The King of Thieves: (39 page)

‘Actually, no. That wasn’t such a problem,’ the Cardinal said. ‘We did share a little with him. But not with the King.’

‘So this is the money that de Nogaret’s son was talking about,’ Simon breathed.

‘Yes. I think he may have intended to come here to blackmail us into giving him some more. The fool! Why on earth would he
think we’d pay now?’

‘Perhaps because he was sure that his word would count with the King,’ Baldwin said. ‘I think that’s what you also feared,
so that was why you killed him.’

‘Aha! So you accuse me? But the messenger found me in my chamber. You know that.’

‘And we also know that the messenger was called to fetch you by a young kitchen knave called Jehanin. I wonder why that could
have been? We have heard that Jehanin came to Raoulet from
your
rooms, not from the little chamber where the man was killed. It seems likely to me that you met de Nogaret down here, you
led him to a separate chamber, where you killed him, and then you left him there, found Jehanin later, and told him to find
a messenger to fetch you. I expect he was surprised by the request. Perhaps he questioned it? Perhaps he sought to ask for
money later? Whatever the reason, you killed him too, and hid his body for a while, later throwing it into a box in the kitchen,
so it could not be associated with you.’

‘A marvellous spinning of half-truths and invention. I congratulate you!’

‘Well I accuse
you
, Cardinal – I accuse you of having a hand in the murder of Guillaume de Nogaret, and in the murder of the kitchen knave Jehanin.
What do you say?’

Pons had stepped nearer and was listening carefully.

‘I deny it, of course. And unless I am mistaken, you have no authority in this city. And you too can keep your hand from your
knife, Master Pons. I am a Cardinal, and that means I answer only to ecclesiastical officers, not the lay courts.’

Several men had overheard the conversation, especially the accusation. There was a muttering from some groups, and a young
lad was standing in the forefront, scowling furiously at the Cardinal. Baldwin thought he recognised the lad from the kitchen.

‘You can at least save any other man from being accused and punished,’ he said. ‘Do you deny killing the two?’

‘How would I have managed it? Come, it is hardly likely, is it?’

‘You do not deny it, then?’

‘I have had more than enough of this. You wish to contemplate my participation in these deaths, you may feel free. It is nothing
to me.’

Pons shook his head now. ‘No, because the next question is, who ordered the murder of Jean le Procureur? He was investigating
the killing of the two de Nogarets, and someone from here, a religious man, is said to have commanded that Jean must die.’

Baldwin looked about him as a gasp burst from the onlookers. He was relieved to see the kitchen boy was gone. It could not
have been pleasant for a young fellow to hear about the murder of his companion. The rest were drawing nearer, though, and
there was a tide of anger rising all about him.

‘First you say that I am capable of killing two, and then that I must hire an assassin? Be logical.’

‘You deny the killing of Jean le Procureur?’

‘It is nothing to do with me. As I said before, I answer only to the ecclesiastical court. I may be tried for a crime in Rome,
if the Pope sees fit to accuse me, but I do not answer for anything here in Paris. There is no court which can hear evidence
against me, none with the power to punish me.’

Baldwin would later regret that he didn’t look about him. The mumbling had increased within the group of men, and even Sir
Richard had grown aware of it, and was warily watching the crowd. If a mob were to form, there would be nothing they could
do. Meanwhile, though, Baldwin spent his time concentrating on the Cardinal, watching his face, assessing his mannerisms,
his nervousness, his apparent guilt.

But then the Cardinal’s face changed. All anger and confidence left in an instant, to be replaced by a dawning
horror. He opened his mouth, staring at a point over Baldwin’s shoulder, and a curious little sigh burst from him.

It was a sound Baldwin had heard all too often. No scream, no shriek of terror could bring more anguish than that. It was
the last gasp of a man as he died.

Even as Baldwin stepped forward to try to help the tottering figure, he saw the point of the cook’s long knife appear to the
right of the Cardinal’s breast, the sudden flowering of blood as it seeped from the wound, and saw the Cardinal’s face whiten
as he began to shake all over, falling forward into Baldwin’s arms.

