Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

The man from the glover’s house.

The Queen was in her room when de Bouden tapped on the door. She looked up from her book, and seeing him, she closed it gentlyas he bent in an elaborate bow.

‘There is much sense in books like this, William.’

‘My lady?’ He peered closely. It was a great book bound in white leather, which he recognised immediately. The Queen was wellknown to be fascinated with the stories of King Arthur. No man could be in her presence for even a short while without sensingher attraction to the stories of the old English king.

‘I have another book. Do you know the story of Aimeri de Narbonne?’

‘I fear I have not had the pleasure of hearing it,’ he said, hoping that soon she might tell him to stand straight again.His back was beginning to complain.

‘Lady Ermengarde, Aimeri’s wife, complained when he decided to send his sons out into the world to seek their fame and fortune.She couldn’t bear to lose all her children. Yet children have to grow up, don’t they, William?’

‘Why, yes, Majesty.’

‘Even my boys will become men some day. Edward is close to adulthood already.’

‘Um. Yes.’

‘The thing is, because she complained, Aimeri beat her. And you know what she did? She prayed to God to bless him and hisarm for so sensibly bringing her back to reason. Naturally she was only a woman and mustn’t question her husband’s decision.She even asked him to beat her more so that she could be reminded of her place. What do you think of that, William?’

He had not been her clerk and comptroller for years without seeing the danger of responding. Instead, indicating with an inarticulatemutter that his back was giving him gip, he waited.

‘Oh, stand up straight, William. Staying bent like that will break your back. Well, I think that the man who wrote that storywas a fool. If he seriously thought that a woman would make a comment like that when her man was beating her, he had no brainwhatever. She was being sarcastic. Does a woman have no say in how a man may treat her sons? Even if she is noble-born herself?’

William gave a wary smile. ‘Your Majesty, you have to understand that the man has the responsibility for protecting the familyand seeing to it that his sons can make their mark in the world. If he did not seek to ensure that the sons would forge theirown way, the wife might make them stay at home, and that would not help them to honour God with their great deeds, would it?’

‘You think that all women merely want to cosset their little boys? I would endeavour to look after my youngsters, and thatis quite right. It is the duty of a woman to be maternal. But to suggest that she would willingly acquiesce when he beat her… it is obscene.’

‘The Lady Ermengarde would see that her punishment fitted her offence. A woman should not question her man’s decisions, afterall. A wife should honour and obey her husband.’

‘You think so?’

‘While he is in his right mind, your highness.’

She gave a short grin, as cynical and unhappy as any he had ever seen on her face. ‘Well, as the daughter of a king, marriedto another king, I would protect my children against any threat I perceived, and would not willy-nilly obey a foolish command. Nor would I submit to being beaten. Never! ’

William had never seen her quite so discomposed. It was natural for her to be upset on occasion, and he had seen her in tearsbefore, when her husband had snubbed her, ignored her, or simply behaved as though she was no more important than one of theservants in his kitchens. That was normal enough. This, though, this was different.

‘Your highness?’

‘I wish to meet him again.’

‘Who?’

She looked at him very directly. There was no one else in the room, other than her blonde maid, Alicia. ‘You know. The Peacock.’

His heart sank. It was days since he had last been told to find Mortimer and deliver a message. ‘Your Majesty, that wouldbe rather dangerous now. Have you heard of the man killed out at the front of the castle?’

‘Do you think me deaf and stupid? Of course I have heard. It was a man-at-arms, Sir Charles’s servant, wasn’t it? So what?’

‘The man was hunting the Peacock. He and Sir Charles were intending to bring him to bay and capture him so that they couldtake his head to the King.’

‘How foolish. It would take more than two men to do that. The Peacock is a wary fighter. As that man has learned, I suppose.’

‘But how can I bring him here to you again? Before, it was easier. Now there will be men all over the place, trying to ensureyour safety. If I bring him here, there will be many who will seek to kill him,’ William protested. ‘The knights are all menwho desire money, your highness. They will be keen to catch him and show their devotion to the King by executing him. He is a traitor, after all. And Sir Charles will egg them on. From all I’ve heard, he is most anxious to have revengeon the man who killed his man-at-arms.’

‘You will speak to the Peacock and arrange for him to meet me here this evening as dark falls. Do this for me.’

‘Your highness,’ he agreed miserably.

Sir Charles had left the chapel a little while before, just as all the servants were making their way to the hall for theirlunchtime meal, but he didn’t follow them. He was not even remotely hungry. The idea of food did not occur to him. There wasnothing he desired. All his attention was fixed upon the one aim: finding the man who had killed his servant and seeing himdie.

There was no doubt in his mind who was responsible. Roger Mortimer had realised that Paul was following him, and had killedhim. No one else could have wanted him dead. So Sir Charles would see Mortimer sent on his way to hell, and would take hishead himself.

Mortimer must have plenty of men of his own in the area, to have been able to catch Paul. Paul had been badly beaten up, andso surely the traitor must have had many fellows at his back. Otherwise, Paul would have been able to defend himself. SirCharles had little doubt about that. Paul had been an excellent fighter.

Yes, a good fighter. Sir Charles had seen him in one battle defend himself against three men, and he despatched them quicklywhen he saw that some other scrote was trying to make off with his horse as he fought. Then there was that time in the tavernhere in France. A lad had stumbled over Sir Charles’s foot, hurting his toe, and as a result they’d been drawn into a fightwith a whole group of peasants. It was Paul who killed most of them, another man they only met that day killed one more, andwhen they left the inn it was Paul who remembered the boy who’d started all the trouble, and went back to kill him too. He would not leave unfinished business, Paul.An excellent man-at-arms. The best squire Sir Charles had ever had.

‘Christ’s pain, but I miss him!’ he moaned. He was in a corridor in the main castle — but he didn’t know how he’d reachedit. He must have been walking in a dream. Christ’s bones, but that was worrying. If he could wander about like that, not evenpaying attention to his surroundings, then he was in a worse state than he had already thought. He needed to concentrate,to keep his mind set on his purpose. There was no earthly point in his finding Mortimer, only to be slain by the bastard becausehe was distracted from the task at hand. That way lay death.

‘Sir Charles. I was sorry to hear about your man. I know you’d been with him for a long time, eh?’

It was Sir Peter de Lymesey. The tall knight stood nearby, peering over at Sir Charles with his slightly hooded eyes, muchlike a hawk. He was not a demonstrative man. More a knight who would do anything he needed to protect himself. Someone whomight help for money, too, Sir Charles thought suddenly. As was Sir John de Sapy. And both could fight well. They’d provedthat over the years.