Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘Jacques was always a thorough man. He killed only very rarely, when the criminal was obdurate. His patience was exemplary,’ Père Pierre said, allowing a trace of asperity to enter his voice.

‘I am sure you are right,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘And you were the man who took notes during the interrogations?’

‘I was fortunate enough to be able to help him from the time when he first arrived there. I had already been there with Bishop Pelfort de Rabastens, you see, but he had quarrelled with his canons, and all his time was taken up with disputes. It was only when he left — about eight years ago — that Jacques arrived and set up his own inquisitorial office together with the Dominican brother Gaillard de Pomiès. From then I began to take all the records.’

‘You were already there?’ Simon asked. ‘Did you know the man called Jean who tried to kill Arnaud?’

Père Pierre was frankly shocked by that news. ‘It cannot be — you mean he has come all the way here?’

‘Yes. We know that he was a guard at the Château Gaillard. Did you know him before that?’

‘He was in the service of the Comte de Foix.’

‘That same man who died on the journey here?’ Baldwin said.

‘His father, who is dead now, God bless his soul,’ Pierre said, rapidly crossing himself. ‘Count Robert died at Courtrai, God bless him!’

‘Jean was in the garrison, wasn’t he? When Berengar went mad.’

‘Yes. He had been held in Pamiers because he displayed a wanton disregard for the honour of the bishop. He was held, while his heretical views were examined, and then he was allowed to leave, so long as he wore the star of the heretic.’

‘But he didn’t stay there?’

‘Arnaud had been there at the same time, and Arnaud picked him to help at the château.’

‘Were you involved up there too?’ Simon asked.

Pierre glanced at him. He remained leaning against the wall, but he was frowning for some reason. ‘I was often up there in my capacity as chaplain.’

‘To see the Lady Blanche?’ Baldwin snapped.

‘On occasion. I took messages to her.’

‘Did you see her child?’

‘Child?’ Pierre could not help his voice rising. These fools had learned about her child!

‘You know about him, then. Was that the reason you went to London and killed them both?’

‘I have not been to London.’

‘You were there with Sir John de Sapy. You see he has already told us much.’

‘I do not know …’

‘Her name was Thomassia, wasn’t it? That is what the musicians thought, anyway. And her husband was Guy. Both were from the château. I think that they were aware of something about the lady who was installed there. As were the men of the garrison. So you and Arnaud were told to remove all the evidence. You were told to see that all the men there were killed.’

‘This is fascinating, but I do not know what you want me to say in response to this nonsense.’

‘There was the other old man, too. He and Arnaud were supposed to kill all the guards, I suppose. And since then, it has been your duty to tidy up all the loose ends. You were to kill the Comte de Foix, weren’t you? And it struck you as amusing to do it in such a way that it might incriminate no one; that it would be clever to leave him with an explosion so that it would appear as though he had suffered a terrible accident. So you put that powder beneath him and ignited it.’

‘I know nothing of such matters.’

‘Really? Yet I saw you at his side when he fired his gonne . It scared my horse, and when I turned, there you were, just behind him as he laughed. You must have heard him speak of his weapon.’

‘No. Perhaps he was showing someone else, and that person heard all about the gonne , but I was thinking of other things.’

‘Really?’ Baldwin said again. His voice was drooling with sarcasm now, and his disbelief was apparent. It was deeply shaming for a priest to have to hear such doubt.

‘Did you hear what happened to Arnaud?’ Simon asked.

‘Arnaud? He is at the inn near the-’

‘No. He got into a fight with Jean yesterday. He is here,’ Baldwin said.

‘Oh?’ Pierre said enquiringly. ‘Perhaps I should see him, then.’

‘Yes. It would please you to remove yet another embarrassment,’ Baldwin said.

‘You accuse me of killing him?’

‘Let us think of Paul, too, the man you found outside the castle here on the night of last Wednesday,’ Baldwin said. He was trying to make the man stumble in his tale, but it was clearly going to be a hard task. ‘You found him in a terrible state, badly beaten, and chose to kill him. Was it only because he was already so weakened? Like Robert de Chatillon? Another loose end in your coil of rope. No one likes to leave a loose end lying around where it might trip up the unwary, do they? So you had him slaughtered too, and then sought to put all the blame on your easiest target: an Englishman, who also happened to know what had happened in London. But the plan went awry, because he managed to knock Arnaud to the ground, and then escaped back to the castle.’

‘Why should I want to do any of this? To kill this Paul? This Robert?’

‘Robert, I believe, knew more than he told me about the garrison. It was through him that you hired all the men for the Château Gaillard, wasn’t it? Through him you collected together Jean and the others, so when his usefulness was done it was only right that he should also be silenced for ever. But why you killed Paul, I do not know. Unless it was chance. You happened upon him as you walked the streets of Paris.’

‘Why should I kill a man for seeing me?’ Pierre said reasonably, his hands outstretched.

‘He had been looking for someone,’ Baldwin said. ‘But perhaps … perhaps he found another when he had been released. Did he see you leaving some other place where you ought not to have been?’

‘I do not know what you are talking about, my friend. And I think I have heard enough wild accusations. I would like to see my old friend Arnaud. Where is he?’

‘Let us take you to him,’ Simon said with a short grin. ‘Follow me, Father.’

Pierre walked along behind the fellow. Really, these English were growing too arrogant for words. He did not like the way that the other man walked behind him, either. It made him feel rather like a prisoner.

They were heading towards a small chapel, he saw, and he frowned quickly, but then shrugged. Perhaps they had some idea that he would tell them more in God’s house — but if so they would be disappointed. He had no intention of telling them anything more at all.

His journey had been so long, from those far-off days when he and Arnaud had first arrived in Pamiers ten or more years ago, frustrated and bitter to be dropped in so far-away and wild an area. They had stopped in that little place near a village, where, God help him, he had been so sorely tempted by that woman. And yes, he had taken her. Against her wishes. And killed her afterwards.

It was an act which was uniquely vile in the eyes of many, but for him it was a necessary evacuation of all those humours which sent a man mad. All knew that men must expel the foul liquid every so often, and she had been a useful receptacle. Nothing more. Then her husband returned from the wars, and he had lived in fear for a while that the fellow might come and try to punish him for his aberration. But he hadn’t. In fact, although Pierre had ordered him to be followed and spied upon, hoping that he would display the same heretical tendencies as so many others, and that he might be able to have him arrested and tortured, Jean had simply been quiet. It was almost as though he had lived his entire life in the last year or two, and wanted nothing so much as to sit back and endure until his end.