The King of Thieves: (12 page)

‘I will have his head one day, if he so much as looks at my wife,’ Simon hissed through gritted teeth.

‘Enough, Simon. Think of better thoughts. Such as, returning home to see your wife yourself.’

Louvre, Paris

Procureur Jean stared at the ground before him as he approached the King. The tiles were beautiful, he thought. And as many
before him had done, he wondered next how many had found these lovely tiles to be the last sight they enjoyed. For the King
was known to be ruthless.

Still, he was meant to be fair as well. He wasn’t as cruel as his father had been. In God’s name, Philippe IV had been very
harsh!

‘My Lord King?’

‘You have been investigating the death of the man, have you not?’

‘Yes, my Lord. I am trying to learn what I may, but it is not easy. No one admits to knowing him,’ de Poissy said. Over behind
the King to the right, he saw the castellan, and locked eyes with him for a moment or two. ‘It would be a great deal more
easy if I could learn who was his friend and who was his enemy. Motives tend to flow from such understandings.’

‘I see. Could you please try to hurry yourself? I have a Prince coming to visit me before long. It would be pleasing to me
to know that there was no murderer wandering my palaces with an insatiable urge to kill.’

There were some sycophantic chuckles at that, and Jean felt himself bridle. It was normal, of course, for the Lords about
the King to enjoy the discomfiture of any other man, but he did not see why he should be held responsible personally.

‘But of course, my Liege,’ he said.

Fairness, justice and equity had nothing to do with the King’s court, of course. This was a warlord’s hall. The King was the
supreme baron in the land. And here he held supreme power. None could gainsay him; none could talk back. In Christ’s name,
a man couldn’t even meet the King’s eye unless he wished to have his head taken off. And right now, although Jean was a knight
in his own right, he did not wish to call too much additional attention to himself.

‘There is another thing, Procureur. There have been some thefts from guests of mine here within the Louvre,’ the King continued,
and now his eyes were moving over the assembled audience. ‘I would like them stopped. I believe the good Cardinal here told
you?’

‘Yes, my Liege.’

‘Then try to learn who is responsible. There is a space on
my gallows for this man. I will not have a thief in my house at the time of my sister’s visit with her son.’

‘I shall do all I can, your Royal Highness.’

So saying, Jean bowed his way from the presence, while the Dukes and Counts and others simpered and smiled, and when he reached
the door and had backed out through it, and the door had closed before him, he knew only pleasure that he had endured another
audience.

He took his sword back from the door-keeper, and thrust it into his sheath – for no one might approach the King with a sword
without his express permission – and left the great hall.

Outside, he breathed in the rich air, filled with the odours of woodsmoke, charcoal, horse dung, blood and human excrement.
This was a great castle, the Louvre. The work went on, through every day. The braziers were lighted for the smiths, and even
now grooms and scavengers were collecting the piles of horse droppings in their hands and transporting it to barrows ready
to be wheeled out to the dung heaps. The garderobes were being cleaned, too. As they did every day, serfs were gathering up
shovel-loads of human waste from beneath the chutes, and dumping it into buckets to be carried to the middens. Little was
left to waste even in the King’s household.

The Procureur had been about to return to his office, but standing here now, he watched as servants, visitors of different
degrees, and traders entered by the main gateway.

It was interesting, he noted. Some would pass in front of him here, others head over to the right of the gate, while the senior
people, those who had important business for the King or his representatives, would be taken by a servant up to the main entrance
of the castle itself.

He was still smarting from the embarrassment of the attack on him in the street. It was so careless of him, not to have
realised earlier that he was being followed. Had it not been for his interest in the fellows on the street, he would very
likely now be dead. And that was something which Jean took very seriously.

Jean had been born to lowly stock. He was the son of a serf, but he had managed to educate himself, thanks to the help of
an accommodating priest. And seeing his potential, the priest had himself recommended that Jean should be permitted to have
an education. Not only had that fired his imagination and enthusiasm for learning, to his astonishment, he found that he was
good at it, too. He had rapidly risen and been sent to the university here in Paris, where he soon realised that he was better
at the reasoning than at the simple arts of debate. He enjoyed applying logic to complex conundra, and gained a reputation
for aiding others with strange little perplexities. After some while he had come to the notice of the City’s mayor, and then
his career had begun.

It annoyed him that, having been a resident of Paris, knowing the dangers of the little streets and by-ways, he should have
become so entirely smug about his safety, when he knew how many people every day were robbed and beaten up.

There was a call, and he glanced around. Another merchant had reached the main gates, and now a young kitchen knave was scurrying
to him, listening while the richly dressed man spoke to him.

Jean studied the merchant with a measuring gaze. He was clearly a wealthy man. Probably high in one of the guilds, if he had
to guess. His cloak was trimmed with fur, his shoes beautiful, with long toes. His hosen were parti-coloured, green and red,
while his cotte was a glorious scarlet with silver threads that caught the light with flashes of fire as he moved. He had
that innate arrogance that men born to wealth always
possess, and as Jean watched, the fellow jerked his head at the knave, and the lad scampered away to do his bidding. Noticing
Jean, the man eyed him lazily with a raised eyebrow, but seeing he was not worth cultivating as an associate, soon turned
away, losing interest.

