‘This is fascinating, but I do not know what you want me to say in response to this nonsense.’
‘There was the other old man, too. He and Arnaud were supposed to kill all the guards, I suppose. And since then, it has been your duty to tidy up all the loose ends. You were to kill the Comte de Foix, weren’t you? And it struck you as amusing to do it in such a way that it might incriminate no one; that it would be clever to leave him with an explosion so that it would appear as though he had suffered a terrible accident. So you put that powder beneath him and ignited it.’
‘I know nothing of such matters.’
‘Really? Yet I saw you at his side when he fired his gonne. It scared my horse, and when I turned, there you were, just behind him as he laughed. You must have heard him speak of his weapon.’
‘No. Perhaps he was showing someone else, and that person heard all about the gonne, but I was thinking of other things.’
‘Really?’ Baldwin said again. His voice was drooling with sarcasm now, and his disbelief was apparent. It was deeply shaming for a priest to have to hear such doubt.
‘Did you hear what happened to Arnaud?’ Simon asked.
‘Arnaud? He is at the inn near the—’
‘No. He got into a fight with Jean yesterday. He is here,’ Baldwin said.
‘Oh?’ Pierre said enquiringly. ‘Perhaps I should see him, then.’
‘Yes. It would please you to remove yet another embarrassment,’ Baldwin said.
‘You accuse me of killing him?’
‘Let us think of Paul, too, the man you found outside the castle here on the night of last Wednesday,’ Baldwin said. He was trying to make the man stumble in his tale, but it was clearly going to be a hard task. ‘You found him in a terrible state, badly beaten, and chose to kill him. Was it only because he was already so weakened? Like Robert de Chatillon? Another loose end in your coil of rope. No one likes to leave a loose end lying around where it might trip up the unwary, do they? So you had him slaughtered too, and then sought to put all the blame on your easiest target: an Englishman, who also happened to know what had happened in London. But the plan went awry, because he managed to knock Arnaud to the ground, and then escaped back to the castle.’
‘Why should I want to do any of this? To kill this Paul? This Robert?’
‘Robert, I believe, knew more than he told me about the garrison. It was through him that you hired all the men for the Château Gaillard, wasn’t it? Through him you collected together Jean and the others, so when his usefulness was done it was only right that he should also be silenced for ever. But why you killed Paul, I do not know. Unless it was chance. You happened upon him as you walked the streets of Paris.’
‘Why should I kill a man for seeing me?’ Pierre said reasonably, his hands outstretched.
‘He had been looking for someone,’ Baldwin said. ‘But perhaps … perhaps he found another when he had been released. Did he see you leaving some other place where you ought not to have been?’
‘I do not know what you are talking about, my friend. And I think I have heard enough wild accusations. I would like to see my old friend Arnaud. Where is he?’
‘Let us take you to him,’ Simon said with a short grin. ‘Follow me, Father.’
Pierre walked along behind the fellow. Really, these English were growing too arrogant for words. He did not like the way that the other man walked behind him, either. It made him feel rather like a prisoner.
They were heading towards a small chapel, he saw, and he frowned quickly, but then shrugged. Perhaps they had some idea that he would tell them more in God’s house – but if so they would be disappointed. He had no intention of telling them anything more at all.
His journey had been so long, from those far-off days when he and Arnaud had first arrived in Pamiers ten or more years ago, frustrated and bitter to be dropped in so far-away and wild an area. They had stopped in that little place near a village, where, God help him, he had been so sorely tempted by that woman. And yes, he had taken her. Against her wishes. And killed her afterwards.
It was an act which was uniquely vile in the eyes of many, but for him it was a necessary evacuation of all those humours which sent a man mad. All knew that men must expel the foul liquid every so often, and she had been a useful receptacle. Nothing more. Then her husband returned from the wars, and he had lived in fear for a while that the fellow might come and try to punish him for his aberration. But he hadn’t. In fact, although Pierre had ordered him to be followed and spied upon, hoping that he would display the same heretical tendencies as so many others, and that he might be able to have him arrested and tortured, Jean had simply been quiet. It was almost as though he had lived his entire life in the last year or two, and wanted nothing so much as to sit back and endure until his end.
