Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

After Easter, how much longer would it take for them to complete these damned negotiations and turn for home again? Anotherfortnight? Another month? Dear God, there was no way of telling. And all the while, Baldwin was under the threat of death.

He was shaking his head, feeling an entirely untypical self-pity, when he happened to glance towards de Bouden’s door, andsaw a figure slipping out. It was the absent drummer, and Simon gave a fleeting frown, wondering whether the man could havebeen up to no good in de Bouden’s room, but then he saw de Bouden at the door, quietly closing it. So he hadn’t knocked deBouden on the head to steal some of the Queen’s money, then. But Simon watched the drummer walk away, wondering what the fellowhad been talking to de Bouden about.

Sir John de Sapy grunted to himself as he marched along the lanes and streets. The directions he had been given had been perfectlyclear, and soon enough he found the place. A pleasant house in a short lane near the river.

He knocked on the door, and soon a man answered. He glowered ferociously, but allowed Sir John inside, and led him along adark and noisome passageway to a rear door.

‘Out there. Second door on the left,’ he said, and walked away.

Sir John watched him go with his lip curled. It was disgusting that such a man should dare be so insolent, but it was sadlyall too common. Anyway, he had no time just now to teach him manners. He walked out into a broad courtyard. It was cobbled, and the building opposite looked like a stable area,but when he looked along the left he saw the doors. The first and third were closed, but the second was standing ajar, andhe walked to it and knocked.

When there was no answer, he pushed gently, and it squeaked softly on its hinges. There was nothing else for him to hear,but something in the atmosphere made his hackles rise. A shiver started in his breast and ran down his spine. ‘Someone walkingover my grave,’ he told himself, but not aloud.

There was no light inside. No candle illuminated the room. He stood at the door for a heartbeat, wondering what to do, andthen the stench came rolling out like a barrel of filth. It almost knocked him over.

He kicked at the door, and drew his sword as the door swung wide. And then he grunted with disgust as he took in the sightof the disembowelled figure set atop the table in the corner.

It was some while before the musicians began to leave the Queen’s chamber, all looking a little flustered and warm from theirexertions. Good for them, thought Simon, who was regretting not wearing his cloak after standing out here for so long.

The last to leave was their leader, who was whistling under his breath and flicking a coin in his hand: spinning it up, catchingit, spinning it up, catching it, while his boy watched, transfixed.

Simon shot out his hand and caught the coin in mid-air. The man gaped, while the boy gave a whimper, and darted behind theman, peering up at Simon with anxious, troubled eyes.

‘Hey, give that back!’ Ricard demanded. He put out his hand protectively to the boy’s head.

It was a livre Parisis , Simon saw. He tossed it back, winking at the lad. ‘Your friend, the other drummer. What’s he doing with the Queen’s Comptroller?’

Ricard looked away. ‘He should have been in there with us.’

‘That wasn’t what I asked. I saw him leave de Bouden’s place a little after you got here. Why was that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He won’t say because he doesn’t want trouble.’

Simon turned to see who had spoken and found himself meeting the gaze of the heavy-set musician. ‘Who’re you?’

‘I’m Philip.’

‘Why won’t this man tell me the truth?’

Philip sneered. ‘He doesn’t want anyone to know why we came here in the first place.’

‘Philip, just watch your mouth,’ Ricard said, worried by the tone of voice. He recognised it from other times. Philip wasgetting himself into a fierce mood. He did it sometimes when he was drunk, talking himself into aggression, and all too oftengetting himself beaten later.

‘Oh, shut up, Ricard. We’ve been worrying and worrying about those two. All the way from London to here, and every day sincegetting here.’ He spat contemptuously. ‘Well, I’ve had it up to the throat with all this shit! No more!’ He turned to Simon.‘We were forced to come here. A man told us to come or he’d put the blame for two murders on to us.’

‘What murders?’ Simon shot out. He had taken a half-pace back, giving himself space to draw steel if necessary.

‘Philip — think of the boy, in Christ’s name!’ Ricard blurted.

‘A glover and his wife in a little house in London. The woman was all over Ric here the night before, and we went to her houseto sleep it off. Next morning there was this man with us, and he told us that the woman and her man were dead and we’d getthe blame if we didn’t do what he wanted.’

‘Which was?’

‘Spy on the Queen and report to his man.’

‘Who?’

‘The very man you say you saw over there at the comptroller’s place.’

‘Is this all true?’ Simon asked Ricard.

What could he say? He was heartily sick of Philip. Truth to tell, he was sick of them all. Jack, Adam’s whining … theonly man he was content with was Janin. At least Jan had a brain and didn’t shoot his mouth off in front of law officers.He had a brain all right — he had disappeared. Ricard glanced down at Charlie, apology in every line of his face.

‘I asked you …’

Ricard nodded sourly. ‘It’s all true. The wench was dead, her old man beside her.’

‘You all saw the bodies?’ Simon asked.

‘Yes,’ Ricard swallowed. The memory of the blood was enough to make the gorge rise all over again.

‘Friend, I think you should come and talk to us,’ Baldwin said from behind Simon. ‘This tale sounds most interesting.’

A little after the middle of the morning, Jean saw Arnaud leave the house with another man, this one cloaked and hooded, butfamiliar for all that.

What was the priest from Pamiers doing here? Jean was confused now, but he was sure of one thing: if he was to have his revengeon Arnaud, he must follow.

Arnaud and the priest were walking at a fair pace. They hurried along westwards, until they came to a group of houses in astreet near the river. Here the priest stopped and pointed, muttering to Arnaud. The executioner nodded twice, and then setoff in a hurry in the direction indicated.

Jean settled back in a doorway. They were growing to be his favourite place of concealment, he told himself with a smile.From here he could see Arnaud rapping on a door a little way along the street, and then entering. There was silence for what seemedan age after he went in, but then there was a sudden shriek, the door flew open, and a man rushed out into the street. Hisface was wild, and he stared up and down the way before choosing his direction and bolting.

It was one of the men from the English entourage. Jean had seen this one before — he was a knight, and from the way he grippedhis sword in his hands, he was ready to defend himself. Sure enough, a moment later Arnaud came out, a hand to a small cutabove his brow. The priest pointed urgently, and Arnaud gave chase, bellowing and roaring that the man was a murderer. A coupleof other men joined in the shouting, and soon there was a veritable mob hurtling along after Arnaud.

As they began to disappear round the bend in the street, the priest appeared to chuckle to himself, and then set off afterthem all, shaking his head as he went. There was something clearly very entertaining in the sight of the Paris mob in pursuitof a felon.

Jean waited until the priest had himself disappeared, and then went in by the door through which Arnaud and the man had exited.