Jean nodded to himself. Yes. The man was clearly one of those who held his own position in such high regard that there was
no need for anyone else to give him respect.

Still, when the knave returned, he observed the youngster leading the merchant off in front of him, and over to the great
hall.

Not the kitchens, he noted. The knave must have been used merely as a handy messenger by the man. Which was interesting in
its own right … possibly something to be considered.

He would have done so there and then, but as he was knitting his brows over the niggling thought that sprang into his mind,
he was aware of a man bellowing at him. Glancing up at the gate, he saw old Godeaul, the Sergent from the area near the Grand
Châtelet.

‘What is it?’ he demanded as Godeaul ran to him.

‘A woman, Sieur. Murdered down near the bridge.’

Langdon, Kent

‘Ah, I am glad to see you both,’ the boy said condescendingly, and Simon had to shoot a look at Baldwin to stop himself from
sniggering. Not only would it have been rude, it would also have been very foolish. A man would not willingly insult the next
King of England.

The Earl of Chester was almost thirteen years old, but his manner held all the haughtiness of his father. He was taller than
Simon remembered, although it was only some two months since he had last seen the Earl, but as Simon knew perfectly well,
a lad could very quickly shoot upwards at this period of his life.

He was good-looking. The fair hair of his father, the regular, slightly long features, and the steadiness of his gaze all
added to the lad’s allure. Simon could easily imagine that in a short while, he would be tempting the serving girls from any
nearby establishment. But his looks and manner were of little concern to the Bailiff just now. What he wanted was to hear
that his own presence was unnecessary.

‘You will ride with me when I leave this country to go to France to meet my uncle,’ Prince Edward stated. ‘I will need to
have protection, I am told.’

‘His Royal Highness is fully aware of the risks of the road,’ Richard of Bury put in.

Simon did not like Bury. The man was a large, florid-faced
cleric, who appeared to hold his piety and love of learning as others might grip a shield. He was watching Simon now, his
small, brown eyes shrewd and knowing.

‘How many of us will there be?’ Baldwin asked.

‘We haven’t decided,’ Bury said.

‘My Lord?’ Baldwin pressed, ignoring him.

‘I have a need for a fair entourage. I am to be travelling as a Duke, after all,’ the Earl said. ‘I think I shall need four
knights as a minimum, and then the servants …’

The list was a long one, but Baldwin was not interested in the finer details. ‘Which other knights will travel with us?’ he
enquired.

‘I had thought to bring Sir Henry de Beaumont. And of course the Bishop of Exeter will join us.’

‘They are good men,’ Baldwin agreed.

‘Oh, and I would like to have Sir Richard de Welles, also.’ The Earl was looking up and over Simon’s head as he spoke, as
though mulling over this additional choice.

Simon looked up, forgetting to show due respect. ‘Him? Why?’

‘I beg your pardon, Bailiff?’

Simon realised his error. ‘I am very sorry, your Royal Highness, but I am just surprised at your choice there. Sir Richard
is a man of … of great courage and—’

‘Precisely, Bailiff. He is a man of courage and fighting ability. He would be an ideal companion on a journey such as this,
I would think. You have a comment to make about him? If you know of some fault in his character, or a dangerous secret, you
should share it with us now.’

Simon swallowed and shook his head. He could hardly declare that he had a great respect for the knight’s drinking abilities,
for his capacity for strong ale, burned wine, and breakfasts of immense proportions the morning after, when all
decent folks were still nursing bellies that complained at the patter of a flea’s feet. And heads that threatened to explode
at the rumbustious clatter of a sparrow’s feet landing on a branch. ‘I have enormous regard for Sir Richard,’ he managed with
a slight croak in his voice.

‘I am glad. And now, gentlemen, I would be grateful if you could prepare yourselves to leave England in the next week. My
father will soon give me the two counties of Ponthieu and Montreuil, and after that we shall be leaving for Paris.’

Simon knew it then. This was a boy, little more than a child. And he was about to leave his country to go to a strange land,
where he would be carrying out an important duty for his country and his father. It was a stern, responsible task – but for
a boy of twelve years, it was more than that: it was
exciting
. Especially since he would hopefully guarantee his own inheritance.

He mentioned this later that afternoon as he and Baldwin stood at the bar in the buttery, Baldwin sipping at a leather cup
of strong, red wine, Simon gulping from a quart jug of the King’s best ale.

Baldwin looked at him a little strangely. ‘You believe he’s thinking of the realm and his Crown? I tell you this: I think
he has more important considerations in his heart.’

‘Such as? What would be more important to a fellow like him than his realm?’ Simon scoffed.

‘The thought that he will be able to see, kiss, and converse with his mother for the first time in many months – that will
weigh more heavily with the Earl.’

‘And we’ll be there …’

‘To look after us,’ said Richard of Bury.

