‘I’m Philip.’
‘Why won’t this man tell me the truth?’
Philip sneered. ‘He doesn’t want anyone to know why we came here in the first place.’
‘Philip, just watch your mouth,’ Ricard said, worried by the tone of voice. He recognised it from other times. Philip wasgetting himself into a fierce mood. He did it sometimes when he was drunk, talking himself into aggression, and all too oftengetting himself beaten later.
‘Oh, shut up, Ricard. We’ve been worrying and worrying about those two. All the way from London to here, and every day sincegetting here.’ He spat contemptuously. ‘Well, I’ve had it up to the throat with all this shit! No more!’ He turned to Simon.‘We were forced to come here. A man told us to come or he’d put the blame for two murders on to us.’
‘What murders?’ Simon shot out. He had taken a half-pace back, giving himself space to draw steel if necessary.
‘Philip — think of the boy, in Christ’s name!’ Ricard blurted.
‘A glover and his wife in a little house in London. The woman was all over Ric here the night before, and we went to her houseto sleep it off. Next morning there was this man with us, and he told us that the woman and her man were dead and we’d getthe blame if we didn’t do what he wanted.’
‘Which was?’
‘Spy on the Queen and report to his man.’
‘Who?’
‘The very man you say you saw over there at the comptroller’s place.’
‘Is this all true?’ Simon asked Ricard.
What could he say? He was heartily sick of Philip. Truth to tell, he was sick of them all. Jack, Adam’s whining … theonly man he was content with was Janin. At least Jan had a brain and didn’t shoot his mouth off in front of law officers.He had a brain all right — he had disappeared. Ricard glanced down at Charlie, apology in every line of his face.
‘I asked you …’
Ricard nodded sourly. ‘It’s all true. The wench was dead, her old man beside her.’
‘You all saw the bodies?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes,’ Ricard swallowed. The memory of the blood was enough to make the gorge rise all over again.
‘Friend, I think you should come and talk to us,’ Baldwin said from behind Simon. ‘This tale sounds most interesting.’
A little after the middle of the morning, Jean saw Arnaud leave the house with another man, this one cloaked and hooded, butfamiliar for all that.
What was the priest from Pamiers doing here? Jean was confused now, but he was sure of one thing: if he was to have his revengeon Arnaud, he must follow.
Arnaud and the priest were walking at a fair pace. They hurried along westwards, until they came to a group of houses in astreet near the river. Here the priest stopped and pointed, muttering to Arnaud. The executioner nodded twice, and then setoff in a hurry in the direction indicated.
Jean settled back in a doorway. They were growing to be his favourite place of concealment, he told himself with a smile.From here he could see Arnaud rapping on a door a little way along the street, and then entering. There was silence for what seemedan age after he went in, but then there was a sudden shriek, the door flew open, and a man rushed out into the street. Hisface was wild, and he stared up and down the way before choosing his direction and bolting.
It was one of the men from the English entourage. Jean had seen this one before — he was a knight, and from the way he grippedhis sword in his hands, he was ready to defend himself. Sure enough, a moment later Arnaud came out, a hand to a small cutabove his brow. The priest pointed urgently, and Arnaud gave chase, bellowing and roaring that the man was a murderer. A coupleof other men joined in the shouting, and soon there was a veritable mob hurtling along after Arnaud.
As they began to disappear round the bend in the street, the priest appeared to chuckle to himself, and then set off afterthem all, shaking his head as he went. There was something clearly very entertaining in the sight of the Paris mob in pursuitof a felon.
Jean waited until the priest had himself disappeared, and then went in by the door through which Arnaud and the man had exited.
He had seen plenty of death and horror in his life, but even Jean found this one shocking. Robert de Chatillon’s spread bodyon the table, his belly opened, the blood all over everywhere, spatters on the ceiling, droplets on every surface, and thesmell of blood and excrement over all. He covered his face to keep infection away, and hurriedly left.
Once outside again, he leaned against a beam and tried to keep his stomach under control. The sight of that poor man was enoughto make him want to throw up everything he had eaten for a week.
But there was one thing he was surprised at. The man had been killed very recently, and it couldn’t have been Arnaud, because Jean knew what he’d been doing, and where, for several hourspast.
Yet the man had been murdered, and that most hideously, for some purpose. The very man he had thought to speak to, to learnwhat he could tell about Arnaud and the Château Gaillard, was as dead as the garrison of the castle.
And that thought was a heavy one. All those who had been selected to guard the prison-castle had died, but for him. And hehad lived by the purest chance. The deaths were expected, too, because when he last saw that priest from Pamiers, he had beenon the wagon with the sergent in Les Andelys.
The priest must hold a clue to what was happening, he reckoned. There had been many deaths already, and he was fearful forhis own life, but he must learn what was going on.
Slowly, he began to set off after the hue and cry. However, before he had travelled very far, he started moving more swiftly.Like a boulder, the first few inches were slow, but as the momentum caught him he found himself gathering speed, until atlast he was running at full tilt.
He had the impression that today he might learn the truth about all the deaths. He didn’t know how, but he was going to tryto find out and then avenge them all.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ricard sat on the ground near Sir Baldwin, and told his tale. He looked to the others occasionally for verification of the details, butgenerally even Philip held his tongue. Charlie sat on Ricard’s thigh, looking about him with that childish appearance of innocenceand wonder that always amused Simon on the face of his own son.
‘So this lad is the child of the couple you found dead?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Yes. And it was Earl Edmund who told us to spy on the Queen for him.’
‘Why?’
‘He didn’t say. We assumed he wanted information about her. Damaging information. So that he could tell the King. Or Despenser.’
‘I see,’ Baldwin said. ‘But why did you think the Earl would want to do that?’
‘How were we to know he was an earl? All we knew was, he had men outside, he had two corpses inside, and we were stuffed whicheverway we looked at it.’
‘The boy,’ Simon asked quietly, ‘did he see his mother and father-’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ricard said hurriedly. ‘He was outside. I think he went there himself. Maybe he was told to. He sawnothing, I think.’
‘You’re a big fellow, aren’t you?’ Simon said pleasantly.
The boy met his gaze with a serious frown for a while, then slowly leaned sideways into Ricard’s chest for protection. Ricard absent-mindedly put his arm about him. ‘He trusts me.’
Baldwin nodded, and then he squatted on the ground in front of Ricard and the boy. He met the lad’s eye for a short period,then looked back to Ricard. ‘You have done well with him. He trusts you. But are you sure you have never seen him before?He would appear very unconcerned about his sad loss.’
‘He’s only a boy. Doesn’t hardly speak at all,’ Ricard said.
‘I see. So, Charlie. What is to be done with you? Will you remain with these fine musicians, or are you to find a new home?’