‘There are times when the thought of returning to England fills me with sadness, Simon. The idea of going somewhere where-’
‘Isn’t that one of the musicians?’ Simon interrupted. ‘Perhaps it’s the man Earl Edmund meant?’
Baldwin followed his pointing finger and saw a tall man stalking off towards the Queen’s chambers. ‘I’m not going to run afterhim now,’ he said. ‘We can tell him when he returns.’
Ricard was reluctant to go straight to de Bouden. ‘We don’t know anything, really. What can we say?’
‘Just that Jack is suspicious, and that you suspect not only him, but his friend too. Don’t have to say anything about him,’Philip said. ‘Only that he is a stranger, and friend to Jack, so probably as dangerous.’
‘As dangerous,’ Ricard repeated to himself as he made his way on leaden legs to the comptroller’s chamber, holding the hand oflittle Charlie. They were close to the Queen’s own rooms, and he glanced towards them with a sense that his whole life wasunravelling. He felt really pathetic about being sent to talk to her most senior clerk like this. It was demeaning. He wasn’tsome magnificent lord or anything, but he had always been in control of his own life, and had known that there was a littleplace in the world that was perfectly Ricard-shaped. Now, though, he was sensing that his space was growing ever more constricted.There might be room for him for a little longer, but he reckoned that soon he’d be squeezed out. Pop! And there’d be no moreRicard. Not the way things were going just now.
Gloomily he rapped sharply on the door, hoping that there would be no answer, and was relieved when there was no response.De Bouden was always curt and sharp with his ‘Come in!’ but now there was no sound. More confidently, he knocked again, andwas about to turn and leave when he heard something from inside. It sounded like a door closing.
‘Master?’ he called.
There was silence for a moment, and he was aware of little Charlie looking up at him with those big blue eyes of his. Trusting,always hopeful. And then a quiet voice called ‘Yes?’
Grimacing, he turned the great ring to lift the latch inside.
‘Hello?’ he said.
There was no light in the room, but there was the scent of a recently snuffed candle, and he was sure that there was a figureat the wall, not far from the shuttered window. A tallish, muscular man, from the look of him. Certainly not de Bouden.
‘What do you want?’
‘I was looking for William de Bouden. I have a message for him.’
‘He has gone for a few moments. I think it would be best if you were to go as well. You don’t want to be here.’
‘Who are you? What are you doing in here?’ Ricard said. His confidence was growing. This man shouldn’t be here, he felt. Thequiet tone, his remaining in darkness, both spoke of his need for secrecy. There was something about the darkness in the roomthat was intimidating. Not scary, but definitely intimidating, yes. Charlie was tugging backwards, away from the room, andRicard could hear him moaning quietly. It was enough to break any spell. He took a sharp step backwards, out of the room,and instantly that sly little Irish voice was there behind him.
‘Ricard, ah, and I’m glad to see you here. You’ll not be wanting to stay, though.’
‘Jack,’ Ricard spat, startled. He moved further away from the door until he was at the entrance to a narrow, corridor-likealley, which led to the Queen’s chamber. Automatically, he moved into it, away from Jack. ‘I was sent here because of you.’
‘Me? And why would I want to be here, then?’
‘We know that you’re an enemy of the Queen. You have had something to do with the murders, haven’t you?’
‘Me? The thought!’
‘Not just here, either. You helped kill the glover and his wife in London, didn’t you? I dare say you killed Peter too.’
Jack glanced back towards the man in the room as though seeking approval of something. Ricard found himself peering in thesame direction, but although the fellow had approached the door, Ricard still couldn’t make out his features. He had a nigglingsuspicion that he ought to recognise him; he was sure that the man was vaguely familiar, but the face stubbornly refused tocome to his mind. And then he suddenly felt himself in danger. He had accused a murderer of his crimes, and there was no oneelse here to protect him except an accomplice.
‘Sweet Mother of God,’ he muttered to himself. The man in the room was moving towards him now, and when he looked back at Jack hesaw that the bodhran player was smiling as he too came nearer. It seemed to him that Jack’s face was full of menace. Whenhe smiled, it touched his lips alone. It never even approached his eyes.
Charlie was pulling away. Ricard gripped his hand and retreated down the narrow corridor, never letting his gaze leave theothers. He was tempted to turn and fly, but then he saw that Jack’s attention was gone from him.
‘Musician? What in God’s name are you doing here?’ de Bouden demanded.
Sir John de Sapy was not the brightest man in the King’s household. He had been a loyal supporter of Earl Thomas of Lancasterbefore the Earl had shown himself to be the King’s enemy, and then the King had caught him and had him executed like a commonfelon, him and hundreds of his supporters from all over the country, barons, knights and commoners. Not Sir John, though.
There were others like him. Peter de Lymesey was another in the same mould. A man who was not noted for his politeness orintellect, yet when he had been found in the camp of the Earl of Lancaster he had been enabled to regain his honour in theKing’s service.
At times Sir Charles had been happy to denigrate them both, because he had always known himself to be superior. And then,more recently, he had begun to wonder. After all, if they were so stupid, what where they doing in the King’s entourage? Andthen he had realised the simple truth: they were exactly that — dull-witted supporters who were no threat to the King — orhis favourite.
Sir Hugh le Despenser was avaricious, yes. And a murderous, thieving devil who’d kill you to steal your teeth if he could see a potential advantage. But he was not an idiot. He liked to have strong men about him and the King, it was true,but he was also very keen that he should be the first among them. So he always sought out those who were less intellectuallyable than himself.
Sir Charles could smile at that thought, even now. So Despenser viewed Sir Charles as a fool, then? A man in the same mouldas Sir John and Sir Peter? He had made an error there.
‘This man is worth a fortune to the King, don’t forget,’ he hissed to them as they all left the castle. ‘But it doesn’t matterwhether he’s alive or not.’
Sir John glowered about him. ‘How do we find him?’
‘I saw him myself before the castle,’ Sir Charles said. ‘I think there’s something keeping him about here. Perhaps he’s spyingon the Queen with a view to harming her? Or capturing her? It would be a sore blow to the King, were his wife to be takenby his worst foe.’
Sir Peter smiled easily. ‘Ah. So you have no idea where he is, then?’
‘He is nearby,’ Sir Charles said flatly.
‘You know for definite that the man who killed Paul was Mortimer?’ Sir John said. He had asked that three times so far.
‘It was him. I told you: I saw Mortimer here, outside the castle, and he was walking over this way. Paul was trying to findhim, and then he was killed. It must have been Mortimer.’
Sir John shrugged. ‘Could have been anyone. He was out late after curfew, from what you say. Any man could have seen him aseasy prey. There are men who do that sort of thing.’
‘It was Mortimer. Paul would have defended himself against any other. He was a capable man-at-arms.’
Sir Peter was more sanguine than Sir John. ‘If there’s any chance it’s Mortimer, we have a duty to find him.’
‘That’s fine — but where in Christ’s name do we start?’ Sir John said. ‘I’ve never been to Paris before.’
‘Nor I,’ Sir Peter admitted. He glanced hopefully at Sir Charles.