Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

But then one day he opened his mouth in a tavern, and by chance one of Bishop Fournier’s men was in the room at the same time. He was reported, arrested, questioned in detail, and gaoled. Only with the help of Arnaud was he released into the Comte’s hands, and thence taken up to Normandy.

He entered the dark chapel, and trailed after the bailiff to the altar, where three bodies remained. There was a man there at their side, praying, and Pierre suddenly recognised Peter of Oxford. ‘My friend, how are you?’ he said with a smile.

But Peter was not so friendly as he had been on their journey here. ‘Père Pierre. God save you.’

It was not the fulsome response he had expected, but no matter. Pierre walked to the bodies. ‘One of these is Arnaud?’

Peter motioned with his hand. ‘He’s there.’

Baldwin gestured. ‘Please satisfy yourself it is the correct man.’

‘Ah. I am sorry to see that it was Arnaud. The poor man.’

‘He was an executioner,’ Simon pointed out.

‘But a good man … tormented, but he tried his best. Still, it was a terrible thing he did. Robert de Chatillon, whom John de Sapy found dead in his chamber. This Arnaud was there with John. I do not know which killed Chatillon, but I would be inclined to think that it was Arnaud.’

‘What?’ Peter said. He was frowning at Pierre.

‘I think so. I find it hard to accept that a knight, an English knight, could execute a man in that manner. But a torturer and executioner? It would be natural for him.’

‘You blame him for Chatillon’s death?’

‘I only say what I believe happened.’

‘I suppose you blame him for Comte de Foix’s death as well?’

‘I have to assume that …’

‘I should warn you, Pierre, that I spoke to Arnaud before his death,’ Peter said firmly. His face showed revulsion. ‘He confessed his sins. He had time. And he told me all he had done. And for whom.’

‘You cannot repeat things told to you under the seal of the confessional,’ Pierre said, aghast.

‘No. But I can call on all the angels and archangels and all the saints in heaven to witness your words now, Père. For what you say here, in this holy house of God, must be the truth, no matter what. A lie in here would be the same as a lie told barefaced to God Himself. Do you dare perjure yourself in here?’

Père Pierre felt his resolve slipping. ‘You seek to accuse me?’

‘No. I only listen. Along with all God’s Host.’

‘I will not remain here to be insulted!’

‘You are free to leave,’ Baldwin said.

Pierre took one long look at him, then turned on his heel and marched from the chapel. Behind him he heard the knight coming after him, but once he was outside the following steps stopped, and he shot a look over his shoulder to see the knight standing in the doorway, watching.

There was nothing to it. Nothing at all. They could do nothing against him, that much was certain. The King’s anger would be fearful, were they to do anything to him. No, he was secure.

He was crossing the yard when he heard bellowing voices, laughter, and then a shriek. Turning, he saw a little boy being up-ended over the shoulder of some man as he ran. On the way, he kicked a ball by accident, and it fell a short distance from Père Pierre. He stooped to it, and picked it up. It was a simple wooden ball, solid and unyielding, chipped and dented where it had been dropped or thrown. He tossed it into the air and caught it, smiling.

Then the boy caught sight of him and his face seemed to constrict, somehow, his eyes widening, and then his mouth opened and he uttered the panicked, mortal shriek of a soul in distress.

And Père Pierre’s face changed. He stopped and stared, at first in astonishment, and then disgust. He put his hand to his belt as though to draw a knife, but his action was seen. Ricard held tight to Charlie, and Simon and Baldwin hurried to them.

‘The young bastard should have died in London,’ the good père declared. He spat at the ground, then spun and marched from the château.

Simon and Baldwin sat down at a table with Peter of Oxford in the main hall with jugs of wine and earthenware cups.

‘So, Baldwin, what was that all about?’ Peter asked.

‘The boy recognised him. It was something of a gamble on my part, but I thought it might work. The lad’s apparent calmness in the face of all seemed to me to show that he had not seen the actual death of the woman or her husband, but I felt sure, from all Ricard told us, that he must have been scared. After all, the fellow was found hiding himself in a little hutch in the yard, if Ricard was telling the truth. And yet he went with the men happily enough. So I think he was there when the woman and her man arrived home with all the musicians, and they were left in the yard to sleep off the drinks. Meanwhile, I think that the priest came to the door. The boy was probably woken by all the noise, and heard the priest’s arrival. Maybe the woman woke him, though, and sent him to his hiding place.’

‘We could ask the lad,’ Simon suggested.

‘He is three or so, Simon. Would he understand what we were asking?’

‘He is a very bright fellow.’

‘Perhaps. But to ask him about this would undoubtedly upset him. Better, I am sure, to guess, and to leave him alone. I do not want to upset my witness. So, she woke him, perhaps, and sent him out. He had seen the priest, though, through some hole in a floorboard, let us conjecture, so he recognised the man. And then he fled.’

Peter frowned. ‘But Father Pierre was with us all the way from the coast, near enough. Why didn’t the boy recognise him before?’

‘I saw him once that I remember, on the day I had an argument with Comte de Foix. I scarcely remember seeing you at all.’

‘I was busy. There was a portable altar, and I spent much of my time with it,’ Peter said ruefully.

‘And I have no doubt that the priest managed to lose himself as well. The boy simply didn’t see him then. But he certainly did this morning.’

‘So what now?’ Simon asked, rubbing his hands together. ‘Do you want to walk to the Louvre and explain what this deeply unpleasant little prick has been getting up to?’

Baldwin toyed with his wine cup.

‘Baldwin?’ Simon said, suddenly anxious.

‘I do not think I can, Simon. If I do, I think I shall upset the King. He did not want the truth to come out, and only reluctantly allowed me to question his little priest.’

‘You think it could be hazardous?’ Simon asked more quietly, thinking about the Templar cross on Baldwin’s sword.

‘Yes — but not for me!’ Baldwin leaned down, beckoning the others to do the same. When their heads were close, he whispered, ‘The boy himself is the target. That is what Mortimer told me, Simon, that there is a little treasure. The boy!’

‘What makes him so valuable?’

‘Think, man! We’ve heard about how the King’s first wife was so cruelly treated. Installed in a cold dungeon and left there for years. And then, in order to provide evidence for the annulment of the marriage, he gave orders that men should be gathered together and told to rape his wife. He wanted her to be shown to be a lewd woman without decency.’

‘She was an adulterer,’ Peter said.

‘How many married men can claim never to have touched another woman in their lives?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘From the confessions I hear …’ Peter began, but then he shook his head.

‘Precisely,’ Baldwin said. What happened was, she was raped several times, but only by this repellent creature Arnaud. Whether he was to her taste or not, I do not know. All I do know is, she fell pregnant. Arnaud was sure that the child was his own, I dare say. So he wanted to see it protected. But others had different ideas. The boy must die, so that there was no possibility later of a supposititious child arriving to confuse the next coronation. But somehow, the woman Thomassia and her husband took the child and fled. Not only the town, but the country. They went all the way to London, and took Master Charlie with them.’