‘Where will the bullet have gone?’ Baldwin wondered.
‘Over there,’ Robert said tersely, and set off back to his tent.
Inside, he took the pile of powder and swept some into a line. He thinned it, tapping it with his fingers until it formed a narrow length less than a quarter inch thick. ‘Watch.’
He took a flint and his dagger and struck some sparks. On the fifth blow, a spark caught the line, and it spluttered and fizzed, sparks flying off in every direction, while Simon yelped and jumped back, trying to evade the thick roiling smoke. ‘It smells like the devil himself!’
‘Yes, it stinks,’ Baldwin said, but thoughtfully. ‘I see what you mean. It is clearly safer when it is not enclosed. May I?’ He motioned towards the remaining powder.
Robert nodded. ‘Of course. Yes, I think it is less lethal when it is free. There is some force of nature — it is like a beast. If you have caged a bear or a lion, and it escapes, it will be a great deal more dangerous to men than if you had not. Even wild animals in the open will tend to avoid a man, knowing their place in God’s plan. As their wild nature is concentrated when confined, so is the powder’s vital essence.’
Baldwin had made another straight line of powder. He took Robert’s flint and struck a spark. At the first attempt, flame rushed along it quickly. ‘This is a marvel!’
‘Just be careful you do not leave an actual pile of it,’ Robert warned.
‘When you said I was fortunate, I can understand your meaning now,’ Baldwin said, forming another line, this time a series of curves one way and another. He struck a spark, and watched eagerly, smiling, as the flame coursed from side to side like a snake. ‘This is a wonderful thing! I have never been able to toy with it before, but it gives an extraordinary sense of pleasure to be able to guide it along the route you wish.’
‘Yes. Well, so long as you are careful,’ Robert said. ‘If you will excuse me, I have work to do.’
‘Of course,’ Baldwin said, forming a fresh pattern, a broad coil of powder. ‘Look at this, Simon.’
He struck a spark. There was a fizz as the first length of powder caught, and then a loud report as the entire coil detonated, a thick fume rising and making Baldwin cough and stand back, waving his hands to clear the air.
Robert gave a great sigh without turning to look at him.
‘Yes. If you don’t leave a decent gap between the threads, sparks fly from one to another. It is not a toy for fools!’
The Queen’s tent
Rousing herself, for Queen Isabella, was never a great problem. Not for her the slow, languorous climb from sleep to a gentle wakening; she had always been aware of all that must be done in the day. The march to chapel for her Mass, the riding for her exercise, the listening to petitions and business about her varied interests must necessarily take up many hours each day, and as soon as she became aware of the sun cresting the horizon and heard her servants begin to stir, she would be wide awake herself.
All through her married life she had been the centre of a large establishment. In the very earliest days, of course, her husband had refused her the private household she had craved. That she had insisted upon her own servants, her own knights and cooks, grooms and burners, was no more than natural for her, a princess of France. During her childhood those small symbols of wealth and importance had been granted to her as a matter of course, and when she was old enough to marry she had expected similar proofs of respect, just as she had provided for each of her children.
The eldest, naturally, had been receiving such marks of esteem all his life. Dear Edward, the Prince of Wales, the heir to his father’s throne, had never been left in any doubt as to his own position in the scheme of things. He would become the next king on the death of his father, and the lavish lifestyle which he would come to enjoy was already being emulated in his household. He might be only some thirteen years old, but her son was fully aware of his rank.
Even in the recent hard times she had found herself waking early. Despite the loss of so much, with her household disbanded, her servants all arrested or exiled, she had naturally woken swiftly, though less because of the amount of work that was necessary to manage her interests than from the urgent need to plot her revenge on the evil, avaricious and dishonourable son of a peasant, Sir Hugh le Despenser, her husband’s oh, so close friend.
She could mimic that hideous, sly tone in her own mind. There was so much which she had grown to detest in that cretin. Not only the way in which he had wheedled his way into the King’s affections, leaving no space for Isabella herself, but also how he had gradually excluded her from all which lent her life lustre. He had taken her lands, her mining interests, and after he had managed to insinuate to the King that she might one day become a threat to him, with war looming against France, he had even managed to see to it that her own little darlings, her three youngest children, had been removed from her protection. That was so cruel, so unthinkably vicious, that her hatred for him had threatened to burn so harshly that any could see it, but she had taken as her model that creature of guile and intelligence, the fox, and concealed her rage.
In all the last hard weeks and months, she had tried her utmost to remain collected. At all times, even when she had been convinced that the murderous churl was planning to have her removed — murdered — she had remained cordial towards him, until at last she had succeeded in persuading him that she held no grudge. Oh, he was not totally convinced, naturally. The monster that he was could never conceive of any person being motivated by anything other than greed or personal interest. To behave otherwise, he thought, was entirely contrary. But he did have one blindness: he thought that women were constant and loving as a matter of course; it was in their natures. He found it impossible to believe that a mere woman could fool him.
That was the root of his foolishness. For, believing that the weak and silly queen had almost forgiven him, since she had paid him some flattering attention in recent weeks, Despenser was prepared to allow her to go to France to negotiate. He was as certain as any arrogant man that she would never dare to connive on her own part. She would not scheme to bring down Despenser’s deplorable rule of the country her husband was supposed to reign over. She was a mere woman, who wanted to run home to see her lands one last time, Despenser thought.
It had been hard, but even on that last day, she had dissembled as professionally as any whore. She had spoken with Despenser, displayed her sadness on leaving her children behind, begging ‘good Sir Hugh’ to look after them for her so she could see them as soon as she returned, and even sealing her farewells with a kiss, while her husband looked on approvingly. He only ever looked on approvingly when the horse’s arse was in the room — or on the hillside, as he was then. In God’s name, that kiss had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do.
But all simulation was now over, so far as she was concerned. She had a diplomatic mission to Paris, to see her brother, and to discuss with him the return to England of the lands and provinces which he had confiscated last year. That task was given to her by her husband, and she would faithfully honour the trust put in her.
Until she had achieved her ends, at any rate.
‘My lady? Wine?’
Yes. She arose swiftly. There was so much to do. Especially when plotting the death and utter destruction of the man who had stolen her husband from her.
Chapter Sixteen
Janin sat back on his haunches and eyed Ricard with his lip curled doubtfully. ‘You sure about this?’
‘What else can we do?’
‘Tell the Queen’s comptroller.’ Adam was grumpy. ‘I’m sorry, but I never liked the man.’