But then one day he opened his mouth in a tavern, and by chance one of Bishop Fournier’s men was in the room at the same time. He was reported, arrested, questioned in detail, and gaoled. Only with the help of Arnaud was he released into the Comte’s hands, and thence taken up to Normandy.
He entered the dark chapel, and trailed after the bailiff to the altar, where three bodies remained. There was a man there at their side, praying, and Pierre suddenly recognised Peter of Oxford. ‘My friend, how are you?’ he said with a smile.
But Peter was not so friendly as he had been on their journey here. ‘Père Pierre. God save you.’
It was not the fulsome response he had expected, but no matter. Pierre walked to the bodies. ‘One of these is Arnaud?’
Peter motioned with his hand. ‘He’s there.’
Baldwin gestured. ‘Please satisfy yourself it is the correct man.’
‘Ah. I am sorry to see that it was Arnaud. The poor man.’
‘He was an executioner,’ Simon pointed out.
‘But a good man … tormented, but he tried his best. Still, it was a terrible thing he did. Robert de Chatillon, whom John de Sapy found dead in his chamber. This Arnaud was there with John. I do not know which killed Chatillon, but I would be inclined to think that it was Arnaud.’
‘What?’ Peter said. He was frowning at Pierre.
‘I think so. I find it hard to accept that a knight, an English knight, could execute a man in that manner. But a torturer and executioner? It would be natural for him.’
‘You blame him for Chatillon’s death?’
‘I only say what I believe happened.’
‘I suppose you blame him for Comte de Foix’s death as well?’
‘I have to assume that …’
‘I should warn you, Pierre, that I spoke to Arnaud before his death,’ Peter said firmly. His face showed revulsion. ‘He confessed his sins. He had time. And he told me all he had done. And for whom.’
‘You cannot repeat things told to you under the seal of the confessional,’ Pierre said, aghast.
‘No. But I can call on all the angels and archangels and all the saints in heaven to witness your words now, Père. For what you say here, in this holy house of God, must be the truth, no matter what. A lie in here would be the same as a lie told barefaced to God Himself. Do you dare perjure yourself in here?’
Père Pierre felt his resolve slipping. ‘You seek to accuse me?’
‘No. I only listen. Along with all God’s Host.’
‘I will not remain here to be insulted!’
‘You are free to leave,’ Baldwin said.
Pierre took one long look at him, then turned on his heel and marched from the chapel. Behind him he heard the knight coming after him, but once he was outside the following steps stopped, and he shot a look over his shoulder to see the knight standing in the doorway, watching.
There was nothing to it. Nothing at all. They could do nothing against him, that much was certain. The King’s anger would be fearful, were they to do anything to him. No, he was secure.
He was crossing the yard when he heard bellowing voices, laughter, and then a shriek. Turning, he saw a little boy being
up-ended over the shoulder of some man as he ran. On the way, he kicked a ball by accident, and it fell a short distance from Père Pierre. He stooped to it, and picked it up. It was a simple wooden ball, solid and unyielding, chipped and dented where it had been dropped or thrown. He tossed it into the air and caught it, smiling.
Then the boy caught sight of him and his face seemed to constrict, somehow, his eyes widening, and then his mouth opened and he uttered the panicked, mortal shriek of a soul in distress.
And Père Pierre’s face changed. He stopped and stared, at first in astonishment, and then disgust. He put his hand to his belt as though to draw a knife, but his action was seen. Ricard held tight to Charlie, and Simon and Baldwin hurried to them.
‘The young bastard should have died in London,’ the good père declared. He spat at the ground, then spun and marched from the château.
Simon and Baldwin sat down at a table with Peter of Oxford in the main hall with jugs of wine and earthenware cups.
