Dismissed, le Vieux wandered from the room. He stood outside, wondering what he should do. The castle held little attraction for him. It was a place of rest, but he was bored with rest. Give him a decent march, some wine and women at the end of it, or a fight, and he’d be happy, but this lazing about for day after day was driving him up to the moon. He needed some action.
He couldn’t face returning to Arnaud and that appalling humming. Instead he walked under the gate and out into the street, and went to a cookshop for a pie before aimlessly passing down the lane, glancing at the food displayed on the shutters as he went.
An urchin slipped past him, a hand whipped out, and the lad ran off with a small loaf of bread, haring along the lane like a small greyhound. It made the shopkeeper roar, and he bolted into the lane, shaking his fist over his head, but others, le Vieux included, laughed. The boy was quick and clever. So long as he wasn’t caught, he would have a great future ahead of him. A lad like that could get far.
That was when he heard the ‘Psst’ and urgent whisper of his name.
He turned, and, to his horror, there was Jean.
‘You didn’t expect to see me again, did you?’
‘You! What are you doing here?’
‘I followed you. I had to. The men at the château — I had to make sure you knew what had happened.’
‘Eh?’
‘I saw them. I was up on the wall, and I saw them. Berengar and Arnaud. Arnaud was after him like a demon, waving a knife, and murdered him just outside the castle. And then I went back to our room, and the others were all dead.’
‘Wait, wait!’ le Vieux said, his hands up. He was not panicked yet. There was space between him and Jean, and he had his sword on his hip, but Jean was dangerous. He knew that full well. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I had to run. I — er — I thought you were dead like all the others, and I fled to get help. But I couldn’t. I was going to come here, to tell the King what had happened, but then I thought I’d be suspected myself, so I just ran. But then I saw you in the Queen of England’s party with Arnaud, and I knew I had to do something to warn you, so you knew it was Arnaud who’d committed the murders. What did he say? Did he say it was me?’
‘Well, that was what I thought.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘I was knocked out early on. I didn’t see what happened,’ le Vieux admitted.
‘That was why. He knocked you down, then started to kill the others. It must have been easy enough if they weren’t expecting him. He’s a lunatic — he must be. You’ve seen how he was with the prisoners. Torture and murder is his delight. You have to help me — together we can stop him.’
‘Stop him?’
‘Kill him. He’s mad! I know him. I saw him years ago, back in my home town, down in Pamiers. He burned some folks there, and he enjoyed it. He was dancing about them, taunting them as they died. He has to be stopped before he can kill any more. You are still with him, and you can’t tell when he’s likely to push a knife into your heart! You aren’t safe until he’s dead, and neither am I, because while we’re alive, the truth about what he did in Château Gaillard may come out. He can’t take that risk.’
Le Vieux nodded slowly. There was a slowly dawning horror on his face. ‘I thought you had done them in. It never occurred to me … The idea that Arnaud could have knocked me down and killed all the others … I hadn’t even considered it.’
‘I didn’t think you could have,’ Jean said. ‘What was worse was that when I got to the town to get help, they already knew the garrison was dead.’
‘Come with me. I think I know what to do,’ Le Vieux said, and set off at a trot towards the palace.
Baldwin had been for a long ride that day, and when he returned he dropped from the saddle with the bounce of a man who had enjoyed a day’s exercise after too many days of lassitude. He cast the reins at a waiting groom, and only when he’d seen the man start to rub down the beast did Baldwin leave and go to find himself something to drink. It was deeply ingrained in him that he should always see to his mount before attending to his own pleasures. A horse was more than an animal — to a knight it was his principal weapon as well.
The French did not believe in weak wines. Those served here in the King’s palace were magnificent, and it was good for Baldwin, so he felt, to be reacquainted with them. It was many years since he had last lived in Paris, and the opportunity of drinking the wide variety available was proving to be immensely pleasurable.
He watched as a man-at-arms crossed the court with a younger fellow behind him. They went quickly, men in a hurry, as so many did in this great royal palace. Everybody appeared to be in a hurry here.
Lord Cromwell was standing in the doorway, and he walked over to Baldwin. ‘This is a peculiar place, eh, Sir Baldwin? Everyone is so busy — except for me. I feel useless here.’
‘I had to go for a ride to remind myself what a horse feels like.’ Baldwin smiled.
‘The Queen is here to negotiate with the French, hoping to rescue some fragments of our once great Angevin empire from her blasted brother, the French king, but you and I, we kick our heels, while the French run around as though there’re not enough hours in the day. There’s nothing for us to do, not until we get the signal. Either we send messengers back with new proposals for the King, or we gradually slide into irrelevance. If there’s no movement, nothing’s going to win back Guyenne for us,’ Cromwell said sadly. ‘I always loved that territory. I have been there several times. Have you?’
‘Yes.’ Baldwin could remember a green landscape, hilly like Devon, but with long, tree-lined valleys, and hillsides covered in vines. He remembered warm sun and cool evenings. A blessed land. ‘It would be a great loss to the kingdom.’
‘Amen to that. Dear God, how much longer must we wait here? I have lands to manage, business to see to for myself.’
‘I have a son just born,’ Baldwin agreed sadly. ‘I wanted to spend the springtime with him and my wife — instead I am out here.’
The lord nodded glumly. Then he looked at Baldwin with a slight frown. ‘Did you ever make sense of the death of that count on the journey here?’
Baldwin bridled, and Cromwell noticed.
‘I am not blaming you, Sir Baldwin. But you are more experienced than any others here in investigating murders.’
‘I am sorry, my lord. It’s just that every so often I catch a sidelong look from someone I’ve never met which seems to suggest they think I did it. In truth, I know nothing about him. All I know is, he and I had words on the way here. That is all.’
‘No one has given us any trouble over his death, anyway, which is a relief,’ Lord John said. ‘It could have become embarrassing were someone to have taken it into his head to accuse you of murder.’
‘There are many who consider I did it.’
‘Damn their souls! It doesn’t matter, in any case. It was an odd event, though. I’ve never heard of a similar one. Firing a charge of powder, then stealing your knife — that is strange.’
‘There is nothing new under the sun,’ Baldwin said with a grin. ‘When there has been a murder, I always tend to find that it was because of some obvious reason. Usually it’s money, or a desire for power, and sometimes a lover removes a competitor for some woman’s affections. Only rarely is it a chance encounter.’
‘This wasn’t chance, then.’
‘No. Clearly somebody had planned something. They had the powder there before they took my dagger to thrust into the Count’s chest.’
‘Was it your knife that killed him?’
‘No. His throat was cut, and I believe that was done some while before the murderer realised I was there. I think I heard the man die. By the time I reached the scene he was already dead; my dagger was only a distraction.’
‘I wonder what he was doing there, then.’