Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

‘The peace looks as if it is going to end soon. Yes, the archbishop is sad. He says it is the Queen being difficult, that she never wanted for peace. He says that it is better that the land returns to the French king, but my lord the bishop says it is the French king who has slowed the talks, and that he seeks to prolong the truce.’

‘Surely both want the war to end?’ Simon said innocently.

The guard translated for his companion, and both chuckled. ‘You think so? The French king knows that if it lasts long, your king will lose interest. He will not come to bend his knee to the French king, so the land is lost anyway. No, your queen will soon return to England. That is all there is to it.’

It was a delicious thought. Simon was absorbing this, thinking of seeing his wife, his children — Christ’s ballocks, even seeing Hugh’s miserable face again — when Baldwin appeared, walking slowly up from behind the Queen’s rooms. He caught a glimpse of the men in the court and stopped, gazing about with surprise.

Simon walked to him and quickly explained all he had heard.

‘Well, let us hope that you’re right,’ Baldwin said.

‘What of you?’

‘I have been considering what I should do.’

‘You were muttering about heresy.’

‘You heard me?’ Baldwin asked sharply. ‘Yes. I was wondering about that. I did think that maybe my heretical past should catch up with me — but that would be very dangerous.’

‘I don’t understand what you are talking about, you realise?’

Baldwin took a cautious look around them before answering. ‘I cannot get out of my mind the fact that the little priest has killed so many, and all at the command of the French king.’

‘It happens.’

‘It happened to me before. I would not have it happen again,’ Baldwin said. ‘My Order was destroyed by a lawyerly clerk who invented evil lies to have us arrested and tortured, many of us killed. And this one is worse. He has seen to the murder of the garrison of a castle, not to mention an innocent man and woman in London. And Chatillon, and the Comte de Foix, and Paul …’

‘So what is in your mind?’

‘I was thinking that it would be suitable for me to let him know that I was a heretic. Then, perhaps, he might try to attack me, but this time you and I would be ready for him.’

‘What do you mean, let him know you are a heretic?’

‘I thought to tell him that I was a Templar. If he is truly so fanatical that he would be party to the killing of any number of heretics in Pamiers after witnessing the torture to which they were put, then maybe he would do anything in his power to harm me too.’

‘I may be an innocent abroad, but that strikes me as about the most dangerous, foolhardy idea you have yet had,’ Simon said. ‘If you tell him you were a Templar, he could call in the secular arm to have you arrested in a moment. What are you thinking of? That he’ll come racing pell-mell to kill you? Every other murder he has committed, he has planned carefully to the last detail. We had no idea in most cases that he was even nearby.’

‘It was only an idea,’ Baldwin admitted.

‘And now we are hearing that we’re likely to be returning home, it’s even more daft than it would be otherwise. It’s repellent to have to let him live, but it would be worse to be left mouldering in a gaol here while your wife worried about you back at home.’

Baldwin’s face altered subtly. ‘Yes. I hadn’t thought of Jeanne.’

‘That’s that, then.’

‘I suppose so,’ Baldwin agreed softly.

Easter Day 24

Sainte-Katerine’s, Paris

The morning was clear and bright, and Père Pierre sat entranced. After the Mass on Friday, in which all was mournful, desolate and gloomy at the thought of the death of Christ, this morning the whole space was filled with joy.

All about him were scruffy people from Paris, but in many ways that added to his delight. The place was a magnet for all those who wanted to celebrate the magnificent return to life of the Lord. There was nothing better than this. After so many years, he still felt his heart warm to the sights, sounds, and smells. The incense was wafting like a heavenly cloud all about after the procession of the Cross, and the candles appeared like beautiful little stars of golden light in among the fumes. Marvellous! A wonderful service. So much more meaningful than those of so many other churches.

Sainte-Katerine’s had always held more meaning for him than the others. Somehow there was a comfort in the plainness and simple symmetry here. There was less opulence than in Notre Dame or the fabulous church at Chartres, although he did like both of them as well. No, for him, this church with its elegant simplicity was the best, and this Mass was the most delightful of the year.

He left the place with a sense of fulfilment and happiness. Stepping into the Grande Rue, he glanced northward before making his way back down towards the river and the Louvre.

‘Père? Père Pierre?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am called Sir Charles of Lancaster. I wanted to ask your advice, Père.’

‘Speak, then, my son. What is troubling you?’

‘I am with the Queen’s delegation in the Château de Bois. You know of the little boy who is there with the musicians? I know you joined us on a part of the journey from the coast. You were with Peter of Oxford, were you not?’

‘Yes. I think I know the boy,’ Pierre admitted. He walked not too close to this grim-faced knight. There was a mild thrill of danger about him.

‘The boy is to be taken in by the knight Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. You know him?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am concerned. The boy is my namesake, after all, and it would be wrong to allow him to be put in a position of danger, wouldn’t it?’

‘Undoubtedly. But what danger can there be with a knight of such reputation as Sir Baldwin?’

Sir Charles bent and whispered, ‘What if the knight were a Templar who had never retracted his oaths to the Order?’

Père Pierre was shocked. Disbelievingly, he drew away. ‘This is nonsense! How could he be! The Templars have been utterly destroyed. There is no sign of them any more. They are all gone.’

‘How many were killed? How many died in the flames compared with the total number of warriors before the arrests? The Germans all escaped, didn’t they? The Portuguese and Spanish too. How many survived, Père?’

The priest was a matter of feet away now, and he watched the knight with heavily lidded eyes. ‘If what you say is true, why are you telling me? Why not denounce him to your Queen and have him arrested?’

‘The Queen? Don’t you think she has enough to contend with here? Didn’t you hear that the papal envoys were with her all day yesterday? They’ll be there again today, too, but they won’t get anywhere. There’s no chance of peace. Not while Mortimer lives.’

‘Why is that?’

‘He is holding meetings with her,’ Sir Charles said offhandedly. ‘He’ll try to delay the negotiations, keep them going but have them mired in problems so that the Queen remains here — except she won’t stay. The King her husband will demand her return before long. She is terrified of being taken back again, but she must obey her own husband. So no, she has no desire to see Sir Baldwin arrested and put on trial.’

‘But you do?’

‘He is a Templar. I do not mind that. Even if he is a heretic, he has behaved well enough towards me. But if this boy is given to him, what might he do to him? That is my concern.’

‘You must not allow the boy to go with him, then.’

‘How can I prevent it?’

‘Bring him to me. Let me look after him,’ Père Pierre said, and quickly gave him his address near the Louvre.