‘The boy is to be taken in by the knight Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. You know him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am concerned. The boy is my namesake, after all, and it would be wrong to allow him to be put in a position of danger, wouldn’t it?’
‘Undoubtedly. But what danger can there be with a knight of such reputation as Sir Baldwin?’
Sir Charles bent and whispered, ‘What if the knight were a Templar who had never retracted his oaths to the Order?’
Père Pierre was shocked. Disbelievingly, he drew away. ‘This is nonsense! How could he be! The Templars have been utterly destroyed. There is no sign of them any more. They are all gone.’
‘How many were killed? How many died in the flames compared with the total number of warriors before the arrests? The Germans all escaped, didn’t they? The Portuguese and Spanish too. How many survived, Père?’
The priest was a matter of feet away now, and he watched the knight with heavily lidded eyes. ‘If what you say is true, why are you telling me? Why not denounce him to your Queen and have him arrested?’
‘The Queen? Don’t you think she has enough to contend with here? Didn’t you hear that the papal envoys were with her all day yesterday? They’ll be there again today, too, but they won’t get anywhere. There’s no chance of peace. Not while Mortimer lives.’
‘Why is that?’
‘He is holding meetings with her,’ Sir Charles said offhandedly. ‘He’ll try to delay the negotiations, keep them going but have them mired in problems so that the Queen remains here — except she won’t stay. The King her husband will demand her return before long. She is terrified of being taken back again, but she must obey her own husband. So no, she has no desire to see Sir Baldwin arrested and put on trial.’
‘But you do?’
‘He is a Templar. I do not mind that. Even if he is a heretic, he has behaved well enough towards me. But if this boy is given to him, what might he do to him? That is my concern.’
‘You must not allow the boy to go with him, then.’
‘How can I prevent it?’
‘Bring him to me. Let me look after him,’ Père Pierre said, and quickly gave him his address near the Louvre.
‘I will do that,’ Sir Charles said. ‘I shall be glad to leave this city.’
‘You do not enjoy this place? I find it refreshing. So beautiful, so well regulated and organised. There are few such cities in the world.’
‘Alas, all I feel is a malevolence, a violence always near.’
‘You must not think of the place in terms of the last few weeks, with all the deaths,’ Père Pierre said. ‘They were heretics. Men who deserved their end.’
‘Even Robert de Chatillon?’
‘Oh, yes. He served the Comte de Foix, and Foix was deeply involved in the heresies of his region. He deserved to die, and so did Chatillon.’
‘What of the others?’
‘If there were any who were innocent, God will know them as His own,’ Pierre said easily. ‘Ah. My house.’
‘I thank you for your help,’ Sir Charles said. With a casual look up and down the road, he waited until the priest had opened his door. Then Sir Charles swiftly thrust it wide, drew his sword, and ran Père Pierre’s body through three times. Finally, while the priest squirmed on the ground, choking in his own blood, Sir Charles swept his blade along the man’s belly.
‘There. If God wants you, He can have you, and welcome!’
Baldwin was waiting in the château.
‘You told him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will he come?’
‘No. I killed him there.’
Baldwin gaped. ‘You did what?’
‘Did you really expect me to allow Paul’s murderer to live?’
‘But-’
‘How did I know he’d done it? It’s the talk of the château. And now, if you do not mind, I shall take my rest and wait for the King of France’s men to come and get me.’
‘I do mind. You fool! I wanted to make sure that we had him here to confess in front of witnesses. Now what can we do? His body is where?’
‘In his house. It’s a single building on a road near the river.’
‘Were you seen going to it?’
‘I don’t think so. But many will have seen me leave the church with him, I suppose.’
‘I wish I’d never told you what John de Sapy said about his liking that church,’ Baldwin muttered.
‘You’re more worried about that than about telling me you were a Templar?’
Baldwin hesitated, eyeing him contemplatively. ‘I think I trust you within your limits. I wouldn’t be so sure, were there a lot of money involved.’
‘Ha! Well, Mortimer has gone, I think.’
‘Perhaps so. Simon? Wait here with Sir Charles a while. I must fetch something.’
He returned a short while later, something bundled in his cloak, and motioned to them to join him as he walked from the castle.
Sir Charles had an excellent memory even for the tiny alleys and lanes of Paris, and before long he had led them to the house where Pierre had lived. There they waited a moment, but there was no sound of alarm, and no apparent interest in them or in the house they were waiting beside.
‘Come,’ Baldwin said, and hurried inside. ‘We do not have much time.’
‘Why? There is no urgency,’ Simon pointed out.
‘Simon, this is Easter Day. There will be people in the streets soon. We must be swift.’
‘What do you want us to do?’
Baldwin opened his cloak. Inside was the barrel of black powder which Robert de Chatillon had given him. He stood a moment, peering down at the ruined body of Pierre. Then he withdrew the bung from the barrel and poured a dribble of powder from the body to the door. When that was done, he took one more handful from the barrel, then placed it beside the body. ‘Come!’
Outside, he looked up the road again. There was no one in sight. He sprinkled the powder from his hand to make a fine line from the first, leading over the threshold and out to the road.
‘No one coming?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Simon said.
Good, Baldwin thought to himself. And he prayed quickly before setting flint to his dagger-blade. There was a spark, then another, and finally one which hit a grain.
‘Simon?’
‘Yes?’
‘RUN!’
Chapter Forty-Five
Monday after Easter 25
Queen’s chamber, Château de Bois
Queen Isabella received the messenger in her front chamber. As soon as she appeared, the man stood aside in the doorway to show her brother behind him.
‘My lord,’ she gasped, curtseying low.
‘Get up, woman! In Christ’s name, there’s no time for this nonsense.’
‘What is it? Is it the papal envoys?’
‘Papal envoys be damned! Do you not know what your people have been doing while you’ve been here?’
‘Your royal highness, I am very confused. Will you please tell me what the matter is?’
‘One of your delegation has killed one of my most trusted servants.’
‘What? Who is dead?’
‘A clerk in my service.’
‘Who? What is his name?’
‘He was called Pierre de Pamiers, and I want to speak to your Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. I am sure it was he.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why are you so sure that it was Sir Baldwin?’
‘Because he was asking me about him the day before. Then yesterday Pierre’s house went up in smoke, and when we reached it and could put out the flames, there was the body of this priest inside, burned and mangled.’
‘No one actually saw him, then?’
‘You want me to find someone who saw him there? I will be happy to do so.’
‘No. I want somebody who can tell me with their hand on the Gospels that they did truly see Sir Baldwin there. Not a feigned witness, a real one.’
‘You doubt my words?’
‘Brother, who was this man? Why should a foreigner hate him enough to murder him?’