‘Up there. I could have sworn it was William de Bouden, but … they’ve gone now.’
‘What of it?’ Janin demanded, puffing a little as he rolled Philip on to his back. ‘Give me a hand, Ricard.’
‘De Bouden was watching us, as if he knew Jack was going to be here,’ Adam said. ‘When he wandered up, Bouden stepped out, all friendly, and joined him. Why?’
‘Because the bastard’s in league with Despenser, that’s why!’ Ricard snapped. ‘So what’s new? He’s probably spilling all he’s seen in the Queen’s chamber tonight. Then Bouden can relay it all back to London.’
‘You really think that he’s dishonourable enough to do that?’
Ricard stopped, turned, and stared at him.
Adam coloured. He felt foolish enough. But if he’d seen round the bend in the street, to where de Bouden and Jack had halted as they met the third man, he would have felt still more confused.
As would Ricard.
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday after the Feast of St Edward the Martyr 15
Jean had tried to find a small room, but the sudden influx of people in the town had soon put paid to that. All the sleeping chambers were taken, and even the haylofts and stables were occupied by grooms and servants, because every knight travelling with the Queen — those in her entourage and those French men who had met her on her way to celebrate her journey — had a squire, two horses for riding, and a sumpter horse or two; and then there were the assorted hangers-on: musicians, cooks, procurers, carters. There was not a foot of floor available anywhere, he was told at one point.
In the end, he had been forced to accept an offer of some boards up in the eaves of a peasant’s hovel. The peasant was content to sleep on the ground on his palliasse, and Jean was forced to make the best of it on the man’s bed without a mattress. It was only a little harder than the ground outside, and reeked of the man and his wife, smoke, and urine from some creature which lived in the thatching, but at least it was consistently warm — until the middle of the night, long before dawn, when a combination of the cold, the man’s wife’s snoring, and a wooden dowel sticking in his kidneys, all conspired to wake him.
He glanced about him quickly, alert as always to the risk of a sudden attack from a stranger, but when he looked down, the peasant and his wife were both still asleep. Others he had known had been stabbed at night and robbed by poor folk such as these, but he felt safe enough. He did not look to them like someone worth robbing; he had little enough to steal. Rolling over, he slept until dawn.
The Queen’s company might have made his search for a bed problematic, but at least he had the pleasure of witnessing the cavalcade depart the following morning. He was sitting outside the peasant’s hovel on a rock when the men began to gather, and he left it to trail after them and watch what was happening. It was many years since he had seen a grand party like this lot.
That was down in Pamiers. When the bishop arrived. He had not realised then how the man would destroy his life. How could he? It was difficult to conceive of a single person’s bringing so much ruin on so small a community of believers.
He couldn’t think of that again. There was too much sadness in the memory. He was a man who had been trained in fighting, who had witnessed the deaths of all his family in the wars, and yet he was still persecuted by that vicious, cruel, and above all honourable and pious damned bishop! All he had ever done was try to live a decent life, and the bishop had destroyed it for him.
Ach! No. There was no point raking over those coals again.
When he reached the town’s marketplace, he had recovered his equanimity. There was a shop with some pastries for sale, and he could see that it had been all but cleaned out already. The patissier was running about seeking fresh supplies to bake more for his regular customers, and Jean thought he might wait awhile to buy something himself. Leaning against the doorway, he watched the people gathering.
The richness of the clothing and uniforms was quite shocking here in this little town. There were some merchants who might own some moderate garments, he thought, but nothing in comparison to all this magnificence. Velvets, scarlets, silks, fine woollens, the softest pigskin gloves — these people had everything a man could hope to acquire. And they wore it with such élan, too. As the men sprang on to their great horses, they looked as elegant as kings in their own right. And then he saw the Queen.
Such beauty was blinding, he thought. A woman of some thirty years, with fine, fair hair gleaming under her headdress, seated on a horse rather than in a wagon, wearing a long cloak trimmed with ermine, she looked almost heavenly. Jean had to pull his eyes away with an effort. She was so magnificent, it almost seemed a crime to watch her, him clad in filthy leather and linen, as though he could pollute her with his glance.
‘Christ’s pains!’
He carefully sidled back into the shop’s doorway, wary and anxious at the sight of the two men standing at the opposite side of the square: le Vieux and Arnaud! They must have followed him somehow, and now they were here with this party. He must escape them again!
Thursday before the Feast of the Annunciation of Our Lady 16
Pontoise
To Simon’s eye, the buildings were growing wealthier and more splendid with every day. The last night they had spent in a little town called Beauvais, and he had been struck by the richness of all the people living there. Admittedly, everyone would have been made aware that the English queen was on her way by the arrival of the heralds sent ahead to book rooms and food, and they would have decked themselves out in their best clothing in honour of the sister of their king, but even so, looking about him now in this little town, he was almost shocked by the displays of wealth on every side. It was so blatant and unashamed. Much, he had to remind himself, like London. Except cleaner.
This place was only a few miles from Paris, he had learned. Baldwin had described the journey which they were to take before they left England, but he had hardly listened to much of it. At the time he had been concentrating on the appalling thought of climbing on to a ship again. He had seen enough of ships for his life, so far as he was concerned.
The town was pretty, though, built on the banks of the River Oise, with the steeple of the cathedral towering high overhead. There were plenty of trees and orchards, he saw, as they approached the great bridge over the river.
‘We should go to the cathedral and give thanks for arriving here in one piece,’ he muttered.
‘An excellent idea,’ Baldwin said, ‘except I rather think we’ll be expected to carry on to the castle.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought you knew already — the Queen is to be introduced to her latest sister-in-law.’
That explained all the flowers and decorations, then. Simon frowned a little. ‘She had several brothers, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but her siblings appear to be short-lived. Her father died eleven years ago, cursed to death by the honourable Grand Master of my Order.’
Simon had heard of the Grand Master de Molay’s curse. As he burned, in agony, he called on the King to join him before the throne of God to answer for his crimes in destroying the Order of the Temple, and the King had died within the year, as had the Pope. ‘What of the others?’
‘Her oldest two brothers both died soon after taking the throne. The first, Louis X, survived only two years. Then there was poor John, his son, who lived five days after becoming king, and the throne passed to Philip V, but he died three years ago, so he was only on the throne for six years. Now we have Charles IV.’