Baldwin was about to demur, but Mortimer shook his head.
‘Sir Baldwin, you know how the King has failed in every military expedition bar one. He is not competent to lead. Men distrust him, especially his choice of adviser. Many over here think that Isabella is the key to the crown of England. They think little of her husband, but believe that they can influence him through his wife.’
‘Hardly likely.’
‘Quite right, Sir Baldwin. I agree. But that is the thinking here. They wish to bring the King of England to his senses and force him to capitulate, probably demand the whole of his French assets and his homage to the French king, and expect that they can do so by keeping the Queen here. At least she is the bright one, they think.’
‘Where is the danger in that for her?’
‘The danger lies in England. There is another who seeks to destroy her. You know that as well as I.’
‘Who?’
Mortimer sighed. ‘Why, your friend and mine, Sir Hugh le Despenser.’
‘Why should he want to harm her?’
‘You know that, I think.’
He was right. It was easy to see why Despenser would desire to destroy Isabella. She was his most dangerous enemy, the one person who could potentially win back the affections of King Edward and leave Despenser in the cold again. All Despenser need do was see to it that the mission here in France was ruined, and her credibility would be destroyed. Her whole reputation just now was built on a precarious foundation; the success of this negotiation. Failure would justify the King in treating her still worse: there would be enough men who would suggest that her failure was caused by a lack of commitment to the Crown. She was French born, they would say; it was hardly surprising that she sought to support her brother and France against her adopted country.
‘What exactly are you saying, Lord Roger?’
‘Thank you for that courtesy, Sir Baldwin. It’s the first time I have heard an English voice call me that in many months. What I am telling you is this: Despenser has decided already that this mission must fail, and fail catastrophically. To bring that about, he is very happy to incite trouble.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Simon asked. ‘He is English, for Christ’s sake. Why try to harm the King’s interests?’
‘Because by doing so, he will ensure that the King never comes here and leaves Despenser all alone; because by doing so, he concentrates the King’s mind on England, which is where Despenser’s money and personal interest lie. Because he cares nothing for anyone else, so long as he protects his own lands and treasure,’ Mortimer said coldly.
‘What of the Queen?’
‘You are a singular man, if you hold the Queen’s interests in your mind. Lord John Cromwell is a loyal servant of the King. The knights with you? They were put in place by Despenser and the King. They are here to protect the King, not Isabella. And even her own ladies-in-waiting are related to the King. They will see to his interests. Isabella is all alone, with only you to turn to. All I ask is that you help her. She needs all the help she can win, Sir Baldwin. And only you can be trusted.’
‘What makes you so sure that I can be trusted, though?’ Baldwin frowned.
Mortimer gave a guffaw. ‘If nothing else, that answer alone! Nay, Sir Baldwin,’ he added, his tone suddenly sombre. ‘I cannot joke on such a matter. You are known to be a devoted servant. You have sworn to support the Queen, so it is known that you will die in her defence, if necessary. The others with you? De Sapy and de Lymesey have both served Lancaster as well as the King. They move from one allegiance to another. Charles of Lancaster? He’s only recently become a household knight, and he won’t upset his master. But you? You are devoted to the Queen.’
‘So I am at risk?’
‘Despenser has decided to destroy you utterly. Your life, your reputation, your existence will be erased. The reason is this: the Despenser has decided that the Queen threatens his ambitions. If her mission here is embarrassed, it will fail, and possibly she will return to England in disgrace. Of all the men guarding her, they sent you, Sir Baldwin. You, who are no ally to him, from what I have heard. He perhaps thinks you are a danger to his ambitions.’
‘And how can he embarrass the Queen through Baldwin,’ Simon scoffed. ‘Sir Baldwin is a noble man. There’s nothing the Despenser could do or say that would hurt him.’
Mortimer did not look at Simon, but kept his eyes firmly on Baldwin. ‘It has been suggested that you are a renegade Templar, that you are a heretic, and that you should be hunted down and captured, and executed. I am sorry.’
At last, Jean saw him again!
He had been all over the city, searching high and low, and it was only when he had a sudden flash of inspiration and learned that the public executions were all conducted on the King’s massive new gibbet at Montfaucon that he had seen a way to learn where Arnaud was.
A guard there had eyed him suspiciously when he arrived, staring with disgust at the sixteen-odd dangling men. Some were close to falling from their ropes, they were so putrefied and decomposed.
‘What are you after?’
‘I was looking for the executioner. He’s called Arnaud of Pamiers, I think. Is he here today?’
‘There’s no one to be killed today. I heard that someone was going to be branded in the main square outside Notre Dame, but not until tomorrow or the day after. Hold on.’
Bellowing up to another guard, the helpful fellow soon learned what Arnaud’s itinerary for the coming week was likely to be. In the end, he and his companion suggested that Jean may find him near an inn not far from Saint-Jacques. He gave Jean directions, and Jean was soon on his way. At least the city was still a small, compact area. And laid out on flat land, fortunately. When he had been a lad, any walk would take him right up the hills into the mountains. A short journey as the crow flew could take a day or more, scaling the peaks — or, more likely, walking down to the end of one valley, around the spur of the mountain, and up the next. This, in comparison, was easy.
The inn was a nondescript place that catered for butchers. It opened before dawn for the tradesmen who worked in the butchery. They needed their breakfast before light, when they had been hacking and cutting the carcasses for some while already. Even now, although it was still early, several in the inn were drunk. Two stumbled and almost fell against Jean as he entered, but it was natural enough. It was almost time for them to go home, their day’s work done.
Jean bought ale and took it to a dark corner from where he could keep an eye on the men all around, and then he saw him!
Arnaud had been in a second chamber at the rear of the inn, and now he was walking out. He crossed the room with scarcely a glance to right or left, viewing all the butchers there with contempt, as though their work was but a pale reflection of his own, but Jean also saw that one or two of the men, perhaps those less drunk than the others, crossed themselves and withdrew from him as he passed them.
No one liked the executioner.
Baldwin felt as though the earth had trembled and fallen from its mount. His legs were suddenly weak, his heart pounding as though he had run a great race, and he felt physically sick. It was one thing to be an escaped Templar at home, back in England, where no one truly cared about such matters any more, but something quite different to be accused of such an offence here, in France — in Paris — where the foul lies had first been invented and bruited abroad, used to destroy that holy, honourable and godly Order of men. It was obscene that the Order had been condemned on the basis of malicious lies. And now suddenly he felt his vulnerability. Because they had been invented here, by the French king. This was the heartland of his enemies.