Four men had already punched, kicked and hammered the cook to the ground, but he lay with an expression of satisfaction on
his face as the Cardinal began to gurgle and thrash about in his death throes.

‘He killed my boy,’ the cook said, just before Hugues kicked him in the face.

Any possibility of an immediate hunt for the Bishop was gone with the death of the Cardinal. The men who had been mounting
their horses so enthusiastically, were now milling about aimlessly. It was as though the removal of the Cardinal had taken
away their collective will.

Hugues crouched over the body of the Cardinal and wept, while the cook was dragged away to the castle’s cells. There was nothing
Baldwin could do to protect him. He had murdered a priest in full view of half the Louvre’s staff. There could be no mitigation
in a case like that.

‘I am sorry,’ Baldwin said.

Hugues shook his head. ‘He was my only friend.’

‘You were at Anagni with him, weren’t you?’

‘Yes. It’s how I came to have this position. I know Thomas did better, but I was happy enough. Food, a roof, women whenever
I wanted. There’s everything I need.’

‘The money from Anagni paid for it?’

‘It meant I could become a baron in my own right. Thomas was right to go into the Church, because a man could buy more advancement
for less money, but he had the training too. He was bright enough to make his way in the Church. I couldn’t have done that.
But I was a good fighter. The King had need of a good baron, and with the help of de Nogaret’s father, I was knighted and
became castellan here.’

‘Did you see de Nogaret here before he died?’

‘No. I didn’t know he was coming – I’d have welcomed him if I had. I didn’t realise Thomas would have him killed. I didn’t
agree with that.’

‘You knew he had killed de Nogaret?’ Simon interrupted.

‘Who else would have done it? There was no need, though. The lad was no real threat. What was he going to do? Ask us about
money we took twenty-three years ago? I doubt the King himself cares about it. It was money confiscated from his father’s
enemy, anyway, so he’d be glad enough.’

‘You think so? In my experience,’ Baldwin said, ‘Kings tend to be quite happy to take money no matter where it comes from.
If the Cardinal had thought that de Nogaret was going to report him or blackmail him, it could well have led him to kill the
young man, to keep his secret. And the same goes for the kitchen knave.’

‘Him? He was just a
boy
,’ he said dismissively.

‘At least his master, the cook, thought differently,’ Baldwin said. ‘He thought the boy worth killing for.’

‘Perhaps the cook is a catamite? How should I know?’ Hugues snarled and returned to cradling Thomas’s body. ‘There was no
need to do this for the brat.’

Any sympathy which Baldwin had been forming for the man’s grief dissipated like morning mist.

He turned and saw the horses waiting. ‘My Lord Cromwell,
will you order them to stand down? There has been enough killing for one day.’

Lord John nodded and began bellowing at the men to instruct them to return their horses to the stables, and meanwhile Pons
stood over Hugues and the body, eyeing them thoughtfully. ‘You know, my friend, this still leaves me wondering about the other
murders. There was the death of Madame de Nogaret. She surely died at the hands of some other. If the Cardinal killed her
husband and the boy, it is less likely that he killed the woman. And Jean le Procureur was despatched by a professional. I
suppose that must have been the assassin the King spoke of.’

‘The man who will soon also be dead,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Precisely. And yet, who killed my guard and took Le Boeuf? That was another, certainly, for I doubt me that the Cardinal
would have left the castle so early in the morning as to do that.’

‘The assassin was in the pay of the robber King,’ Simon pointed out. ‘No doubt it was him again.’

‘And yet the assassin was already bitterly angry with the King, and it was mutual, because the one tried to withhold the money
owed to the other. There was a body in the Seine when we got to his house, and the King told us that it was a man killed by
the assassin. Would the latter have gone back to do the King’s bidding after that?’

The others nodded, and Simon said, ‘So we may have another killer? It is an unlikely scenario.’

‘But something we shall have to consider. Something to keep in our minds,’ Pons said with grave deliberation.

Arnaud had seen it all. The Cardinal’s proud comments, the way that the group formed around him, the sudden appearance of
the cook, the flash of the blade and the violence that followed … yes, he had seen it all.