‘So, Baldwin, what was that all about?’ Peter asked.
‘The boy recognised him. It was something of a gamble on my part, but I thought it might work. The lad’s apparent calmness in the face of all seemed to me to show that he had not seen the actual death of the woman or her husband, but I felt sure, from all Ricard told us, that he must have been scared. After all, the fellow was found hiding himself in a little hutch in the yard, if Ricard was telling the truth. And yet he went with the men happily enough. So I think he was there when the woman and her man arrived home with all the musicians, and they were left in the yard to sleep off the drinks. Meanwhile, I think that the priest came to the door. The boy was probably woken by all the noise, and heard the priest’s arrival. Maybe the woman woke him, though, and sent him to his hiding place.’
‘We could ask the lad,’ Simon suggested.
‘He is three or so, Simon. Would he understand what we were asking?’
‘He is a very bright fellow.’
‘Perhaps. But to ask him about this would undoubtedly upset him. Better, I am sure, to guess, and to leave him alone. I do not want to upset my witness. So, she woke him, perhaps, and sent him out. He had seen the priest, though, through some hole in a floorboard, let us conjecture, so he recognised the man. And then he fled.’
Peter frowned. ‘But Father Pierre was with us all the way from the coast, near enough. Why didn’t the boy recognise him before?’
‘I saw him once that I remember, on the day I had an argument with Comte de Foix. I scarcely remember seeing you at all.’
‘I was busy. There was a portable altar, and I spent much of my time with it,’ Peter said ruefully.
‘And I have no doubt that the priest managed to lose himself as well. The boy simply didn’t see him then. But he certainly did this morning.’
‘So what now?’ Simon asked, rubbing his hands together. ‘Do you want to walk to the Louvre and explain what this deeply unpleasant little prick has been getting up to?’
Baldwin toyed with his wine cup.
‘Baldwin?’ Simon said, suddenly anxious.
‘I do not think I can, Simon. If I do, I think I shall upset the King. He did not want the truth to come out, and only reluctantly allowed me to question his little priest.’
‘You think it could be hazardous?’ Simon asked more quietly, thinking about the Templar cross on Baldwin’s sword.
‘Yes – but not for me!’ Baldwin leaned down, beckoning the others to do the same. When their heads were close, he whispered, ‘The boy himself is the target. That is what Mortimer told me, Simon, that there is a little treasure. The boy!’
‘What makes him so valuable?’
‘Think, man! We’ve heard about how the King’s first wife was so cruelly treated. Installed in a cold dungeon and left there for years. And then, in order to provide evidence for the annulment of the marriage, he gave orders that men should be gathered together and told to rape his wife. He wanted her to be shown to be a lewd woman without decency.’
‘She was an adulterer,’ Peter said.
‘How many married men can claim never to have touched another woman in their lives?’ Baldwin demanded.
‘From the confessions I hear …’ Peter began, but then he shook his head.
‘Precisely,’ Baldwin said. What happened was, she was raped several times, but only by this repellent creature Arnaud. Whether he was to her taste or not, I do not know. All I do know is, she fell pregnant. Arnaud was sure that the child was his own, I dare say. So he wanted to see it protected. But others had different ideas. The boy must die, so that there was no possibility later of a supposititious child arriving to confuse the next coronation. But somehow, the woman Thomassia and her husband took the child and fled. Not only the town, but the country. They went all the way to London, and took Master Charlie with them.’
‘This is all guesswork,’ Simon said.
‘No. It is mostly gleaned from the people we have questioned, and some of it is deduced.’
‘Then why?’ Simon asked. ‘What would a priest be doing trying to kill all these people?’
‘Perhaps he happens to be close to his king?’ Baldwin guessed. ‘If Charles knows him well, maybe that’s why he chose to ask him to help?’
‘That horse won’t ride,’ Peter said with a firm shake of his head. ‘No. I think Père Pierre is not of that temper. If a king told a priest to go and commit murder, he would refuse.’
