The King’s Assassin (42 page)

‘He has served King John loyally, despite everything, and with scant reward for his steadfastness…’

‘Is that what he wants? A reward? If he would come over to the King’s side, renew his homage in public, I’m sure we could arrange something. And for you, too, that unpleasantness at St Paul’s can be forgotten. You could have more lands, a shrievalty, perhaps a lordship…’

‘This is unworthy of you, my lord, to come to us with bribes.’

For the first time in my life, I saw the Marshal look abashed. His face flushed and he looked away. Brother Geoffrey said nothing. Then William said gruffly: ‘I do not much relish the role of beggar man, Alan, but I must think of the kingdom. You and your rebels will tear England apart. If you will not be reasonable it will come to war, civil war, Englishman killing Englishman, brother at the throat of brother. The Anarchy all over again. Is that what you all want?’

‘The King must be curbed,’ I said. ‘He cannot continue as he has in the past. You know as well as I how he behaves. No baron with any spirit can abide it any longer. You talk of civil war: it is the King who is forcing war upon the country.’

‘There is no hope of reconciliation, then?’

‘I do not believe so, my lord. It is the charter or nothing.’

The Earl of Pembroke let out a great sigh. ‘I thought as much. But you will make the King’s offer to my lord of Locksley? Tell him he can have anything, within reason, that his heart desires if he will help to end this foolishness.’

‘I will tell him, but it will not change his mind.’

The Marshal nodded. He rose from his bench. ‘I can at least do some good while I am here. I do not like to waste a journey.’ He stomped across the courtyard, shouting: ‘Robert Dale, you sir, you hold that sword as if it were a goose feather! You want to kill your opponent, not tickle him. Here, boy, let me show you…’

As I watched Robert cut and lunge against imaginary opponents to the Marshal’s jovial exhortations to strike harder, for the love of God, the Templar spoke for the first time.

‘You think you are safe here, with all your men-at-arms. But you are not.’

‘Really?’ I said. ‘I believe my life is safer than yours at this moment.’

The almoner glared at me.

‘You see that big fellow over there,’ I said, pointing at Boot, who was stacking heavy sacks of grain in the far corner of the courtyard.

‘The black brute? What of him?’

‘That is the fellow who was to execute me that last time we met,’ I said. ‘He would have snapped my neck like a chicken at the sheriff’s command a few hours after you left me. Now he willingly serves me. And at my word he would end you without a moment’s hesitation, if I but asked him.’

‘You think I fear death? I serve God and the Knights of the Temple. I am protected in this life and the next. I have no fear of your threats,’ he said. But I saw that his hand had strayed very close to his sword hilt and he was eyeing my huge friend with a good deal of trepidation.

‘You miss my point, Templar. I make no threats to you. I only wish you to know that I too have powerful friends. And I make this promise to you. If you and your Order will leave me in peace, I will leave you unmolested too. But if not…’

‘The Order will have the Grail from you. We shall not rest, I shall not rest, until we have recovered it.’

‘What I told you last time is Gospel true,’ I said. ‘I give you my word. The Grail is gone. It is destroyed. It is no more.’

The Templar was staring fixedly at Thomas and Robert, who were standing side by side and watching the Marshal demonstrate a complicated hooking manoeuvre with the sword. ‘Our informant,’ he said, and he seemed almost involuntarily to jerk his chin at the three figures in the centre of the courtyard, ‘has told us otherwise.’

Brother Geoffrey looked directly at me, his eyes seemed to burn with rage: ‘Know this, Sir Alan, neither you nor your master shall have any peace until you deliver the true Grail into my hands. I give you my word on it.’

The Marshal, Brother Geoffrey and their men left without staying for dinner. Which was just as well as I did not think I could be civil over bread and meat to the Templar after what had passed between us. The Earl of Pembroke jested that he had to hurry back to the King’s side before he did anything foolish, but before they rode off he asked me once again to convey his message to Robin.

I set off for Kirkton the next day, alone, leaving Thomas in command of the garrison at Westbury with orders to double the guard until further notice. As it happened, I encountered Robin around noon a dozen miles south of Kirkton, marching on the road with a company of a hundred exhausted young recruits, breaking them in, as he called it, with the help of Hugh and Miles.