‘You take care of this,’ he muttered to his men and strode away into the main courtyard after Hugues. He could see the castellan’s
form up ahead; Hugues had the look of a broken man.

‘Sieur Hugues? I am so sorry, so sorry.’

‘What? Oh, Arnaud.’ Even his irascibility appeared to have been eroded. For Hugues looked like an older man, drawn in upon
himself, the lines on his face more prominent, his eyes watery and unseeing. ‘You mean Thomas.’

‘I had never thought … I know he was a friend of yours.’

‘For more years than I can remember. My only friend. That cook will roast in hell!’

‘But why did he stab the Cardinal?’

‘Because Thomas killed the cook’s boy,’ Hugues snapped. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

‘No,’ Arnaud said, and he was frowning. ‘But I don’t understand …’

‘What?’

‘I told you before – I saw your woman with that lad. You told me not to be stupid at the time, because she wouldn’t have killed
the man de Nogaret, but she may have killed the lad.’

Hugues opened his mouth, but then closed it again. His eyes
dropped, and he studied the dirt for a moment. Then, ‘Tell them,’ was all he said.

He turned on his heel and left the courtyard, walking to his chamber.

When Hugues entered his room, he closed the door and stood in front of it, breathing deeply, eyes screwed tight shut, feeling
as though his heart was about to burst.

There was a smell in there. A smell he recognised.

‘Where are you?’ he rasped, opening his eyes again.

‘Here, lover.’

Her throaty voice sent a chill along his spine. Pushing himself away from the door, he peered around his table. She was lying,
naked, on the palliasse. She was as desirable as she had ever been, all whiteness and pinkness and softness. Everything he
had ever wanted was there. He wanted to throw himself on top of her now, and find once again the release she offered. Even
as he had the thought, she held up a hand invitingly, and he groaned and fell back on to his table, covering his face with
his hands.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he said.

She slowly came to a sitting position, leaning back on both arms. ‘Me? What have I done?’

‘You murdered the boy from the kitchen.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Hugues. Why don’t you come down here and tell me?’

‘You saw the lad out there, you paid him to get the other one, Raoulet, and had him go to the Cardinal. And then you killed
the boy to cover your actions.’

‘Why would I have done that?’

‘For mischief. I know you.’

‘You think me so evil?’

‘I know you.’

‘But why would I do such a thing? I must have had a reason.’

He looked at her. ‘You wanted to run the King of Thieves’ men, didn’t you? You set us all up. You had Thomas kill de Nogaret,
you
killed the kitchen knave to make it look as though Thomas had killed him too, and then you spoke to the King on Thomas’s
behalf. The perfect go-between. You told him Thomas wanted a contract on de Nogaret’s wife, didn’t you? And then you made
sure that Thomas was worried to death about the Procureur, and arranged another contract for his death.’

She stretched luxuriously and lay back on the palliasse, smiling.

‘What then? Oh, you were involved in seeing to the arrest of the King himself, weren’t you? Why? So you could take over?’

‘I was always a lot cleverer than him. He is a fool.’

‘But you couldn’t run a gang like his. That’d be impossible. They’d cut you into minced meat for a pie.’

‘I could do it with an assistant.’

‘Who?’ Hugues sneered, letting his hands fall to his thighs. He eyed her with revulsion.

‘The King’s best man, of course,’ she said. ‘Jacquot.’

‘You persuaded him to rebel against the King?’

‘No. I persuaded the King to betray Jacquot. And that meant Jacquot would find himself in charge, if he was careful. And he
was. So now he and I run it.’

‘You are evil. Is there no one you wouldn’t deceive?’

‘I haven’t deceived you, Hugues. If you wanted, you could join me,’ she said, and her hand wandered over her belly now, cupping
a breast, rubbing gently, flicking, stirring herself and Hugues. ‘You would make more money than here, and you’d have me.
Think of it. You could be in charge, once we get rid of Jacquot.’

Hugues stared at her for a moment, and then said wearily, ‘Get out, deceiver. I trust nothing you say. Your very words are
poison.
Out!
And never return to me.’

A street near the Louvre

Jacquot was still alive. That was, he felt, surprising.

