Michael Jecks - The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover

She was seated on a small throne in the middle of the room, and while Blaket took his post to the side of Simon and Baldwin, the ladies-in-waiting stood at the side of the Queen, all three on her left, Alicia nearest.

‘Sir Baldwin. Do you know who visited me this morning?’

‘Your brother, my lady,’ he said, bowing low and keeping his eyes on the ground.

‘Very observant. And what was he doing here, do you suppose?’

‘Discussing the-’

‘No. Not the treaty. He was here to accuse you of murdering a man of his. A man called Père Pierre.’

‘I did no such thing!’ Baldwin stated loudly. ‘I am innocent.’

The Queen was quiet a moment. Then she rallied. ‘He was convinced.’

‘I am afraid I do not care, my lady. I had nothing whatever to do with his death. When was he supposed to have died?’

‘I don’t know such details!’

‘I and my friend here were both at the chapel for the Mass yesterday, and many saw us. We did leave the château briefly later on, but only for a walk about the area. I most certainly did not draw my sword or stab anyone. The idea!’

She seemed about to say something, then hesitated. ‘Leave us alone,’ she said to the ladies at her side. She waved to Blaket too. ‘You wait outside.’

When they were alone, she rested her chin on her knuckles. ‘Very well. The truth.’

‘I have told you that already.’

‘My dear knight, I am no clever inquisitor, but you gave me an alibi for yesterday morning before I told you when he had died.’

‘Madam, I was not there when he died, I did not order his death, I did not pay another to kill him, and was not forewarned that he would die. I had no part in it.’

Her eyes moved to Simon.

‘No, lady. Nor did he.’

‘Then why did my brother suspect you so strongly?’

‘Ah. I will need to tell you the full story, then,’ Baldwin said, and told her all about Charles’s birth, his rescue from the Château Gaillard and his flight to England, where Pierre had attempted to have him killed.

‘After that, your brother appears to have desired to remove all those who knew anything about his plot. The garrison, Enguerrand de Foix, Robert de Chatillon, all have died.’

‘Why?’

Baldwin took a deep breath and gambled. ‘Because no king would wish such news to come to the public. He is to be married to Jeanne d’Evreux in June or July, is he not? How would that lady like to be reminded that her predecessor was gaoled when she was only a child? And worse, how would she like to know that her new husband had ordered that Blanche be given to her gaolers for their sport and pleasure, or that he then commanded that her offspring should be executed for his convenience?’

The Queen studied him with a pale face that was entirely blank.

‘You are an astute man, Sir Baldwin. Can no one keep anything secret from you?’

He held her gaze. ‘I only seek to restrain those who would hurt others, my lady.’

‘The boy. Is he well?’

‘You have met him, your highness. He has played in here.’

In a flash she saw pale blue eyes, hair like straw. ‘Him? No. Don’t tell me. I do not need to know. You may leave. No! Wait a moment. I have heard from my brother that we may soon be recalled to England. The view is that our mission has failed. What do you think?’

Baldwin gave a low grunt. ‘I think I miss my wife and children and would return to them as soon as may be. I would escape the mesh of intrigue that surrounds me at every turn here, my lady. But if you are asking whether your embassy has failed and you should abandon it, I would say no. The papal envoys are still here. Surely it will be possible to continue to discuss matters a little longer. There is no agreement so far, but perhaps you can still achieve something.’

She watched him closely. ‘Very well. I thank you, Sir Baldwin.’

Joan of Bar walked slowly back into the room when the two men had left it. ‘My queen?’

‘You know that the King my brother says that we will be ordered to return to England soon? Sir Baldwin thinks we should remain here a while longer.’

Lady Joan had seen the Queen blossom in the last weeks here in France. She looked exhausted now, still beautiful, but bowed down under the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The future of the Guyennois territories depended on her: a woman who had little knowledge of diplomacy. She had done her best by her kingdom and her husband. A return home should be a rest.

But to return home meant to return to her husband. Her husband and Despenser.

‘My lady …’

Her course was clear. The Queen was to be asked to return, so she must do so. It was her duty.

Then she recalled her own husband, and she remembered the years of suffering with him. It had been intolerable, so intolerable that she had persuaded the Pope himself to release her. And now the Queen was asking for her advice. It brought a lump to her breast.

‘My lady, you should remain here as long as you can. Don’t return to him,’ she hissed, and hurried from the room.

Friday following Easter 26

Maubisson

Sister Blanche heard the knock and went to the door of her cell.

It was one of those soft, damp days, with a gentle drizzle falling that was a constant delight to her. In the past she would have avoided such weather, complaining that it was uncomfortable, grey, miserable. Now, it was one more of God’s pleasures. Never again would she moan and whine about the wet, or the excessive heat, the smells or sensations which He had sent. All were a pleasure to one who had been incarcerated with the fear of death for so long that the soul had grown to long for it.

‘My lady?’

She felt her stomach lurch, and almost collapsed. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of the King’s signs on the herald’s breast. ‘Yes?’

‘Lady, I have been sent to ask if you are well.’

She swallowed down her terror. ‘You may tell him that I am very well. I am dead — to the world and to him.’

The King inclined his head when the messenger approached, and listened with a stony countenance as he heard Blanche’s message. But when he understood that there was a gift too, a fleeting consternation passed over his face. And then, when he took the little draw-string bag and opened it, he saw the ruby rosary.

‘It is a pretty thing,’ he murmured to himself. He took it out and admired it for a moment. The messenger was staring with open admiration. ‘You like it?’

‘My Liege, it is so … so beautiful …’ the man stammered.

‘Take it. I gave it once to a whore. It is worthless.’

1 The Death Ship of Dartmouth

2Saturday 2 February 1325

3Sunday 17 February 1325

4Monday 18 February 1325

5Wednesday 20 February 1325

6Saturday 23 February 1325

7Thursday 28 February 1325

8Monday 4 March 1325

9Tuesday 5 March 1325

10Saturday 9 March 1325

11Friday 15 March 1325

12Monday 18 March 1325

13Tuesday 19 March 1325

14Campball was an ancient form of football which was more like modern rugby.

15Wednesday 20 March 1325

16Thursday 21 March 1325

17Saturday 23 March 1325

18Saturday 30 March 1325

19Sunday 31 March 1325

20Wednesday 3 April 1325

21Thursday 4 April 1325

22Friday 5 April 1325

23Saturday 6 April 1325

24Sunday 7 April 1325

25Monday 8 April 1325

26Friday 12 April 1325