Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘Earl Edmund himself. There are many in the palace at Westminster who trade in secrets. He had his sources.’

‘What of the other deaths?’ Simon asked. ‘The other musicians reckoned you were always out and about when someone died. Isthat true?’

‘Yes. And it’s true that I was often away when no one was hurt. But you see, my Lord Mortimer sent me to look after the Queen.And that is what I did. I kept an eye open for her every night while I could.’

‘Even the night Enguerrand de Foix died?’ Baldwin asked sharply.

‘Oh, yes. But I can tell you this: I didn’t see who was there, but I know who wasn’t.’

‘Who?’

‘The man Robert de Chatillon wasn’t, for one. He stayed in his tent. I saw his master leave and walk up the lines to wherehe died, but no one else came out of his tent.’

‘Did anyone come in from outside the camp, do you think?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I couldn’t swear no one did, but there was another man I did see. He was a little, short man, and I think he was a chaplain.Not the English one, but another fellow. Saw him a couple of times. He was travelling with the Queen’s Chaplain until we reachedPontoise.’

‘Pierre is his name, I think,’ Baldwin said.

When Sir Charles returned to the château, there was little warmth in his welcome from Lord Cromwell. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I had thought to bring you a trophy, my lord.’

‘You went off on one of your mercenary jaunts, you mean. You thought only of yourself yet again, and sought money from the traitor. At the same time you left Her Majesty all but unprotected. It was unforgivable!’

‘You say that? If I had found the King’s enemy and brought his body to you, I suppose you would have refused any part of the reward.’

‘Do not accuse me of your own vile greed, man! I am a man of honour. I would not have done anything that could have threatened the Queen!’

‘Truly. How very honourable of you,’ Sir Charles sneered.

‘Do not speak to me in that manner!’ Cromwell hissed.

‘I shall speak to all in any manner I consider suitable, my Lord ! I am not your vassal. And while I am here with you, I am still the servant of the King himself. I shall do my duty to him as I see fit.’

‘It is not your duty to him you seek. It’s the filling of your purse. Just like your real master, Sir Hugh le Despenser!’ Cromwell called after him.

Sir Charles hesitated, but then continued on his way. The damned fool! Did he really think that he, Sir Charles of Lancaster, was the friend of Sir Hugh? He was only attempting to avenge Paul, nothing more. The idea that he was even remotely similar to Sir Hugh was ridiculous.

He walked to the chapel and peered inside. Where yesterday there had been only his man’s body lying under a sheet before the altar, now there were three. He had to go to each, lifting the sheet to peer at the man beneath. Two who looked as though they had died in a brawl, and then poor Paul.

‘Old friend, I am sorry,’ he said. Suddenly tears filled his eyes, and he had to kneel at his man’s side as they streamed down both cheeks. ‘I did all I could. I searched for him, but when I found him, it was as it had been for you: he had been following me. And yet he said that you did not die at his hand. He expected me to believe that, Paul. As though I could believe it.’

It was a shaming suggestion. Insulting to think that a man of Sir Charles’s intelligence could be persuaded by such a laughable assertion. Although he had not killed Charles himself when Charles was in his control. That was odd. Sir Charles would have slain him at the first opportunity, and he must have known that. Yet he didn’t return the favour.

No one else could have wanted to kill Paul, though. He had no enemies. And Mortimer had admitted beating him. Still, it was peculiar that he had done nothing to Sir Charles.

Baldwin and Simon were in their room drinking some spiced French ale when Sir Charles came in upon them.

‘I have some news for you, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Yes?’ Baldwin stood and poured Sir Charles a large cup of ale. ‘Please, take your rest here in front of our fire.’

‘I cannot deny that it would be pleasant.’

Simon could tell how affected he was by the death of his man. Sir Charles was pale, and his confidence appeared to have taken a knock. His usual ebullience was replaced with a dulled quiet. There was a quality of stillness about him which was entirely abnormal for him. Now he took the drink and sat on Baldwin’s stool, staring into the flames.

‘Mortimer caught me. Much as he did Paul, I think,’ he said after a long while.

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘Not at all. No. I think he wanted to let me know that he knew what I had been trying to do — to catch and kill him. But he didn’t seek to kill me.’

‘He would think that the French king has had enough of bloodshed during the Queen’s embassy,’ Baldwin reasoned.

‘And that would threaten his own position, were he to extend the embarrassment himself. But why, then, did he kill Paul? And why deny it? I would be proud of capturing an enemy and destroying him. But he did deny it. He stated that he had nothing to do with Paul’s death. I do not understand that.’

‘What did he actually say?’ Simon asked.

‘The main thing he said was that you should look for a treasure.’ Sir Charles frowned, trying to recall the precise words Mortimer had used. ‘He is leaving the city now, and wanted you to know that. He said that the man and woman in London hailed from Normandy. She was a cook’s maid, while her husband was a leather worker. Both were at the Château Gaillard, but they left there and took something with them when they left for London.’

‘Did he say what sort of treasure it might have been?’ Baldwin wondered.

‘He said it was a matter of pride rather than joy,’ Sir Charles said.

‘ Pride rather than joy ?’ Baldwin repeated. Then his face cleared as he remembered the conversation he had held with Mortimer when he had been caught by the traitor. ‘A boy?’

Simon eyed him narrowly. ‘A boy? Is that what you discussed with Mortimer when you saw him?’

‘Yes. We were talking about our sons.’

‘That is all he told me to say to you,’ Sir Charles said. He stood, tottering a little on legs that were over-tired. ‘I can tell you no more. But Sir Baldwin, can you help me with this riddle? Why would he tell me he had not killed Paul when surely no one else could have done so?’

Baldwin eyed him a moment. ‘Sir Charles, the way Paul was killed, with his belly opened and his guts brought into the open air. Another man was killed in that same way last night or early today. You remember Robert de Chatillon?’

‘Clearly.’

‘He too is dead. A man tried to allege that his murderer was Sir John de Sapy, although he denies it. The man who accused Sir John was an executioner called Arnaud.’

‘The same Arnaud who had a son with the lady at the Château Gaillard,’ Simon breathed. ‘Arnaud said that the boy died, though!’

‘Perhaps he was lying,’ Baldwin said. Suddenly he was in a rush. ‘Sir Charles, I am sorry. I do not think that Mortimer killed Paul. Perhaps it was this same Arnaud? He killed for a living, and he had a desire to continue. He was used to hanging and drawing people. And opening their bellies in this manner is much in the way an executioner would work.’

‘Why would he do that to Paul?’

‘I think he was mad,’ Baldwin said simply. ‘He probably killed Enguerrand de Foix, and Paul and Chatillon. Someone killed them all, for I doubt that there could be another who suddenly chose to murder one or the other. One murderer is enough. There is no need to invent more.’