They had almost caught him three times. Once he fell over a startled cat, the bastard, and only just got to his feet in time
to scarper before they caught up with him. There was another near-miss when he went the wrong way down an alley and found
himself in a dead end. It had taken all his energy to clamber up a wall and escape. And finally there was that moment of dull
shock when a man suddenly appeared in front of him, his head lowered and legs braced, a stick in his fist. He glared at Jacquot,
and Jacquot in that moment knew that he was dead. He had no chance of escape with this man blocking his path.

And then – miracle of miracles – the fellow apologised, bent his head politely, and stood aside to let Jacquot slip past.

He had made it to this, the Grande Rue, and now, among the thronging crowds he could at least breathe. All the while, he cast
about him for any sign of the men following, but there was nothing. They would spot him soon, no doubt. He must find an escape
somehow. Somewhere …

No
. First he would find that poisonous bitch Amélie and slit her throat. This was a betrayal too far. She may have lived after
ensuring the King was caught, but she should have realised Jacquot was different.

There were only a few places she was likely to be at this time of the day. He knew that she would go to the tavern later,
when she felt the need of food and drink, but before that she would usually go and whore at the Louvre. There were plenty
of men there who would pay for her services, and Jacquot
knew that she had made good use of her contacts there, bringing jobs and messages to the King. Truth be told, it was probably
she who had taken the instructions from the Cardinal to have the Procureur murdered. And then, there were the other jobs.
The woman killed down by the Grand Châtelet … she was the wife of the man slain in the Louvre, wasn’t she? And what about
the man who had been set on Jacquot – the incompetent Stammerer. He would have been ordered to do that by someone. Perhaps
she’d organised that, too, seeing the potential destruction of the King if she riled Jacquot enough. There were few lengths
to which she would not go. And then she’d called the officers herself to the King’s hideaway, and ensured that he was taken.

He had reached the gate of the city now, and moved with the crush, out towards the castle, which gleamed white and pure in
the flashes of sunlight.

And as he approached the enormous gatehouse, he saw her. Walking towards him.

Louvre gatehouse

She saw him quite clearly, and her smile was unaffected.

That old goat Hugues was past his best. She wanted a partner of more stamina and power. Hugues was always half in the barrel.
Too often, he would fall from her to snore when she was only partly satiated. That was why she came to him more often in the
morning. At least then it was more likely that she would receive a decent service.

But Jacquot, for all that he was the same age as Hugues, was more deserving of her attention. He had that cold, rational perspective.
With his abilities and her ruthlessness, they would forge a partnership that would rock the whole of Paris.

‘Jacquot,’ she purred as he came closer.

He smiled. ‘You really shouldn’t have tried to kill me,’ he said.

His hand moved so quickly, she hardly had time to register it. The blade was a long one, and it slid in under her right breast.
There was a little snagging sensation, an odd feeling that made her frown a little, and then a smooth gliding that was less
pain, more itching. She felt the material at her back draw away as though in disgust, and then his hand was removed, and he
was walking away from her. She stopped and glared at him, without registering for the moment what had happened. Jacquot, she
saw, had his right hand under his cloaked left side, as though settling something. The knife, of course.

She opened her mouth to shout at him, and then full realisation struck her as she gagged. Falling forwards, she retched and
brought up a vast effusion of blood on to the dirt of the road before her. No! No! This wasn’t happening to her. It was a
dream – a wild, ridiculous nightmare. She must wake in a moment and find herself in the King’s bed, or in Jacquot’s, or in
Hugues’s. She couldn’t die here, lying in the street and watching her blood seep away from her to run in a thick stream down
to the gutter.

Unable to call, to shout, to accuse, she lifted her leaden head to watch as he stopped near the city gates. He gave her an
unsmiling look, long and deliberate, before walking away again.

She felt the pain growing, a spreading anguish that began in the wound and moved ever outwards until it encompassed her entire
body, and then she began to roll and thrash in the roadway, the blood running freely from breast and back and mouth, until
her struggles against death grew more slow and disjointed, while men-at-arms ran and called for aid, and women wailed and
shrieked, and children bawled … and then she knew peace.