Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

There, in a doorway, he could see the orange. Taking a deep breath, he thrust himself after the man, and pelted down the cobbles. The man was alone. He was the one whom Simon had pointed out, but there was no sign of Simon. He would tell Baldwin, though. Baldwin drew his sword as he ran, and when he reached the fellow the blade rose until it lay across the man’s throat. ‘Where is he?’

‘In here, Sir Baldwin.’

Baldwin narrowed his eyes. This was not a Frenchman. The accent was clearest London, and the man was unafraid. His eyes were steady as he met Baldwin’s stare.

‘You know my name?’

‘Oh, yes. We know all about you and Bailiff Puttock. Follow me.’

Baldwin did so, the sword’s point at the man’s kidneys. The house they entered was a dark place, with no natural light in this front chamber, but the man led the way through a short passage to a rear room, which was lighted by a large window facing south over a small court, to which the door lay open.

‘Simon!’

His friend was sitting on a stool in the yard, a man at either side of him, both holding long knives in their hands. Baldwin reached out and grabbed the man in the orange jerkin, and snarled, ‘If anyone hurts him, you will die — you understand?’

There was a low chuckle from behind him, and Baldwin whirled about, still gripping the orange jerkin. Behind him, sitting on a bench beside the doorway through which he had just passed, sat another man. A most familiar man. Tall, strong, with the sunburned face of a man who had spent many years out on campaign in all weather. A man who was used to command and respect.

‘Sir Baldwin, your friend is perfectly safe. He was merely a lure to attract you. Now, please, set your sword aside and sit here with me. I only wish to talk to you.’

‘Really? My Lord Mortimer, I do not know whether I can speak to you.’

‘I know. The greatest traitor of the realm, eh? Never mind all that nonsense. I swear to you on my honour as a knight, you will come to no harm, and neither will the good bailiff. I have news for you — news of a highly important nature. It concerns the safety of the Queen. And you.’

Arnaud left the chamber fuming with rage. How could the fool have put them all into so much danger? They’d been so close to safety, and now he’d ruined everything.

It was all because the Comte de Foix had died. If only he hadn’t. He was clever, the Comte. He understood things, told them what was needed, and gave them the tools to make sure that it could be accomplished.

The whole scheme had been so carefully worked out, and now there was the distinct possibility that everything could go horribly wrong. Merde! Robert had known all along that there was an especial mission for le Vieux and Arnaud, but no one had thought it necessary to tell him any details. Well, for why would they tell him? He was a lazy churl with the brain of a peasant, when all was said and done. Never wanted to exert himself in his lord’s service. Not like Arnaud and le Vieux. They would do their lord’s bidding and be glad. Not that they were in any great danger. Their master could protect them against all accusations. Any at all. There was no need for them to fear the law.

And now the Comte was dead, le Vieux was dead, and there was only Arnaud left to carry out the plan.

Well, he would do it all on his own, then. He had before, and he could do so again. There was a gap in the legal calendar just now. No more hangings for a while. So Arnaud had all the time in the world.

‘Release my companion,’ Baldwin said, his teeth gritted.

His rage was fanned by his own sense of stupidity and culpability. If only he had listened to his own heart, he would not be here in France at all. Surely he could have declined the King’s demand that he should come … no. No, he couldn’t. Not unless he had wanted his family to become the focus of the King’s interest, and that of the Despenser. No man wanted that sort of attention.

But he could have been more sensible. If he had thought even a moment, he would have accosted their pursuer on the way back from Robert’s inn. Stopped and caught him. There had been ample time to do just that. It was ridiculous that he should have put himself into this position. A demonstration of utter stupidity.

Roger Mortimer nodded towards the window. ‘Sir Baldwin, your friend is already released. This is nothing to do with him. It is more to do with you, I believe. Please, won’t you sheathe your sword and sit?’

‘What is more to do with me than him?’ Baldwin demanded. He ignored the suggestion that he might sit or cover his blade.

Mortimer was a man of about Simon’s age, Baldwin knew — a couple of years short of forty years old — and yet his face showed none of the ease of Simon’s. A man of forty should know what it’s like to have loved, to have fought, to have lost. In Simon’s eyes there was all of that maturity, as well as a calmness that came from acceptance of life — good and bad.

In Mortimer’s eyes there was no ease, because all the good fortune he had enjoyed had been swept away by the change in the King’s attitude towards him. Despenser had poisoned the King’s mind against him, and now Mortimer lived under the sentence of death. The King had signed it. All Mortimer had grown to know and accept had been taken from him. His wife, children, homes, wealth — all were gone, and that loss was there in his eyes. They were wary, yes, but they held an unfathomable sadness too.

‘The man who was found outside the castle this morning. There will be allegations that it was my doing that left him dead. I have heard already that you are to mount an enquiry into his death. You will find much evidence pointing to me, I am sure.’

‘Why should you be so certain?’

‘Because I am evil. I am the man who has betrayed the King, according to Despenser, that devil’s whelp! Look at me, Sir Baldwin. Do you have children?’

‘I miss them.’

‘Mine have been arrested. I know my wife is being held in a castle, while my daughters have been thrown into convents. My boys are imprisoned too. How would you feel to know your family was being so cruelly treated?’

‘Guilty, perhaps. All is your own responsibility.’

‘I sought to protect the realm and my friend the King. But no matter what I did, his mind was poisoned against me by Despenser.’

Baldwin stared for a long moment, but then he nodded. ‘I have a boy too. He is my pride, his sister my joy.’

Mortimer looked away, and Baldwin was sure that there was a slight moisture at his eyelids. ‘I remember my boys being born. I taught them how to wield sword and lance, how to ride a horse — everything! In all my life, the only things I am truly proud of are my sons.’

‘You imply evidence against you will be fabricated?’

‘I am the King’s traitor. What else will happen? I tell you this, though: last night I captured the man, and would have killed him, were it clearly not in my interests to do so. I had meant to, I assure you, but then I saw that his life would be of more use to me. So I allowed him to live. There is no point ending a life unless there is an advantage in doing it. You may imagine my disgust this morning when I learned that someone else had destroyed him. It was irritating.’

‘Why did you want to kill him?’ Baldwin said without thinking. He was grinning at Simon, who had joined the two in the chamber. Simon was rubbing his wrists ruefully, and he shrugged shamefacedly at Baldwin without speaking.

‘My dear sir knight, if a man wished to murder you, throw your body in the Seine, and ride post-haste for London with your head bouncing at his saddle-bow, wouldn’t you feel justified in being keen to return the favour? The fellow was searching for me in order to cash in on the King’s reward. The King is less concerned with appearances than most, and I believe has not bothered to mention the “alive” part of the “dead or alive” offer for me.’