The chubby cleric eyed them both short-sightedly, and Simon glowered in return. ‘You were eavesdropping on us. Don’t you trust
us?’

‘Bailiff, I have been seeking you out. Don’t you think that we are to be allies on this journey? My only interest is the safety
of the Earl of Chester, and yours is the same, surely?’

Baldwin gave a smile and apologised. ‘We are sorry if we gave you offence, Richard. The simple truth is, we are both out of
sorts. We would infinitely prefer to be ensconced in our homes with our wives and children about us. This trip – it is just
one more lengthy journey which we would fain have left to others.’

‘But the Earl himself asked for you both. He felt happier with your company.’

‘He barely knows us,’ Simon said with a bad grace and turned his back to lean on the bar.

‘True. But he knows his mother’s opinion of you both, which is very high. And he knows something of your characters because
I have been teaching him how to understand men. What’s more, he is well aware that you are no favourites of the Despenser.’

‘Sir Hugh le Despenser is a close friend of his father’s, though,’ Baldwin said lightly.

‘Let us not mince words, Sir Knight,’ Richard said, his voice dropping. ‘Despenser is an evil cancer in the heart of the realm.
You two are known to be hated by him. Yes, even here people can receive messages of such a sort. And yes, the Earl is happy
to have men with him who will be less devoted to Despenser.’

‘What do you want from us?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Just this: that you keep an eye on the Bishop. He is dedicated to the destruction of the Earl’s mother, and Earl Edward will
not allow that. It is your task to …’

Simon turned back, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you suggesting that we should spy upon him? Bishop Walter has been a friend to me for
longer than I can remember.’

‘I am glad for you. To others, the good Bishop may not appear so kindly. One such person will become your King. Remember that,
Master Bailiff!’

‘Richard, we are grateful to you,’ Baldwin said sharply. ‘We will do all in our power to protect your student.’

He watched as the clerk nodded and walked away. ‘I think, Simon,’ he sighed, turning to his old friend, ‘this could become
a strangely dangerous mission.’

‘May he swyve a goat!’

Gate of the Grand Châtelet

The body lay at the rear of a small, dark alleyway.

Jean stood with the Sergent while a physician studied her, concluding his examination with a grimace and a muttered, ‘Whoever
did this was in real earnest.’

Jean could see what he meant. Despite the lack of light, he could see that the girl had been stabbed many times. Her torso
was punctured with lots of little wounds, each about an inch in length, one even penetrating a nipple.

For that was the other thing: this young girl, and she could scarcely have been fifteen, was entirely naked. It was a sight
that made old Godeaul’s breath rasp in his throat. As Jean knew, the Sergent had three daughters of his own. The man was gripping
his staff with whitened knuckles.

‘Who did this, Godeaul?’

‘If I knew that, Procureur, his body would already be in the river!’ the old fellow said hoarsely. ‘I would not allow a man
who could do this to a young girl to live.’

Jean nodded and peered closer, crouching down at her side. The bones of her right hand were crushed; blood was clotted all
over her, and smeared across her belly in two lengthy sweeps. That was, he thought, where her murderer had wiped his blade
clean after thrusting it into her. And it had been a
frenzied attack – he could count twenty stab wounds quite easily, but there would be more, all over her upper body: her breasts,
belly, shoulders, throat and head. One had ripped through her right cheek and laid the teeth open to view.

He felt ashamed of himself for subjecting her poor naked body to this close study, but he knew that he must make sense of
her position, her wounds, even the choice of this alley for her resting place, if he was to find her killer.

And find her killer he must
. As Sergent Godeaul had said, the man who was capable of this sort of attack should be found and slain like a rabid dog before
he could kill again.

Langdon, Kent

They had left the bar, and were making their way back to their beds when Simon heard a quiet call. Wolf turned and growled,
a low, deep rumble.

‘
Baldwin!
’ Simon hissed, his hand going to his sword.

‘There is no need for that, Bailiff,’ said the Bishop as he approached.

‘Bishop Walter, I am sorry,’ Simon said.

‘Walk with me, both of you. I have need of a little contemplation, and your heads will aid me.’

They followed him as he paced along the grassed lawns, his head bent.

‘Bishop, is there something you wish to ask of us?’ Baldwin said after some minutes.

The Bishop sighed. ‘Yes, there is. It grieves me to say it, but we have too many men on this journey. I am content with Sir
Richard de Welles. He is a stout-hearted man, and has experience of reading how other men will react, from his position as
Coroner. And I believe he will stick true to his oath.’

‘Of course.’

‘You will, too, I know. There is nothing you would do to harm me,’ the Bishop continued, as though he had not heard Baldwin.
‘It is the others. You know, I am wary even of Sir Henry de Beaumont.’

‘Why? Sir Henry is a man of good reputation.’

‘Yes, he is. But a good reputation is only as good as the last man who reported it.’

‘What do you fear, Bishop?’ Simon asked bluntly.

‘It is not my fear,’ Bishop Walter said quietly, ‘but I am anxious, that if I die, then the Earl’s life could be in danger,
and the realm with him.’