The King of Thieves: Read online

Pons smiled without humour. ‘An interesting suggestion. However, you are here to answer, not gain answers. Who paid you to have Jean le Procureur killed? Who paid you to have Guillaume de Nogaret and his wife killed? Oh, and who was it who slew André? Was it you?’

  The King slowly let his gaze fall from Pons’s face, to run down his old green tunic, all the way to his boots, and then up again to his face. There was no emotion in his look, only a cold disdain. And then, he turned his attention from Pons to the wall.

  ‘You won’t answer? No matter,’ Pons said with a shrug. ‘Get the fires good and hot, lads. We’ll be able to show this so-called “King” what will be waiting for him after the hangman’s finished with him at Montfaucon.’

  Louvre

  The Cardinal crossed the great hall with his clerks, his head bowed as he absorbed the news he had received.

  That Sir Roger Mortimer had returned was not so surprising. It was something, in fact, which he and the Pope had urged upon the King of France. King Charles was less keen to have the man here, but then he was also unhappy about his sister remaining in France. It was one thing to have her irritating the hell out of her husband, a man for whom Charles had little respect and less liking, but quite another to keep her here. The King of England was correct – it was wrong for her to remain away from him. Her place was at his side.

  However, the Cardinal thought that the Queen could herself usefully become the focus of all those who had cause to resent the King and his associate – his ‘friend’, Sir Hugh le Despenser, may God fill his bones with liquid lead! That foul pirate deserved to be deposed, and were the Queen able to build a small force, the Cardinal felt sure that it would be received well in England. There were so many desperate to see an end to the reign of the disreputable Despenser. That was also what the Pope and Cardinal Thomas fervently desired. And whatever the Pope wanted must be good for all Christendom.

  The Cardinal prided himself on his worldliness. He was a practical man, when all was said and done. Among those in the Church, there were some few who were able, like him, to take harsh political decisions, but few who also had the clarity of purpose and the determination to do all they might for the good of the Church. The Pope himself appreciated his single-mindedness.

  But now he had a strange feeling that there were matters which were advancing without his involvement, which was a little alarming.

  In one of the King of France’s smaller chambers, there was a gathering already when he arrived.

  ‘Cardinal,’ Queen Isabella said, rising from her chair and bowing, as gracious as ever. She was a lovely thing, this Queen, quite the sort of woman who could tempt a saint, the Cardinal considered. She kissed his ring with every sign of humility, but none of her display convinced the Cardinal. Women were utterly dangerous, and ones like this, with brains and beauty as well as the heady air of command which surrounded her like a canopy, were the most dangerous of all.

  The Duke of Aquitaine was next. The young man bowed with as much respect as the Cardinal could hope for. His tutor was behind him, and Lord Cromwell too. But it was the other man who attracted the Cardinal’s attention.

  ‘Sir Roger,’ he said.

  The Queen smiled winningly. ‘Cardinal, we hope and pray that you will listen to us for a moment or two.’

  ‘I am happy to listen,’ the Cardinal said flatly. He would certainly make no further commitment.

  ‘Sir Roger and I are desolate at the terrible way that the kingdom of England has been laid waste by the avarice of one man,’ she said. ‘There is every risk that my son’s inheritance will be thrown away. If the Despenser saw an opportunity, he would not hesitate to kill my son; if he saw profit, I believe he would even slay my husband. I hope I do not shock you?’

  ‘On the contrary. I am fully convinced of the truth of your words.’

  ‘In order to protect my son, I do not dare send him back to his own land. I think it would be dangerous in the extreme. And I dare not leave him here alone. There are enemies in the pay of the Despenser all over France. I am sure you understand this?’

  ‘So you intend to remain here in Paris? What of your expenses, my Lady?’

  ‘Cardinal, I confess, I rely on the support of my brother in his kindness.’

  ‘And you intend to remain here for how long? Until your husband is dead? Would you deprive him of your companionship, of the companionship of his son?’

  ‘I can see no other way to protect my son.’

