Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Baldwin pulled a grimace. ‘That is what is niggling at me,’ he admitted. ‘There was the explosion in the night when Enguerrand de Foix died, which annoys me since it implicated me in the murder; then the death of that guard, too, in the castle on the way here. It makes me suspect more, perhaps, than I should.’

‘What possible connection could there be between Paul and the other two?’

‘In God’s name, I wish I knew. Perhaps they are all unconnected? Three random murders that just happen to have taken place when the Queen came here to see her brother. But that would militate against the careful planning of the murder of the Comte de Foix. That man was dead before I arrived at the site of the killing and frustrated the attempt to make it look like an accident. When the charge blew up in my face, the killer took the opportunity to seize my knife and stab the Comte with it to divert suspicion from himself. That was the impulse of the moment — I think his plan had been carefully thought out, but he had no time to put it into execution.’

‘Then there was the murder of the guard from the château.’

‘Yes. We have no idea why that should have happened.’

‘What about the man who was injured during the attack — the fellow who told us about the powder,’ Simon wondered. ‘Perhaps he could help us?’

‘What would he know?’

‘Baldwin, I have no idea. But the fact is, the man was connected to both of those incidents. Perhaps he knows something that could help us.’

‘He’s not involved in this, though, is he?’

‘It was you who postulated a connection between all three, Baldwin, not me.’

‘True enough. All these sudden deaths. And might there not be more?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Blaket told us, didn’t he, about a man who was killed in England — a waferer to the King? Why not include his murder as well? It is as explicable as all these other deaths,’ Baldwin said with exasperation.

Robert de Chatillon winced as he leaned back in the chair, his hand at his side again. Dear Christ, the pain was unbelievable! He would never have thought that so much could have been caused by a wound that did not even bleed.

The physician had looked at him carefully, and then declared that from the colour of his urine he was severely choleric, a diagnosis which Robert was keen to reinforce by kicking the fool downstairs. If only he’d been able to. Choleric, indeed. Who wouldn’t be bloody angry after a sudden attack like that? If anything could have made it worse, it was the fact that the killer of the old guard had escaped as well. Nothing could have been more surely guaranteed to make his ire increase. The damned fool of a physician had hurried out of the door almost immediately afterwards, prescribing a course of blood-letting and a poultice for the rib, and Robert had been content to ignore him.

Maybe he ought to get a second man in, though. This pain was so sharp, it was impossible to think of leaving the city for some while. He ought to go with Enguerrand’s heart back to the comté , but he could not face the idea of getting on his horse again. No, it was plainly mad to think of such a thing. He would have to stay here for a while longer.

The knock at his door came as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one. He knew few enough people here in Paris, and any company was preferable to sitting here alone. Calling to them to enter, he pulled himself upright again, wincing at the stabbing sensation in his flank.

‘Robert, I am glad to see you looking a little better,’ Baldwin said.

‘And I am glad for a guest. Bailiff, I am pleased to see you too. Could I offer you both some wine?’

The innkeeper was a surly soul, but at the thought of selling some wine at inflated prices he almost smiled. Soon he had returned with a tousle-haired lad and two jugs of wine.

Robert waved him out as soon as all had a cup in their hands. ‘This is little better than vinegar with water added, but it is better than nothing. I shall have to ask that the city sends someone here to investigate the quality of his stocks. There are laws against poisoning clients even in Paris.’

‘You do not like it here?’ Simon asked, surprised.

‘How can I tell? I am nearly bedridden just now. Every time I move, I feel a pain here,’ he said, gingerly holding a hand above the area. ‘I cannot ride, cannot walk … in short, I may as well be a prisoner.’

‘It is about that attack that we wished to ask you,’ Baldwin said. ‘Would you object to speaking to us about it?’

‘No. What do you want to know? It was a shock when it happened.’

‘I can imagine that. The man who died, he was a guard from a prison, you said?’

‘I did?’

‘I heard he was from the Château Gaillard, a castle in Normandy. Is that right?’

‘Yes, but he was just an old man-at-arms my baron had known for many years, really.’

‘So he worked for Enguerrand de Foix?’

‘Of course.’

‘And the other man?’

‘The other …?’

‘The man who killed him? What actually happened?’

‘Well, I was in the room with the old man, and then the other fellow jumped in and set to. He shoved the table into me, and broke my rib here, and then broke the old man’s head with a war-hammer or something.’

‘That was what made the wound?’ Baldwin nodded. He had seen le Vieux’s head after the attack, and remembered the puncture in the skull. A war-hammer would make exactly that kind of injury. But then he frowned as he recalled seeing the two men in the yard that day.

‘Something wrong, Baldwin?’ Simon asked.

‘No, no,’ Baldwin said. He decided to hold that information back, wondering whether it was a failure of Robert’s memory, or a deliberate attempt to deceive. ‘Tell me, Robert. The Château Gaillard. Did your baron visit the place?’

‘Occasionally. We had been there a few times.’

‘But it is a royal castle? I seem to recall hearing of it. Did not the French king capture it shortly after Richard Coeur de Lion died?’

‘You have a good understanding of history, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Yes.’

Robert was nonplussed. The flat response was not what he had expected. ‘Well, I believe the castle was one of the last of the Norman castles held by the English before King Philip-Augustus invaded the territory and took them all back. Château Gaillard was the key to Normandy, though. Once that fell, Normandy became French.’

‘So it is a royal castle?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘So what was your baron doing up there?’

‘Ah, I couldn’t say.’

‘And the old guard who died, he was there too?’

‘Well, I couldn’t …’

‘At the time you were hurt, that is what you were saying.’

‘Was I?’

‘And more than that, you also said that the man who killed him came from there, too. Do you not remember?’

‘I could have been raving, Sir Baldwin. I was in a great deal of pain.’

His evasiveness was apparent. Baldwin nodded again. ‘Is there anything else you would like to tell me about the castle, or about the two men?’

‘No, I know nothing, I fear.’

‘Oh. That is a shame. Never mind, though. Tell me, do you have any more of that powder, by any chance?’

‘Some, yes. Why?’

‘I would be glad of a small barrel,’ Baldwin said. ‘Where could I acquire some?’

‘You can take one of mine, and welcome,’ Robert said, trying to conceal his reluctance. In truth, he did not like the idea of sharing such a dangerous substance. He pointed to a chest. ‘There are three barrels in there.’

‘I am grateful,’ Baldwin said. He stood, the barrel in his hands, frowning slightly, staring down at the container.