Michael Jecks: The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘Shut up talking like that! You’re talking daft,’ Philip said. ‘If she’d gone to your lap and started getting you all sweaty,you’d have done the same thing.’

‘It’s not the point, though, is it?’ Adam demanded. He stood square to Ricard, hands on hips.

Ricard looked up from the small figure before him as though noticing him for the first time. ‘No. It’s not. You’re right.The point is, some murderous bastard’s got his fist on my jacket and he won’t be likely to let go until he has all he wants.’

‘We’re not even anything to do with the Queen, though, Ric. What the hell are you going to do?’ Peter Waferer asked plaintively.

Ricard ignored him. ‘Who are you?’ he asked of the boy.

‘Charlie Chatty.’

‘Charlie Chatty, eh? A good name,’ Ricard said.

He was at a loss as to what to do with the child. If he was right, this little lad was the son of the woman who’d been murderedlast night. The woman who’d died, apparently, just so that the flash git there could blackmail him and the boys into spying on the Queen. The child looked only about three yearsold, if that. He could walk, talk a fair bit, and judging by his bright blue eyes and sandyish hair he was healthy enough.Thanks to Christ they hadn’t taken him out before the man had left the house. He had insisted on speaking to Ricard, alone,and when he had gone Ricard had made his way to the hutch. The mite had screamed at first when he pulled the side away, andshrank back at the wall as though expecting to be killed, but after being given some bread and a sweet cake he had come alongwith Ricard happily enough. Every so often his eyes clouded and he looked about him anxiously, but then he would glance upinto Ricard’s face and, God help Ricard, he appeared comforted by him. So now he had this additional little parcel of workclinging to his belt. The thought of the lad’s mother’s body in that foul chamber was enough to make him want to spew, sohe was determined not to desert the boy, but that left him with the question of what to do with him.

‘Did you hear me?’ Peter demanded.

‘Yes, all right? Look, you’re a King’s Waferer — don’t you have some access to the palace? To the Queen? Could you …’

‘Not a chance. I’d do anything to help you all, but I can’t bugger about. I’ve got a wife, kids to look after. I can’t takea gamble on my job.’

‘No more he can,’ Philip said heavily.

‘How about one more kid?’

‘Do me a favour, Ric! Look at the brat! What would my wife say, eh? She’d ask where the hell I’d got him, then kick my arsefrom Eastchep to West for keeping a slut on the side and bringing my bastard home with me!’

Janin watched and listened to their gloomy conversation. Their mood was grim at best. The sight of the two bodies, one ravished, both stabbed and beaten to bloody death, was enough to make any man’s stomach turn. Worse to find the child theretoo. Of course, more to the fore of their collective minds was the fact that were they to fail in the command given to them,they would end up in a similar manner to the lad’s parents: slain and thrown to the dogs.

Their host had smiled at them coldly as they gathered about him. Ricard in particular was eager to break his head. He hadbeen attracted to that woman, and to see her destroyed so utterly was shocking. They hadn’t just slashed at her, they’d beatenher about the face until she was almost unrecognisable. Janin, the most reflective of the band, was thinking carefully asthey surrounded the fellow, his sword still at Ricard’s neck. ‘Ric — if you were going to blackmail a little mob like oursto do your will, would you go into a room with them and let them into your secret there, all alone?’

Ricard had been breathing hard and fast, his mouth closed. Gradually his face lost its bellicose flush, and he became morerational. ‘Where are his men?’ he had demanded.

Their host had answered. ‘Outside. There are two over the road there. I can see them from here through the window. Look foryourself. If you try to harm me, they will see. If they sound the alarm, the hue and cry will be here in moments. And peoplewill find some musicians who were very loud and rowdy last night, and tried to rape a respectable woman, a Madam Thomassia,whose husband Guy was lately a man-at-arms in France. And anyone who breaks in here to rescue me will find you here with thatsame man and woman, both dead. They are not fools. Two dead when you had shown such interest in them last night,’ he saidcontemptuously. ‘Oh, and they’ll find me: a nobleman, who will denounce you. For those murders. Do you think you could escapethe rope? Or perhaps they would think up a better way to kill you. The London mob can be most inventive.’

Ricard had glanced at Peter, who was standing at the open window staring out. He had looked back at Ricard and nodded.

The man’s plan was straightforward enough. He would lose the bodies if the musicians did what they were told, but if theyfailed the law would soon be after them. They would never know peace again. They would become outlaw.

It was Adam who had asked the obvious question. ‘What makes you think you could persuade people that we did these murdersin a day, let alone a month or more?’ he scoffed.

The man smiled with a sly confidence. ‘The glovemaker in there was a loyal servant of Sir Hugh le Despenser. He will be sureof your guilt, and your fate will be just as certain.’

‘You think you can tell him that? He’d as likely run you through. Sir Hugh le Despenser trusts no one,’ Ricard scoffed.

‘He doesn’t trust me, no. I am no friend of his. Still, he can’t hurt me.’

That had been definite enough for Ricard. Everyone in the realm knew of Sir Hugh, the avaricious friend of the King. He wasruthless and determined. Any man who harmed him or his friends must look to his back. There was little safety when Sir Hughbecame your enemy. And this fellow, whoever he was, had enough poise and assurance for ten. He was not joking. Just lookingat him, you knew he was telling the truth. He knew Despenser. And he had men. This was no footpad.

Now, sitting here and reflecting on that appalling meeting, it was Ricard himself who asked the question that was troublingJanin. ‘If he killed the man and his wife, then he’s not a friend to Despenser, is he? He said as much. A loyal Despenserman wouldn’t kill another Despenser supporter, would he?’

‘You think so?’ Peter Waferer said, his head low. ‘Despenser would kill his mother if he thought it’d win him a new manor.His men are the same. They think nothing of killing like this. No, you may be sure that he’s a man of Despenser, and that we’re all in danger now. Us, and my family.God! My wife! My children! How could this have happened?’

‘How can this be so, though? If he was really known to Despenser,’ Ricard said, ‘wouldn’t he have been at court? Surely you’dhave seen him, Peter?’

‘Hah! Do you know how many men come through the palace gates every day? It’s a small city of its own, and I’m only a waferer,when all is said and done. I may wear the King’s tabard, but I’m a kitchen knave, and when I’m working I don’t see the facesof all the King’s guests. A kitchen knave is hardly best placed to study them.’

‘Well, keep your eyes open in case you do see him up there, in God’s name!’ Janin said, still very rattled. ‘We need to knowwho he is.’

‘I’ll see what I can learn,’ Peter said.

‘What can we do?’ Janin demanded. He looked to the leader of their group, then down at the lad standing in front of Ricard. He had takenup a little ball, and was rolling it experimentally over the floor, frowning intently.

Ricard sighed and shook his head. ‘First, I suppose, we have to see whether we can wheedle our way into the Queen’s good books.Any ideas?’