As his sons ordered a break from the march and oversaw the distribution of ale and bread to the men, I conferred with Robin at a little distance from the rest of the company. I did not want what I had to say to be overheard.

‘The Marshal came to see me,’ I told my lord.

He nodded as if he had expected this news. ‘Did he have anything to say?’

‘Not really – he was looking to woo us to the King’s side by offering inducements, lands, titles. I told him we weren’t interested. As we agreed, I said it must be the charter or nothing.’

‘Well done, Alan,’ said my lord, ‘but why then did you charge all the way up here to see me?’

‘The Earl of Pembroke brought his almoner with him.’

‘The Templar? The fellow who thinks we have the Grail?’

‘Yes – and he’s not going to give up his conviction easily.’

‘I am beginning to seriously dislike this fellow,’ said Robin. ‘He’s the one who tells us we have an informer in our ranks, isn’t he?’

‘He says the informer told him we still have the Grail.’

Robin sighed. ‘We need to talk about this, I suppose. You think the person who betrayed you to the King is the same as the man who spills our darkest secrets to the Templars. Is that right?’ My lord did not sound convinced.

‘It would make more sense. I cannot believe we have two traitors in our ranks,’ I said.

‘And who do you think this master of deception might be?’

I looked at the ground beneath our horses.

‘You rode up here to tell me this, Alan, you must have someone in mind.’

‘I think it is Sir Thomas Blood.’

It pained me to say the name. But Robin looked puzzled.

‘Why Thomas?’

‘Brother Geoffrey all but pointed him out to me and said he was his informant.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, he was looking at Thomas when he was speaking of his source, and he indicated him with his chin.’

Robin was silent for a while. ‘I’m not sure, Alan. It doesn’t feel right. The Templar could be trying to misdirect us. I can’t see why Thomas would do it.’

‘For the most common reason there is: for money. Thomas loves to game, as you know, he plays knucklebones and he has debts – he owes the Templars a great deal of money. He might well have traded information for a remission of his debts.’

‘Do you think he would do that?’ said Robin, still looking doubtful.

‘Remember his father? A Welshman hired to kill you back, oh, more than twenty years ago. He was in the pay of Ralph Murdac and came into your solar at night and I killed him in the dark. Could you forgive the man who killed your father? I couldn’t.’

‘But Thomas has always been the very model of loyalty. He has never once been anything less. I cannot believe it.’

‘Thomas was with us at Montségur, he must have known about the false Grail and the trick we played on the Templars of Toulouse. He was at Westbury when I went to Alnwick to plot with de Vesci and Fitzwalter, and still there when I went to St Paul’s to make my attempt on the King. In fact, he saw me practising with the misericorde days beforehand.’

‘I cannot imagine Thomas doing that,’ said Robin, ‘Not Thomas. I’m sorry, but I cannot believe he means us harm.’

‘Who else could it be?’

‘Oh, Alan, it could be any number of people – a lot of folk could know about the Grail. How many men did we ride away from Montségur with – five, six, was it seven? One of them could have known about the switch and told a legion of friends – I can imagine old Claes, in his cups, regaling a tavern full of people about how he fooled the noble Order of the Temple, making his cronies laugh like donkeys. I did not expect it to remain a secret for this long. As for the person who betrayed your plot to the King – I would look to de Vesci and his people in Alnwick. Even if it was not the fellow they caught and tortured to death, King John could well have other spies in their camp. I truly think you have it wrong.’

I was silent for a moment. Perhaps Robin was right and I was wrong. Was Thomas a good and loyal friend? Was I maligning an innocent man?

‘This is the problem with traitors,’ said Robin. ‘We’ve had a few in our ranks over the years – I know that – but one can become over-suspicious, distrusting the innocent as well as the guilty. Do not say anything to Thomas, Alan, I beg you. Let us watch, see if we can catch him out. But don’t do anything rash.’

On my return to Westbury, I watched Sir Thomas Blood day and night and I could see nothing suspicious in his demeanour. He trained with Robert every day, and whereas my boy had once hated him, it was clear that his emotion had been transformed into something close to adulation. The two of them were now close and even when they were not training, they seemed to spend a good deal of time together talking about tactics and strategy. Thomas’s behaviour was always impeccable. He was liked by everyone at Westbury. It seemed that he had even turned over a new leaf.

