All had brought their own horses, of course. Each knight had brought a destrier with him, and for the beginning of this journeyto Paris all were mounted upon their mightiest beasts. Now Simon could see why. The Queen’s company might number only somethirty-one people, but with four knights and one lord sitting high over all others on their great horses, haughtily lookingabout them grim-faced, few would have been bold enough to attempt any sort of action against the Queen.
However, even as he considered that, Simon realised that one face was missing. Although Sir John and Sir Peter were already with Lord John immediately behind the Queen, Sir Charlesnow was not. When Simon looked for him, he saw the knight over at the flank, as though riding along in parallel with the Queen’sparty, but not a part of it. It made Simon wonder again about the man.
Simon and Baldwin had first met this handsome, tall, elegant knight while the battle at Boroughbridge was still a painfulmemory. Earl Thomas of Lancaster had been accused of treachery by the King, his armies chased about the country until he wasforced to surrender. And after that came the appalling retribution.
In the past, men who committed the disgraceful crime of raising arms against their king tended to be punished with a degreeof tolerance. They might be imprisoned in the Tower, then forgiven, so long as a fair ransom was paid and a fine against theirlands imposed. This was not so in the case of the King’s cousin, Thomas of Lancaster. He had not merely raised an army withthe intention of subduing his lawful king, he had deliberately insulted the King’s best friend and adviser, Sir Hugh le Despenser.The two men, Lancaster and Despenser, were determined to snatch whatever power and money they could. And Thomas lost.
Earl Thomas had been the richest and most powerful man in the country save only the King himself, and the King was determinedto make an example of him. The Earl was executed shamefully, without consideration of his position, and before his body hadcooled the reign of terror began.
Any men-at-arms, knights or even barons who were thought to have been allied to Earl Thomas were hanged, drawn and quartered,bloody sections of their bodies boiled and tarred before being despatched to all parts of the kingdom to be put on displayat the gates to the King’s cities as a permanent reminder of the punishment that would be meted out to any who dared challenge his authority. The country was filled with the stench of rotting corpses.
And one of the good earl’s senior knights was a certain Sir Charles of Lancaster.
Sir Charles had been a most devoted knight of Earl Thomas’s household, so he clearly had no place in the England that wasruled by the men who had executed his master. He had fled to France, and eventually come to rest in Galicia. When Simon andBaldwin returned homewards, he had joined them, hoping to find some new lord to serve. He declared himself heartily boredwith foreign lands. There were not enough tournaments and wars to pay his expenses. Better to give up the mercenary life.
It was that aspect of his career which had given Baldwin the most concern, Simon remembered. Baldwin had always had a powerfuldislike of men who served for cash. He had been brought up to believe in a life of service and duty. Mercenaries who wouldgo wherever the money took them were the enemies of all that was good and honourable.
Now, Sir Charles looked like a man who was at the edge of the company so that he would be able to ride off at a moment’s noticeif danger presented itself. But then, when Simon cast a suspicious look over the crowds again, he noticed that Paul, Sir Charles’sman-at-arms, was not near his master but instead towards the rear of their column, and on the other side of it. So one wasat each flank, ready to warn the lord of any threat to them all, and probably in a better position to protect the Queen thanmany of the others who huddled nearer her.
After all, Simon told himself, Sir Charles was one of the King’s household knights now. His days of mercenary warfare wereover.
Or so Simon hoped.
Chapter Twelve
Feast
Day of St Edward the Martyr 12
Pois, France
Ricard was no nearer even liking the man as he sat frowning in the pre-dawn greyness. All about them there was the noise of men striking camp, knocking down the great beams that supported the tents, pulling up the pegs, some shouting for more trunks to store the blankets and drapery, others bellowing for help to fold the heavy canvas, while grooms saw to the horses. Donkeys brayed their protests, dogs barked, and only the Queen’s tent was an island of calm as she ate a sedate breakfast and prepared herself for the continuing journey.
‘He can bloody sing, though,’ Janin said placatingly.
‘I don’t think that’s all there is to it,’ Ricard countered. ‘Look at the way he behaves! Disappearing like that just when we were supposed to be entertaining the Queen.’
‘Look, truth is, I never really liked him much,’ Adam said. ‘I think we ought to try to get on with him now, though.’
‘You never …’
Ricard was too shocked by the blatant dishonesty of the comment to do much more than gape, and it was left to Philip to snort: ‘You are a prick, Adam. You know that?’
‘Sod you, Philip!’
‘Shut up, both of you. The fact is, we were all asked to go and play yesterday, just for the Queen and Lord John, and he wasn’t here.’
He kept himself very much to himself, this Jack of Ireland, and wandered off at the worst possible times. Ricard would have dearly loved to know where he came from, and why it was that William de Bouden had wanted him to join their little group. There must be some reason for it.
Last night was the worst, though. They’d all been summoned to entertain the Queen because there was some local dignitary visiting whom she had wanted to impress, and Jack had just — gone! He could have melted into the surrounding countryside, except there was bugger all for a man to melt into. Hardly even any trees just here, where they were camped. That was why they’d picked the site, of course, but it still made things that much more confusing.
Not only confusing. Bloody irritating! Ricard and the lads had played their fingers raw, so it felt, with a good few tunes which the Queen declared she had never heard before, and there were some knights there who’d been tapping their feet rather than chatting as they usually did, the heathens, and smothering the sound of any music with their laughter. No, last night they’d listened, as though they couldn’t help it. In some way, Ricard wondered whether it was partly the first tune he’d struck up — the one they’d called ‘The Waferer’ in honour of Peter. It seemed suitable, somehow, as if they were bringing a bit of Peter with them on this great journey of theirs. Not that it was the happiest of occasions for them. They were hemmed in by dangers, so he felt.
So he’d gone to see William de Bouden as soon as he’d had a chance, and what had he said? Only ‘The man is a member of your troupe. Nothing to do with me. You brought him, so you deal with him. If you’re unhappy with his performance, you should discuss it with him. I have enough on my plate.’
But there had been no sign of the man.
It was full dawn when Adam looked up and pointed. ‘There he is.’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Ricard demanded as Jack strolled casually towards them.
‘I found a lovely, lively little French whore. Why?’
‘We were supposed to be singing to the Queen last night, and you weren’t here.’
‘I am sure you will have done well without me.’
‘Perhaps we’d have done better with a drum-player,’ Janin said irritably.