It had been the most embarrassing moment of Jean’s life, having to confess that he had never sat upon a horse.
Arnaud had soon introduced him to le Vieux, and Jean had thought the old man the perfect example of a lower-ranking man-at-armsin the King’s host. He even went so far as to run through his memories of men in the host he had accompanied to Courtrai,thinking that le Vieux must be a comrade-in-arms from that earlier war, but without success. No, le Vieux was just one ofthose men who was so archetypical of the kind of warrior the King sought to keep that he appeared familiar.
‘Another one, eh?’ he’d said as he caught sight of Jean and Arnaud. ‘What were you in gaol for?’
‘I said that two folks the bishop burned were better Christians than him.’
‘Do you still think that?’
Jean cast a sidelong glance at Arnaud. Merde! It was possible that the wrong thing said now could have him returned straight to gaol. But Arnaud must know what he hadbeen thrown in gaol for. There was little point trying to hide it. ‘Have you seen Bishop Fournier?’
Le Vieux stared at him for at least five beats of his heart, and then, to Jean’s relief, he began to chuckle, loud and long.‘You’ll do for me, boy.’
It had been the beginning of a companionable friendship, so Jean had thought. Le Vieux seemed to look on him as a slightlywayward apprentice. It didn’t matter that Jean was already almost thirty years old; in the opinion of the ancient warrior,he was a mere stripling. When there was any duty to be performed, le Vieux would help him with advice or would actually knuckledown and assist him. More than he would with any of the others, anyway. Men like Berengar he ignored. They didn’t deserve more than occasional comments or harsh bellows.And sometimes the threat of the lash.
He hadn’t been like that with Jean. Le Vieux seemed to think, after that first encounter, that there was more to Jean thanhe would have guessed. It must have been his defiant first comment. That and the fact that Jean had stood up to the bishop.There were not too many people who would repeat derogatory comments about a man like Jacques Fournier in front of him, andfewer still who would then challenge a man to deny them even after spending time in his gaol. That was what made le Vieuxand him get on: the way that Jean was prepared to stick to what he believed.
Le Vieux admired that. Possibly because he believed in nothing himself. Except the Comte de Foix, of course.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Philip and Adam had tried to find Ricard, but the man was nowhere to be seen. It was Adam’s belief that Janin had alreadyfound him somewhere, and the pair of them had decided to have no part in any attack on the blasted bodhran player.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Philip said. ‘We can do it ourselves. Why do we need any help? There’s two of us.’
‘Yes,’ Adam agreed, unconvinced.
‘Wait until he turns up in our room, and we can jump him. Just slide a knife in him, and he’ll be quiet enough for good.’
‘Yes,’ Adam said, more quietly.
But he reflected that Philip was a large man. When it came to subduing Jack, Philip should be able to do that with a handbehind his back. And just now, Philip looked as happy to break Adam’s neck as Jack’s, were Adam to raise any more objections.Soon the pair of them were waiting in the musicians’ room. They knew that Jack often slept in there after a light lunch, whichseemed only fair since he appeared to spend so much of his evenings and nights out wandering about the place.
‘Where does he go?’ Adam wondered, shifting his leg as it started to go to sleep. Philip wouldn’t let him stand or move about in caseit warned Jack as he approached the chamber.
‘At night, you mean? He says he’s got a woman, doesn’t he?’ Philip said. He was not convinced. ‘That man in London said he was spying on the Queen. I think he was telling the truth there. Jack’s dangerous.’
‘So you do think he’s a Despenser man? That evil bastard! Christ alone knows what Despenser will do with anything he can learnabout her, poor lady. She is always kind to us.’
‘Yes. Now shut up! Do you want him to hear you?’
Adam was silent for a moment. ‘Why’d he want us here, though? If he was going to kill Peter to get a place with us, so hewas going to be here in any case, why would he need to tell us he was going to spy?’
‘Perhaps he’s not so stupid as some,’ Philip grated. ‘Now shut up!’
‘Well, it makes little sense to me, that’s all I’m saying. Mind you, I never trusted him. Always dodgy, I thought.’
‘Hush!’ Philip had stiffened, and now he stretched his neck, head to one side, listening intently. ‘Someone’s coming!’
‘Oh. Oh, shit!’ Adam said mournfully. ‘I’ve never-’
‘Shut up, or I’ll kill you myself!’ Philip hissed.
Steps outside in the passageway. Not one pair, though; it was two men. One was familiar, and Philip was convinced that itwas Jack — he recognised that pause between each footfall, while the arrogant prickle swaggered like a man-at-arms. The other,though, was unfamiliar. It wasn’t Janin or Ricard, he was sure enough of that. But no one else tended to come up here wherethe musicians had their room. Who on-
The door was thrown wide, and Jack walked in quickly, another man behind him moving to Philip’s right as soon as the two menwere inside. Neither had knife or sword at the ready, but neither seemed to think they were necessary.
‘Ah, Philip. My old friend. I think you have met my companion? He told me you would be here. He’s come to help us. I toldyou the Queen was in danger, and he’s heard the same. So there’re going to be more of us to keep an eye on things. That’ll be nice to know, won’t it?’
And he smiled easily at them both. Not that they were looking at him. They were staring at his companion.
The man from the glover’s house.
The Queen was in her room when de Bouden tapped on the door. She looked up from her book, and seeing him, she closed it gentlyas he bent in an elaborate bow.
‘There is much sense in books like this, William.’
‘My lady?’ He peered closely. It was a great book bound in white leather, which he recognised immediately. The Queen was wellknown to be fascinated with the stories of King Arthur. No man could be in her presence for even a short while without sensingher attraction to the stories of the old English king.
‘I have another book. Do you know the story of Aimeri de Narbonne?’
‘I fear I have not had the pleasure of hearing it,’ he said, hoping that soon she might tell him to stand straight again.His back was beginning to complain.
‘Lady Ermengarde, Aimeri’s wife, complained when he decided to send his sons out into the world to seek their fame and fortune.She couldn’t bear to lose all her children. Yet children have to grow up, don’t they, William?’
‘Why, yes, Majesty.’
‘Even my boys will become men some day. Edward is close to adulthood already.’
‘Um. Yes.’
‘The thing is, because she complained, Aimeri beat her. And you know what she did? She prayed to God to bless him and hisarm for so sensibly bringing her back to reason. Naturally she was only a woman and mustn’t question her husband’s decision.She even asked him to beat her more so that she could be reminded of her place. What do you think of that, William?’
He had not been her clerk and comptroller for years without seeing the danger of responding. Instead, indicating with an inarticulatemutter that his back was giving him gip, he waited.
‘Oh, stand up straight, William. Staying bent like that will break your back. Well, I think that the man who wrote that storywas a fool. If he seriously thought that a woman would make a comment like that when her man was beating her, he had no brainwhatever. She was being sarcastic. Does a woman have no say in how a man may treat her sons? Even if she is noble-born herself?’