  The Cardinal nodded, glancing at the boy. And he was only a boy. In God’s name, he might be a Duke, but the title had been bestowed on a child. Not yet thirteen, was he?

  ‘You wonder at my commitment, Cardinal?’ Duke Edward asked calmly.

  ‘I entertain no such doubts, Duke. No, I was reflecting that yours is a hard choice.’

  ‘You mean, to stay here with my mother, or go home to my father?’ the Duke said with a wry grin. ‘Is it so hard? I have the choice of a loving, gentle and kindly mother, or a father who is so twisted with his fears and his love of his adviser that he has no time to speak to me. He spends all his waking moments fearing the plots of his enemies within his realm, and cannot see that the one sure means of protecting himself is to remove the man whom all despise. To remain here, or to return home – the choice is easy.’

  ‘And if your father should disinherit you for your betrayal?’

  The Queen said sharply, ‘If he were to try that, his attempt would …’

  It was Sir Roger who took a half-pace forward. ‘His attempt would fail. I would take the country in the defence of the Duke.’ So saying, he bent his knee and bowed his head at the Duke.

  ‘Very impressive. But if you intend to do that, you will need men,’ the Cardinal said.

  ‘I will ask my brother,’ the Queen said eagerly.

  ‘And he will refuse you.’

  ‘He may not – he may allow me to use some of his men.’

  ‘No, because I will speak with him and advise him not to,’ the Cardinal said firmly. He looked at the Duke, then at Sir Roger. ‘You must understand, this is one venture that the King of France cannot assist. For him to intervene in the national affairs of your country would be seen as despicable, for he would be harming his own brother-in-law. It may not be.’

  ‘But I am his sister,’ the Queen said with a winning smile.

  It did not disarm the Cardinal. He was immune to such wiles. ‘You are the responsibility of his brother-in-law. You are King Edward’s wife.’

  ‘So the King will not aid us?’ Duke Edward asked.

  There was a coldness in his manner which the Cardinal did not like to hear. The boy should have been whipped more often if he would show such disrespect to his betters. ‘I shall advise him not to,’ he repeated.

  ‘What of other Christian Kings?’ the Queen asked quietly.

  ‘If you were to seek assistance from others, that would be no business of the King of France,’ the Cardinal said. ‘I only advise the King.’

  ‘That is good,’ the Duke said, with a quick look at his mother. ‘Then our future is clear. We must bide our time.’

  The Cardinal shook his head. ‘Not for long. I declare, I do not trust the Despenser to remain satisfied for long.’

  Queen Isabella averted her face slightly. ‘My husband was a good father, a good King for a while. But now his friendships are perverted by that evil man. I would that I could command that Despenser had never been born. Without him, my husband might have remained at my side, and not sought the affection of others.’

  ‘I fear that had he not found Despenser, he would have found another.’

  ‘True,’ the Queen sighed. She dabbed at her eye. ‘So, there! I must remain here in exile, clad as a widow for a while longer. And I require a General who can find me a band of men to wrest the kingdom from the Despenser, to save the King, and to save the realm for my son.’

  The Cardinal nodded. ‘So be it.’

  But as he looked at Mortimer, the Queen, and the Duke her son
, he was sure he could see a different tale unfolding. And he saw that there could be good profit for a man who was prepared to help.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Second Monday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael*

  Temple, Paris

  It was late in the afternoon when the King finally broke.

  Every man had his limit. That was what Pons privately believed. He was experienced in the use of torture as a regrettable, but necessary means of gaining answers in many investigations. This time, however, he was actually enjoying it. Pons was one of many who had been glad to call Jean the Procureur a friend.

  They had begun by interrogating the three others who had been taken with the King. Each had endured a while, but it was clear enough that they knew nothing of value. As soon as the brands approached them, they began to gabble all they knew. It was scarcely surprising, Pons reflected, bearing in mind that they had all the marks of the executioner’s tools on them from previous offences. They knew how much they could endure.

  The King was different. He stared at Pons coldly as he listened to the agonised breath of the others, knowing that it would soon be his turn.