‘But we can be sure that this man is guilty of many murders,’ Baldwin said. ‘Your intervention in the chapel showed that.’
‘Yes. Well. I was not going to have a man blaspheme by lying about his offences – especially since he was attempting to have the blame put entirely on the shoulders of a dead man who had confessed while in the proximity of his own death. A man in that position doesn’t lie.’
‘Which crimes did he confess to?’ Baldwin asked innocently.
‘A good try, Sir Baldwin. I am not so gullible that I can fall for that. His confession is between him and God.’
‘If that priest is as guilty as we think,’ Simon said, ‘is there any way we could bring him to justice?’
‘I think that to be able to do that, we’d need the full support of the King. And I have no authority here, as he pointed out. Nor do you!’
‘So he escapes? After so many deaths, he just walks away?’
‘I fear that may well be the case,’ Baldwin said heavily.
‘It is not right,’ Simon said.
‘No. But in a foreign country, there is little else we can do but accept its customs.’
‘I still wonder what would lead a man of God into such actions,’ Peter said.
‘He was staying with you during the journey here – did he give you no indication of what sort of man he is? No clues as to his thinking or anything?’
‘The only thing I picked up from him was his hatred of heresy. He does detest those from his old home who profess the Christian faith, and then go and hold their own heretical services afterwards, considering the Catholic religion to be a perverted form of Jesus’s. Apparently it’s common down in the south.’
‘And this Jean came from the south. It is part of the comté, too,’ Baldwin noted. ‘So the Comte was responsible for that area. Perhaps the priest thought that these men were responsible for the heresy? He was eradicating it and doing a service for God.’
‘I have known religious madmen, but that would be stretching the point,’ Peter said.
‘I agree,’ Simon said. ‘I would think his motive was simpler. He wanted either money or power. If it was money, he would be sure of a reward if he was capable of providing this service to the King; if power, no doubt the King would petition his bishop for his advancement.’
‘Advancement …’ Baldwin wondered. ‘Surely a priest would gain all the worldly wealth he could desire as he clambered up the ladder from novice to clerk to deacon and so on. A man like Pierre would have gained all he wanted as he rose through the ranks, and if he w
ere to rise but a little farther, he would command much influence and money.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think he’d ever have enough to justify so many deaths on his conscience,’ Peter said.
‘There are some men who do not think of other men. Sir Hugh le Despenser is one of them. Perhaps this priest is in the same mould?’ Baldwin wondered. Then he stood. ‘Simon, come! We have more work to do.’
Chapter Forty-Four
They found Sir John de Sapy sitting disconsolate in the little yard near the Queen’s chambers.
‘Sir Peter and Sir Charles will have little to do with me since they heard of my efforts,’ he said. ‘But I swear, all I wanted was to be sure of my post at court.’
‘Others are always jealous when someone manages to ingratiate himself with the man they would also like to be close to,’ Baldwin said.
‘I just don’t want to be outlawed again.’
‘Tell me, then, the priest. Père Pierre. How did you come to meet him?’
‘My brother introduced me in a tavern. He said that if I wanted to get into Sir Hugh’s favour, I should help the priest. All I had to do was lead him to that house in London, nothing more, and then keep guard outside. I heard some noises … but I didn’t think he was going to kill anyone. He was a priest! Later I was taken to Despenser’s hall. You know the Temple? He thanked me there. Despenser told me that aiding this little priest had shown I was trustworthy enough for his household. That was when he offered me this embassy.’
‘Knowing that all the loose ends would be snipped away,’ Baldwin noted. ‘He was planning to kill you, Sir John.’
‘Sweet Jesus! Does that mean my brother … ?’
‘I think he will be safe enough. And when you yourself return home, you can tell him what happened over here, which will itself be of use to him.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so,’ he said, looking anything but confident.
‘Now, Sir John, is there anything that could tell us what made the priest want to kill the family?’
The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover: (Knights Templar 24) Page 42
