Paul Doherty - The Cup of Ghosts

‘Do they know you?’

Demontaigu turned, as if fascinated by the demons painted on the wall.

‘They know me by my father’s name, as they do my rank, but as I said, they have no clear description of me.’ He laughed abruptly. ‘The traitors in our order did not have close sight of me; that’s one of the reasons de Molay chose me when Philip struck. I was to go into hiding to exact vengeance, to protect, where I could, our brethren.’

‘So I have endangered you?’

‘Mathilde,’ Demontaigu cupped my cheek, ‘they still do not know me.’ His hand fell away. ‘Don’t worry, it would have happened one day, a suspicious innkeeper, an informer.’ He leaned back against the wall and sighed. ‘I stayed as long as I could in Paris; as I’ve said, de Vitry felt guilty and asked me for help, so I watched the palace. It was easy enough. I saw you leave. I thought you might be fleeing so I joined you at the tavern. I dressed and acted like an English scholar; I know the tongue. I saw what happened.’ He picked at the crumbs on his tunic. ‘Then de Vitry was killed. I decided to flee. My brothers had prepared a place in England.’ He shrugged. ‘I came here to find most of the brethren were in hiding or prison. The power of England has not fully moved against us. William de la Mare, our Grand Master here, lies under house arrest at Canterbury.’

‘And you travelled to Dover to watch for me?’

Demontaigu laughed. ‘Well, yes and no.’

I felt a deep chill of fear. ‘You didn’t come for me,’ I accused. ‘You came for Marigny, didn’t you? Des Plaisans and Nogaret?’

‘Yes, Mathilde. I came for them. If I can, if God gives me the will, grace and strength, I’ll kill them as would other brothers of my order. The Noctales have been released against us for many reasons. If Philip and his henchmen are dangerous to us, we are just as threatening to them. We still have influence, be it with that false priest, Clement of Avignon, or here in England. Above all, we are soldiers, veterans, master bowmen and swordsmen. Life can be so perilous in a street or crossing a square.’ He smiled. ‘Or even in a palace. I heard about Pelet’s death and wondered if you. .?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘That was the princess acting on my behalf.’

‘In which case,’ Demontaigu replied, ‘we are deeply in her debt.’

‘And the attack in Canterbury?’

‘I was travelling in disguise with false papers. According to them I was Brother Odo from Cluny. The good monks of St Augustine’s accepted me; Benedictines are always travelling. I was left to my own devices, given a cell and joined the brothers in their communal celebrations. I watched you. I saw you leave the guest house that night and followed. Mathilde, you acted foolishly in such a deserted place, a hall of shadows. Anyway, I came to the foot of those steps and glimpsed the struggle at the top.’ He pulled a face. ‘The rest you know.’ He patted me on the arm. ‘I dared not reveal myself; I returned to London. I would have waited a little longer.’ He walked over to the door, opened it, peered outside and slammed it shut. ‘And so, Mathilde,’ he came over and squatted down before me, ‘why were you, a dame de chambre , attacked so viciously?’

I told him everything, as if I was a penitent in the mercy seat being shriven by my confessor: all about the deaths of Pourte, Wenlok, the assaults on me and the enmity of Marigny. Demontaigu heard me out, nodded or asked the occasional question. He shook his head after I’d finished.

‘Marigny may know who you truly are, but he’d prefer more to use you than kill you.’ He paused, listening to the growing sounds from outside, the shouts and cries of traders, the rattle of a cart, the clatter of horses’ hooves. ‘I certainly agree with you on one matter: de Vitry. Something you saw that day has perhaps placed you in great danger.’ He pulled his leather saddlebags closer. ‘De Vitry’s murder is truly a mystery. He also said something to me, not covered by his confession, about the enterprise of England; that it was really Philip’s enterprise but he did not know the details.’

‘Could it be an invasion of England, conquest?’ I asked.

‘Too costly, too dangerous,’ Demontaigu replied as if to himself, ‘but look, I’m cold and hungry,’ he tapped me on the tip of my nose, ‘as you must be. The pursuit is cold, the Noctales will withdraw and I’m famished!’ He got to his feet. ‘I have business at the Tower today, so I will escort you back.’

‘What business?’ I asked, heart in mouth. ‘What business, sir?’

‘We have our spies in the French court and in their households.’ He walked to the door and paused. ‘Today, the Feast of St Callistus, Marigny, des Plaisans and Nogaret are going to the Tower to be received by the king. Last night I met one of my brothers, Gaston de Preux, from the preceptory of Dijon. He is hot-tempered, passionate and tired of being hunted. I tried to restrain him, but on this, he is adamant-’

‘Oh no!’ I exclaimed.

‘He will try to kill Marigny.’

I put my hand against the door and thought furiously about what I could remember. It was true! Isabella had mentioned Marigny’s visit, that we would certainly be busying ourselves elsewhere.

‘I could send a message to Casales.’

‘Ah yes, the one-handed warrior.’ Demontaigu smiled. ‘The old king much trusted him. He fought hard in Gascony, but no!’ Demontaigu tightened his war-belt. ‘If Casales or that old lion Sandewic are alerted, Marigny will know. Marigny can die — I want that too. It’s Gaston I worry about. I cautioned prudence, but Gaston’s heart is like his hair, fiery. If I can, I’ll stop him; we should wait for a better day.’

We left that gloomy Chapel of Dead Bones and made our way through the slums of Whitefriars. I felt tired, cold and ill at ease. Demontaigu seemed a warm presence around me, merry and composed. He told me there was nothing to fear. He reminded me that the Noctales did not have his description, adding that we could hide amongst the crowds, whilst I had my head and face carefully hooded. As we pushed our way through the throng, Demontaigu talked softly in French, asking me once again about Pourte and Wenlok’s deaths, the assault on Casales, the attacks on me in Paris and Canterbury. I answered and asked him what he would do for the future. His reply was enigmatic: that the safest place for him was near to me. I glanced at him questioningly. He laughed, clapped me on the shoulder and told me to meditate on that as a pious nun would on her psalter.

By then it was mid-morning, the mist had lifted, the sun was strong. The crowds in all their many colours busied about to shop, wander and gape. We left the Shambles, going down past St Mildred’s and St Michael’s church into Candlewick, then Eastcheap and Pudding Lane. Demontaigu murmured that he was pleased the crowds were even more packed here, people stopping to buy, to argue, to shout, to barter. Two fishwives from Billingsgate were delighting passers-by with a stream of obscenities as they argued over some difference. Portly burgesses tutted and shook their heads, eager to push their plump wives out of earshot of such abuse. A fiddler struck up a tune so that his tamed dog could dance, but the animal caught sight of a cat and set off in hot pursuit to guffaws of laughter. Beggars crawled, whining and importuning, showing their scars in the hope of charity. A Dominican friar, clad in black and white, tried to preach from the steps of a church about the horrors of purgatory. A fop in tight jerkin and hose shouted back that the Dominican should marry and know true pain! This provoked an argument with a group of whores which ended abruptly as the entire crowd scattered to allow through an execution cart with its portable gallows, a dreadful T-shape scaffold with corpses dangling on either end. Demontaigu studied it and turned away as if the sight reminded him of his own danger. He grasped me by the elbow, and we left the thoroughfare and entered the Green Solace tavern opposite St Boltoph’s church. The tap room was fairly deserted except for a few traders and chapmen sitting on the barrels around rough-hewn tables. The food was good, I remember that. Demontaigu insisted that we must eat and ordered strips of peppered beef, soft, freshly baked bread and jugs of ale. I broke my fast hungrily, glancing sly-eyed at this Templar priest lost in his own thoughts.