  Still, he had some courage. Even when his nerve broke, it was not a complete submission. Each word was forced from him by the application of a little more pain, each partial confession dragged out with chains.

  ‘The … man … of … God. He paid. The priest at the Louvre.’

  ‘What is his name? Which priest?’

  ‘He swore death to Jean.’

  Second Tuesday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael*

  Louvre

  Stapledon had no idea of the approaching crisis as he prepared to leave his chamber that morning with Simon, Baldwin and Sir Richard.

  ‘Heard a new joke yesterday,’ Sir Richard was saying. ‘This old fellow was asked how old his son was, and he said, “Me Lord, he’s seven and twenty.” “How so? Why is he not twenty and seven?” “Because, me Lord, he was seven afore he was twenty.” Ha! A good joke, eh?’

  Simon eyed him balefully. ‘Yes, most amusing.’

  ‘Your head bad again, Bailiff?’

  Simon winced at the loud tone. ‘I have a slight liverish complaint, I think.’

  ‘You should be more careful, my friend,’ Baldwin said with a smile.

  ‘You try being careful when you’re out with him,’ Simon said quietly. ‘It’s impossible. The man soaks up drinks like a towel.’

  ‘I believe even a towel must reach the limit of its absorption,’ the Bishop said, making a rare joke.

  ‘I’ve seen no evidence,’ Simon grumbled.

  ‘Eh?’ Sir Richard said. ‘I missed something?’

  Baldwin was about to answer when there came a loud knocking at the door, and he watched as Simon marched to it and opened it wide.

  ‘I would like to speak with the Bishop, if I may,’ Pons said.

  The King of France eyed the group before him without comment for a long time. ‘This is very serious, you appreciate?’ he said finally.

  ‘Of course we appreciate that!’ Bishop Walter snapped. ‘I am being accused of a major crime, on the flimsiest evidence imaginable … If it were not such an insult, it would be laughable.’

  ‘Evidence based upon the statement of a man who was suffering torture,’ Pons said meaningfully.

  ‘A man suffering torture may say anything to save himself,’ Baldwin replied coolly. In his mind he could imagine the agony of the fellow as the tools were deployed about him. He had heard too much of the tortures which had been inflicted upon the Templars.

  ‘You were not popular when you first arrived here, my Lord Bishop,’ the King continued. ‘When you were rude to your Queen, you angered many of my people; when you then argued with the Procureur as he was attempting to do his job, you made still more enemies. I do not think your stay in Paris should continue for any longer than is absolutely necessary.’

  ‘I cannot leave without the Queen, and she refuses to return with me.’

  ‘I say nothing of that. It is none of my business. But the peace of my realm is very dear to me. I will not have mayhem and other infractions of my law as a result of an unwelcome guest. You must consider your position, my Lord Bishop, and also consider whether you are aiding or thwarting your King’s ambitions.’

  They were dismissed. As they left the King’s presence, Pons made a mocking bow to the Bishop, but Stapledon was unworried by that. He was more alarmed by the reaction of the people outside as he left the audience chamber.

  Not one stirred. No one spoke or moved to disturb the silence. It created a monstrously intimidating atmosphere, and Baldwin felt like a deer forced to walk between two packs of hounds – and all that held the hounds at bay was the will of the berner.

  Back in the Bishop’s room, Stapledon crossed to his chair and sat shakily, passing his hand over his brow. ‘What have I done to deserve all this? I swear to you all, I had nothing to do with that man’s death. I couldn’t have! I wouldn’t know where to find him if I’d wanted to!’

  Baldwin shot a look at Simon and Sir Richard. ‘I believe you, my Lord Bishop. But the man’s death happened a little while after he left the castle here, and that was the very same day that you argued with him. It does make the matter look black against you. Perhaps, though, Simon and I with Sir Richard here could look into it and clear your name? There must be some sort of evidence that would show who was in truth responsible.’

