it to be only me who has considered such eventualities,’ she snapped. ‘And pray, what is your conviction based upon?’

‘Why would a man from the French delegation wish to kill a person of no consequence? Surely, were they to try to damage our embassy, they would have killed a knight, or myself. Not some unknown man-at-arms.’

‘Tell me, my lord: we are here because my brother invaded Guyenne, are we not?’

‘Yes. Because of the affair over Saint-Sardos.’

‘Quite. And when that little war over Saint-Sardos began, was that not over the death of a French official?’

‘Yes. The French marched into Guyenne and began to build a bastide , and when the locals stopped them, it grew ugly, and a Frenchman was hanged.’

‘What was his name?’

Cromwell looked at her blankly. ‘Eh?’

‘What was this man’s name? After all, we are here to negotiate a peace as a result of that war, but you say that a man of no consequence has died. That is a relief.’ Her tone rose and her eyes flashed with anger as she finished, ‘And yet, my Lord Cromwell, this whole war began because a man of no consequence — a nonentity — was slain ! And you tell me not to worry, that this man is unimportant? Do you think that solitary dead Frenchman was unimportant too?’

The Queen’s Men were all still abed when the summons came. A man banged on the door, and Charlie squeaked with fear at the sound, hurling himself at Ricard and burying his head in Ricard’s breast. ‘Hey, little man, little man, calm down!’ he said, stroking the boy’s head and back. Charlie clung to Ricard like a small limpet, though, hiding his face.

It was a man like this, then, someone who knocked loudly, who had scared this little fellow more than any other. If he had to guess, Ricard would reckon that the boy had not seen his parents die, but he couldn’t ask. It would have been too shocking if the boy had admitted seeing his mother raped and murdered. No, Ricard couldn’t put that question. So far as he knew, Thomassia, her husband, and the Queen’s Men had arrived at her house some time about dusk or later, and the musicians had repaired to the garden almost immediately. So perhaps a little while later Charlie had heard a knocking at the door, and went down to see his parents arguing, or being threatened, and went to hide in the hutch. That would make sense.

Only, didn’t boys who saw their parents being threatened usually go to them for protection? If a man was upsetting them, surely the lad would go to his father?

Who could tell how a little boy like this would react?

The messenger was summoning them to the Queen. Her demands must have speedy responses. He took up his gittern as the others quickly gathered up their own instruments, and hurried with them to the Queen’s chamber.

Panting as he ran with them, Adam scowled to himself. He’d told them all. It was clear as the nose on his face that this ‘Jack’ was a dangerous fellow. Plainly not a real musician, no matter what he damned well said. No, he was a danger to them all, he was. A murderer . And probably not just some killer-for-money, either, but a much more dangerous type, one of those who killed for Despenser.

There were few men in the kingdom whom Adam feared as he feared Despenser. Who wouldn’t? Despenser was the most powerful, the richest, the nastiest, the greediest bastard in a country where instant gratification was the norm for knights and their kind. Didn’t matter that some poor devil stood in their path. Any obstruction was there to be removed. A husband of the wench they fancied? Kill him. A widow who owned good property? Kill her. A musician who stood in the way of a man being sent to spy on the Queen? Kill him. And that was why Peter was lying in a grave now, just so that bloody Jack could make the journey with them.

That sign of the peacock was all very well. What did it mean, though? Just that the man had access to a decent artist who could colour a picture on a skin. There were plenty of men who could do that kind of work. Didn’t need to be an honest man. And the fellow who’d suggested that they should look out for a man who’d have that sign wasn’t necessarily a friend to them. He’d just killed a glover and his wife, after all. Life was cheap, but there was no need to execute someone for no reason like that. Sweet Mother of God, no!

‘Hurry up, Adam!’ Ricard snapped.

They were trotting over the courtyard now, but when they reached the middle they were halted by French guards with their polearms levelled to hold them back.

‘Christ! Are we arrested?’ Adam squeaked.

‘God’s ballocks, just shut up, you fool!’ Philip grated. ‘Anyone would think you’d been off and killed Paul yourself. What’s the matter with you?’

Adam glowered at him. They were all on edge, obviously. It had been bad enough when they had to leave England after Peter’s murder, but to have first that Frenchman killed on the way here, and now their own countryman slaughtered outside the castle, well, it seemed to show that things were getting worse. Made a man wonder if he’d be next. In God’s name, he didn’t want to see any more blood. It had been bad enough in the house in London. That poor woman’s body lying there like a discarded bloody rag. It was enough to make a man throw up. Certainly made him spew.

Oh, shit. That’s why they were being held up.