Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

There were others like him. Peter de Lymesey was another in the same mould. A man who was not noted for his politeness orintellect, yet when he had been found in the camp of the Earl of Lancaster he had been enabled to regain his honour in theKing’s service.

At times Sir Charles had been happy to denigrate them both, because he had always known himself to be superior. And then,more recently, he had begun to wonder. After all, if they were so stupid, what where they doing in the King’s entourage? Andthen he had realised the simple truth: they were exactly that — dull-witted supporters who were no threat to the King — orhis favourite.

Sir Hugh le Despenser was avaricious, yes. And a murderous, thieving devil who’d kill you to steal your teeth if he could see a potential advantage. But he was not an idiot. He liked to have strong men about him and the King, it was true,but he was also very keen that he should be the first among them. So he always sought out those who were less intellectuallyable than himself.

Sir Charles could smile at that thought, even now. So Despenser viewed Sir Charles as a fool, then? A man in the same mouldas Sir John and Sir Peter? He had made an error there.

‘This man is worth a fortune to the King, don’t forget,’ he hissed to them as they all left the castle. ‘But it doesn’t matterwhether he’s alive or not.’

Sir John glowered about him. ‘How do we find him?’

‘I saw him myself before the castle,’ Sir Charles said. ‘I think there’s something keeping him about here. Perhaps he’s spyingon the Queen with a view to harming her? Or capturing her? It would be a sore blow to the King, were his wife to be takenby his worst foe.’

Sir Peter smiled easily. ‘Ah. So you have no idea where he is, then?’

‘He is nearby,’ Sir Charles said flatly.

‘You know for definite that the man who killed Paul was Mortimer?’ Sir John said. He had asked that three times so far.

‘It was him. I told you: I saw Mortimer here, outside the castle, and he was walking over this way. Paul was trying to findhim, and then he was killed. It must have been Mortimer.’

Sir John shrugged. ‘Could have been anyone. He was out late after curfew, from what you say. Any man could have seen him aseasy prey. There are men who do that sort of thing.’

‘It was Mortimer. Paul would have defended himself against any other. He was a capable man-at-arms.’

Sir Peter was more sanguine than Sir John. ‘If there’s any chance it’s Mortimer, we have a duty to find him.’

‘That’s fine — but where in Christ’s name do we start?’ Sir John said. ‘I’ve never been to Paris before.’

‘Nor I,’ Sir Peter admitted. He glanced hopefully at Sir Charles.

‘You don’t need to know the city,’ he said. ‘All that matters is we keep to the nearer alleys. The man is here somewhere,and he must have some sort of interest in the castle. Why else would he dump my man’s body by the entrance?’

‘Very well,’ said Sir Peter. ‘Then we find a place to wait and watch.’

Roger Mortimer bit at his lower lip as the man scuttled away, up the alley past Jack and into the main yard. He was aboutto motion to Jack to follow and kill him when wiser counsel persuaded him against it. If it were necessary to do anythingabout Master Ricard, it could be done later. There was no urgency.

‘Your highness,’ he said with a bow.

Queen Isabella was radiant even in this dim light. She wore a black tunic and hooded cloak, like a wealthy widow. At her sidewas de Bouden, as usual, while behind her walked her lady-in-waiting, that blonde girl. Alice? Avice, or something. No threatto him, anyway, which was the most important thing so far as Mortimer was concerned.

Sweet Jesus, what a life! Only a few years ago he had been among the most valued of the King’s servants, fêted wherever hewent within the realm, and feared abroad as a major general of the King’s host. If there was a battle to be fought, the Kingwould send his Mortimer. And now he had to fear meeting people in case he might be sought out and assassinated. He dared noteven trust the Queen, a lady who had shown herself to be a friend to him and to his wife.

‘Please, Roger, stand.’

‘I cannot. You are still my queen,’ he murmured.

His eyes were fixed on the floor, but even as he opened his mouth to ask Jack to leave them, he heard the door close softly.Glancing up, he saw that he and the Queen were alone but for the blonde.

‘Roger, rise, I beg,’ she said, but behind the gentle words was an iron will.

He had been brought up in the culture of courtly love, but her tone showed that this was no time for foolish exhibitions.He nodded and obeyed. ‘I am glad indeed to see you again.’

‘And I you. Roger, this farce of an embassy has dragged on long enough. It is not likely that I shall be here for much longer.’

‘My lady!’ he groaned. It was devastating to hear it from her own lips. She was the only true friend he had over here whocould influence matters back at home. Isabella was an intelligent woman, and with her support he had been sure that he mighthave been able to effect a reconciliation with the King. If she was to be called home again, her embassy must have failed,and any possibility of a reconciliation with her husband was effectually closed off. Neither she nor Mortimer could hope toresume their past positions. Communication between them was impossible while the Queen was locked up under the constant watchfuleye of those such as Eleanor, Lady Despenser. They needed more time.

‘You know it’s true, Roger. My brother is a sharp man with a mind like a steel trap. No matter what I do or say, he will demandever more harsh conditions. It is impossible.’

‘You cannot appeal to his brotherly love for you?’

She looked at him very directly. ‘He has no heir. If he was still married to that whore Blanche, he might have had children- sons — by now.’

‘It was hardly your fault that her crimes were discovered.’

‘It would hardly have endeared me to him that it was I who discovered them, nor that it was I who told our father and set in trainthe destruction of my brothers’ marriages.’

Mortimer nodded. ‘So he will not assist you?’

‘He has indicated as much. And I must obey my husband’s instructions. He will demand my return soon.’

‘Could you not stall him? Why not discuss with the French king an extension of the truce while you continue to negotiate?That way, at least you remain here and we can hope for something else to come to our aid.’

She smiled. ‘Roger, dear Roger. You plan still for a miracle? There can be none, believe me. This whole affair of the invasionof Guyenne has been a ploy. My brother seeks the entirety of the English possessions. He needs England to bow before him.’

‘No English king can bend the knee to him. It would be intolerable.’

‘No English king can hold lands from him, then,’ she said more sharply.

Mortimer bowed his head. He must remember that her loyalties were divided. A large part of her heart was still French. Buthe needed her help.

He had met her several times now — initially at his own instigation, but recently more often at hers — but he felt as thoughhe was making very little headway. As was she.

What he wanted — needed — was his wife to be freed so that he could have her back at his side again. She had always been with him until his arrest,and he missed her steadying influence. Always kind, always sweet-natured, it was obscene that she should be held in a dungeonat the King’s pleasure.

And he knew that Isabella understood his urgent desire for his companion’s return. She had a similar yearning for her ownhusband to retake his rightful position with her. Not much hope of that, though. The man was besotted with his ‘dearest Hugh’. She had to know that. Roger Mortimer could feel sympathy for her … no, more than that. They had a deepunderstanding based on their experiences. Both had been deprived of all they held closest to their hearts: children, spouses,treasure — all that made life worthwhile.