  ‘Please do go and see what you may uncover, then,’ the Bishop said. He had taken a jug of wine from one of his clerks, and now he sipped the strong red liquid. ‘I would have my innocence proved. I am here among my enemies against my wishes, and I must demonstrate that I am guiltless!’

  A while later, Baldwin and Simon stood in the courtyard and watched the people hurrying back and forth.

  ‘What do you make of it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I think that whoever wished to make the Bishop appear guilty did a very good job of work. There can be few in the castle now who haven’t heard about Bishop Walter’s verbal attack on the Procureur. And yet that day there were only a few men about here. Someone chose to spread the story, and when the next morning there was news of the Procureur’s death, people put the two tales together. But that was the result of gossip, perhaps. Not all rumours are started maliciously.’

  ‘How can we begin to learn what truly happened, do you think?’

  Baldwin looked up at the sun. ‘I think the first thing we should do is speak to this man who has been tortured.’

  ‘We would need permission for that.’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He strolled over to the main gate. In the doorway was Arnaud with two of his men. ‘Master Porter? May I speak with you a moment?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘You know the man Pons who has been investigating the death of the Procureur?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Has he left the castle yet?’

  ‘No, he is still in the hall, I think.’

  ‘When he comes, would you ask him most politely whether he would accept a pint of wine with me? I shall be in the tavern over there,’ Baldwin said, pointing.

  The coin passed to Arnaud was enough to guarantee his compliance, and Simon and Baldwin enjoyed a pint of wine between them before Pons appeared in the courtyard, walking swiftly to the gate. There he was approached by Arnaud, and turned to glance in their direction before nodding and striding to join them.

  ‘Well, my friends, it is not every day that I am offered a good drop of the King’s finest wine, so I’d be delighted to drink some with you both.’

  ‘That is good,’ Baldwin said. He poured a cup full. ‘And then we shall exact payment.’

  ‘Aha! I had thought as much,’ Pons said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Only this: we should like to meet your informant to see what else he may tell us about the Bishop and the death of the Procureur.’

  ‘I do not object – but what do you want fr
om him? To ask him to change his tale?’

  ‘No, only to confirm his story. We are convinced that our Bishop is not guilty of killing the Procureur.’

  ‘Perhaps he did not wield the knife, but he paid the man who could.’

  ‘The Bishop is a new man to this city, m’Sieur. He does not know it well. Was this villain so famous that a foreigner could find him this swiftly?’

  Pons hesitated. ‘Perhaps he has visited the country before?’

  ‘He has, I am sure, but not for many years. He knew that he was not popular, because he is no ally to Queen Isabella. Many friends of your Royal Family despise him.’

  ‘He may, perhaps, have come to know of the killers a while ago, then?’

  ‘He is more likely to be the victim of your city’s killers than a sponsor of them,’ Baldwin said with certainty.

  Pons considered, nodding slowly. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Is there anyone else who has been involved with this fellow?’

  ‘The “King of Thieves”, as he calls himself, has been associated with almost all those who’ve been involved in any crimes for the last few years.’

  ‘But recently, is there anyone who has knowledge of him?’

  Pons shrugged. ‘Our helper was a woman. A whore who’s lost interest in him as he grew more violent, I think. She took us to him so that we could catch him.’

  ‘And she came to find you?’

  ‘Through another man here in the Louvre. He told us and set a meeting with her.’

  ‘Another of her clients, then?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘May we speak with this “King”?’

  ‘Very well. Perhaps tomorrow you could join me in a visit to the gaol where he is being held? It is the old Templar preceptory north of the city.’

  Baldwin’s face froze. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘That would be most kind of you.’

  ‘Are you all right, Baldwin?’ Simon asked as they made to leave the tavern.

  ‘Yes. It was merely a shock to hear that they are still using that fortress as a centre for torture,’ he said.

  ‘Ho! Thought I’d find ye both here. Fancy a little nibble?’ Sir Richard said, somewhat indistinctly as they passed the entrance. The knight was sitting outside on a bench, a roasted capon on a platter before him, which he was gradually dismembering, one leg already in his mouth.