‘What has happened here?’ Baldwin asked wonderingly. He recognised the man-at-arms he had seen crossing the yard earlier.
‘Someone came here and attacked me and this man,’ Robert said haltingly. He was very pale.
‘Did you see who it was?’ Baldwin asked. Perhaps it was the same man he had seen following after this fellow. There had been two.
‘A guard from the Château Gaillard. This man was another of the guards from there,’ Robert said, motioning feebly towards le Vieux. ‘He broke in here and attacked us both.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘All I know is there was a small garrison there to protect the castle, and some weeks ago that man went insane. He took a knife and slew all the other guards in the château. We don’t know why. Le Vieux was the only survivor at the time. Clearly the fellow learned where le Vieux was, and came here to finish his task.’
‘But why would he do so?’
‘Who can explain madness?’ Robert demanded with a ferocious anger. There was a fevered gleam in his eyes now, and if it were not for the twisted and broken leg, Baldwin could have feared that he might leap up and set upon him for asking ridiculous questions. ‘Just find him, Sir Baldwin. Find him and kill him, in God’s name, before he murders anyone else.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘What does he look like?’
Yes. It was the same man.
As he left the chamber, his brow was furrowed. The killer and the dead man had walked happily together across the courtyard, and then come to blows in the chamber with Robert. Robert had lied for some reason, Baldwin felt, but he was unsure why.
Jean had found his way to an undercroft, a crowded storeroom filled with barrels of food and drink, with bales of other goods set over the top to keep them dry. He bolted along it, hoping to find an escape, but the only way in was the one by which he had entered. He ran at the farther wall, and crashed into it, his arms up, still gripping the poker, his eyes firmly closed. The crash forced him, sobbing, to his knees, and he crouched there a while, gasping with shock and terror, before reaching out with his hands and touching the stonework before him, fingers rippling over the plaster, seeking crevices as though he could have insinuated himself into the rock and passed through it. But he was human. Such feats were for God, not for him.
He relaxed, easing himself down again, and as his eyes grew acclimatised to the darkness in the chamber, he stared at the poker. It was a long log-poker, with a one-inch spike protruding to one side. That was what had hit le Vieux. It had punctured his head as easily as a pin bursting an inflated pig’s bladder.
Jean was not upset at the thought of killing a man. Once he would have been, but he had fought in enough battles since then to know that sometimes a man must kill. Le Vieux had wanted to murder him … and he had no idea why! That was what had so shocked him: not the attack, but the man who had launched it. He had thought le Vieux was a friend, a comrade and an ally. All he’d tried to do was warn him about Arnaud.
The only thing that made any sense was that Arnaud had convinced him that Jean had killed all the other men at the château. Le Vieux must have believed him implicitly.
Jean groaned to himself. The thought that Arnaud could be so persuasive hadn’t occurred to him before. And it wasn’t only le Vieux who was convinced, either. That other man had obviously been persuaded as well. Jean was marked out for death. If he was seen or captured, he would be sure to be killed. There was no escape for him.
‘Who was he?’
The man behind the table. He had drawn his sword when le Vieux had said that he was the last of the men from the château, hadn’t he?
Suddenly Jean started to wonder if his initial impression of that last day at the château was as clear as he had thought. Le Vieux had been hit, surely, for there was no faking that bloody seeping wound, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had been hit by Arnaud. Now it seemed to make more sense for him to have been hit by one of the other men as he and Arnaud together tried to kill the guards. But why would they do that?
The only person whom he could ask was probably the one whom he was most keen to kill. He would have to catch Arnaud to question him. But just now the likelihood was that he wouldn’t even be able to escape the castle, let alone run off and later find Arnaud to learn what had actually happened.
Then again, he considered, there was less need to run away to hide when you were already in a large undercroft filled with barrels of food and drink. This was probably as good a place to hide as any other, and it had the added attraction of being cheap.
He would stay and formulate a plan to gain his revenge.
Louvre, Paris
King Charles IV was not known for his patience, but the reputation was unfair. There were times when he was capable of explosions of rage, just like any other monarch, and others when he was content to be still and watch other men’s actions. This was particularly true when he felt sure that someone had failed in their duties to him.
‘Alive?’
The cardinal smiled, but warily. Thomas of Anjou knew when the King was displeased, and today the man could have frozen a sea with his stare. ‘I am afraid, so it would seem.’
‘I seem to remember you telling me that the entire matter of the château was over,’ King Charles said, his attention moving to the face of his adviser.
François de Tours nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor. ‘I relayed the news to you as soon as I was told. The men of the town went up there and found all the guards dead, or so I thought. Now it would seem that one of them has miraculously returned to life. He found Robert de Chatillon and killed one of his men in front of him, as well as hurting Robert.’
‘He killed my executioner?’
‘No. The other one. An old soldier of Enguerrand’s.’
‘Oh, I recall. Well, he was to die as well soon enough, wasn’t he? But my man is not hurt?’
‘Not yet. However, if we do not act to remove any other witnesses, matters could become more difficult.’
‘See to it. And François? No more slip-ups, my friend. All witnesses, all of them, must be removed. I want no surprises in the future.’
Poissy
‘D’you hear that?’ Adam asked.
‘What?’ Ricard demanded, staring into his cup. On his lap Charlie was resting, snoring softly with his mouth open. He had started snuffling today, and Ricard hoped it was only a cold. He had grown rather fond of the little boy.
‘He’s right,’ Philip said. ‘There’s some sort of disturbance up there.’
‘So what?’ Ricard belched. ‘There’s always something going on. It’s a bloody castle, isn’t it? Some fight between men-at-arms, I dare say. I’m not getting up to go and look.’
Philip scowled. ‘And where’s our friend? Eh?’
Ricard looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and he was finding it hard to concentrate. ‘If you mean our illustrious companion, Philip, I don’t know, and I don’t care. The arsehole has left us alone. Far as I’m concerned, that’s good news. You won’t find me complaining. In fact, I think that rather than complain we ought to celebrate. Yes. Let’s have another drink!’
‘Before you do that, let’s make sure he hasn’t gone and killed someone else,’ Adam said nervously.
Janin leaned back on his seat. ‘What makes you say that? Adam, what is it with you? You always have to bring out something unpleasant, don’t you? There’s nothing to say that anyone’s died, is there? And nothing to say Jack’s involved anyway.’
‘I told you all when he arrived,’ Adam said. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. He’s a bad one.’