Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

Mortimer had been a contented husband and father, and losing his wife in this manner, knowing that she was incarcerated withonly a pittance for her upkeep, was tearing at his heart and soul.

‘My poor lady,’ he whispered.

‘She suffers. As we all do,’ Isabella said quietly.

He nodded, and then looked up at her with compassion in his eyes. ‘My poor queen, too.’

Because there was no means for her to recover her husband. They both knew that.

‘There is hope for your Lady Joan,’ Isabella said.

‘And you, my lady? My queen?’

‘I have to live without hope,’ she said bitterly. ‘When I return to England, I return to a gaol cell. I am free while I amhere, but as soon as I cross the Channel I cease to be a useful ambassador and become the King’s prisoner.’

‘If only we could cross the seas with a host,’ he said, and clenched his teeth. Then: ‘It would be good to return with menat my back, ready to fight for the realm and evict Despenser. I would be honoured to install you on your throne again, whereyou belong, Queen Isabella.’

‘I wish it could be so,’ she said sadly.

Roger Mortimer nodded, and both were silent a moment, until Roger looked up, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. He met herown steady gaze, and each recognised the speculation in the other.

‘Alicia?’ the Queen said after a moment. ‘Leave us.’

Ricard scampered away from the confrontation carrying Charlie, his heart pounding so harshly he felt sure that it must explodefrom his breast. At the corner of the corridor he turned to glance back and make sure that Jack was not following him. Hehad a fear that the man might chase after him to kill him even as he reached the castle’s court. Jack had not hesitated tokill before, after all. Ricard was as sure as he could be that Jack must have murdered poor Peter to get himself in on thisembassy with the others.

But no: the man was back there still, bowing to the Queen as she slipped past and entered the room with that man whom Ricardhad felt sure he knew. Then the Queen’s woman followed her inside, while de Bouden and a guard stood at the doorway with Jack.

He felt sick as he realised that he was safe for now. ‘Christ and all his saints,’ he muttered, and puffed out his cheeks.There must be an easier way to earn a living, he told himself regretfully. Looking down at Charlie, he saw that the boy’sface was smeared with tears and snot, but the lad had stopped his wailing now. Ever since de Bouden appeared Charlie had beenmaking the same low, inconsolable noise, as though one more person coming up behind him was the last shock he could cope with.‘It’s all right, lad. We’re safe now,’ Ricard said.

Other men had nothing like these problems. They could work at their jobs — farming, working in markets, peddling wares of various types — and never get into this kind of mess. But here he was, an innocent in a foreign land, trying to mindhis own business, and what happened? He was forced to protect and guard a man who was spying on the Queen.

Casting another look behind him, he frowned. But if the man Jack was actually in the pay of the Despenser, surely the Queen’sComptroller would have nothing to do with him? Everyone knew that the Despenser and the Queen hated each other. You didn’thave to be a musician in the palace on Thorney Island for long to see how they loathed each other. So Jack surely wasn’t withDespenser.

Shite — perhaps he was truly on the side of the Queen. That would be very embarrassing.

Ricard wanted nothing to do with either of them. No. Instead, he made his way along the alleyway to the farther end. Whathe wanted was a good pot of ale. With that in mind, he hurried down to the hall’s bar, over in the buttery, and was aboutto enter when he saw the other man.

‘Christ in chains!’ he swore. Charlie looked up, but said nothing. Didn’t even hide his face, so he must be over the worstof his shock. Ricard wasn’t, though. Ach, he’d be buggered if he’d go in there with the man who’d been in that room in London,the man who Philip and Adam said had been with Jack. Who the hell are you? he wondered, but just then some French guards shovedpast him. He saw the man’s head turn towards the door, and ducked away before he could be spotted.

Disconsolately, he wandered up the corridor from the buttery to the main door leading to the yard. Here he stood a moment,looking about, wondering where to go and what he could do.

What he really wanted was ale, but the idea of going back in there and drinking under the gaze of the man who’d seen to the murder of the glover and his wife in that little house was enough to make him feel like spewing. Better to go and finda tavern outside somewhere, but even as he had the thought he heard voices behind him, and throwing a look over his shoulderhe saw the man walking towards him.

Hurrying out, he was about to run across the yard to escape when he heard a man calling to him. It wasn’t the man behind,but someone else in the court itself. Staring about him wildly, he saw the knight, Sir Baldwin, sitting with his companionthe bailiff. The two were all but inseparable. At least he’d heard only good reports about them both. They appeared honourable,and they’d not allow some stranger to stab him to death without doing something.

With that reasoning giving him confidence, he crossed to them. ‘Sir?’

The knight looked at him, then at Charlie. ‘A handsome boy. He is yours?’

‘Um. Not really. He’s an orphan, and I thought it’d be best to save him from any further pain.’

‘Pain?’

‘His parents were murdered.’

‘Oh … Are you well, musician? You look badly flustered, like a man who’s been caught in a murder himself!’

That word was enough to send his spirits tumbling again. He remembered the threat the man had made: if the band didn’t helphim, Ricard would be accused of murder. The two bodies were there … but that was ages ago. A month — no, two? — since.The bodies may still be there, but who’d prove he had been? He was surely safe. Except he couldn’t be sure.

‘I ate some meat that was off, I think,’ he said.

‘I see,’ Baldwin said, and appeared to lose interest, to Ricard’s relief. ‘Anyway, a man is looking for a musician. I don’tknow if it was you. Ah, there he is. My lord! Is this the man you meant?’

‘Him? No. There is another man, I think his name is Jack. It was he I sought,’ the Earl said. He looked at Ricard as though daringhim to speak about their last meeting. ‘Do you know where Jack is, fellow?’

Ricard licked his lips and nodded. Silently he pointed towards de Bouden’s chambers, and watched with relief as the Earl noddedand walked off to see Jack.

‘Are you sure you are well?’ Simon asked Ricard.

Well! It was hardly the word he’d have used to describe his fluttering heart and empty, roiling belly. ‘Yes. Yes, I am well.But that man — do you know who he is?’

Baldwin grinned. ‘He is the King’s brother. Earl Edmund. Do you not know him?’

Later, when he had found a quiet corner outside a tavern where he could sit and drink from a jug of wine, Ricard looked downat Charlie, playing happily in the dust with some other children, and then rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes.If he had been a little younger, he would have wept for terror. He had no idea what to do. All he knew was that he stood tomake an enemy of the Queen or of the King’s brother, no matter what he tried.

He must be cautious, else he would find himself like Peter, thrown into a midden with his throat cut.

Jean sat in a doorway and pulled his cloak more tightly about him. The weather was more clement than it had been, but it wasstill very chill here in the shade of the tall buildings. How he longed for the summer, and long days with the sun high overhead.But perhaps he would be dead before those days arrived.