‘Sir Alan,’ he said to me one day, when I was sitting in the courtyard after breakfast with my eyes closed taking some sun. ‘Forgive my intrusion.’

If I am honest, I must admit that I had been taking a short nap. I opened my eyes and saw Thomas standing before me with a pretty young girl of about twenty summers. She curtseyed prettily and I lumbered to my feet to greet her.

‘This is Mary,’ said Thomas. ‘She is Athelstan’s daughter, from the village. And she has kindly agreed to become my betrothed in the summer. But we would both very much like your blessing on our union.’

‘Mary, daughter of Athelstan, of course,’ I said. ‘My hearty congratulations to you both. And, of course, you have my blessing!’

‘Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll look after him properly,’ said Mary. And I noticed that her belly was a good deal rounder than a twenty-year-old farm girl’s should be.

‘It seems you will have more responsibilities soon, Thomas,’ I said.

Thomas smiled. ‘I’m ready for them, sir,’ he said. ‘Mary has made a new man of me – she has even convinced me to forsake the bones. I’ve made her a solemn vow on my honour. No more gaming.’

I believed him. I think it was his simple joy and evident love for Mary that convinced me that I had indeed been wrong about him. No man that transparently happy could have such a duplicitous heart. Robin was right. He was not the traitor – and I felt very relieved that I had not confronted him with my suspicions.

In early April, at dusk, Robin came to Westbury with Miles and Hugh. While the young men went off in great high spirits to drink ale in the pantry and make their boyish jests together, Robin and I took a sober cup of watered wine and repaired to the hall to talk. But the first thing Robin said set me laughing like a loon.

‘King John has taken the cross,’ said my lord. ‘He has vowed to ride to the Holy Land and free Jerusalem from the Saracens.’

‘Oh, that is a good one,’ I said, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes. ‘King John as a warrior pilgrim! Tell me another.’

‘It is quite true, Alan,’ said Robin, but he too was smiling.

‘If the Lionheart could not do it, I cannot imagine John managing that impossible feat,’ I said. ‘Besides, who would go with him? He can barely get his knights to fight for him on the other side of the Channel. Is he planning to go all that way on his own, carrying his own weapons and kit? Ha-ha!’

‘Oh, I doubt there is anyone in England who thinks he will achieve it, but it is a clever move. As a holy pilgrim he comes under the protection of the Church.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, suddenly understanding. ‘It means that if we attack him we are attacking the Church, attacking God, in effect.’

‘Exactly,’ said Robin. ‘The Pope is now his strongest supporter.’

‘So what does that mean for us, for the charter?’

‘Well, your friend Fitzwalter is a clever fellow, I’ll grant him that. He says if John is on the side of the angels, then we must be too. We must be at least as holy or even holier than him. He is marching south now with de Vesci and a dozen other northern barons – and he is calling his forces the Army of God. He proclaims our cause as the cause of the Church, too, as we are fighting for the liberties of the English church. If John wants to play the pious zealot, we must play the same game.’

I recalled Archbishop Langton’s insistence that the first clause of the charter of liberties should be a call for a free English church, and remembered also my distinct feeling that the great prelate, Robin and Fitzwalter had been planning this long before our supposedly accidental meeting in Alnwick.

‘So we are truly on the march, then?’ I said.

‘We muster at Brackley,’ said Robin, ‘in two weeks’ time.’

The Army of God, which gathered in the last week of April at Brackley, about twenty miles south of Northampton, was a good deal less impressive than its name. Robin brought as many men as he could spare from the defence of Kirkton, some forty men-at-arms on foot and a dozen of them mounted. I brought de Vesci’s borrowed men-at-arms south with me, returning them reluctantly to their rightful master, but that meant I was forced to leave a garrison of my own folk with Baldwin at Westbury and in the end all I could contribute to the Army of God was half a dozen men-at-arms and one knight – Sir Thomas Blood. Robert Fitzwalter’s men – including Lord de Vesci’s cavalry and contingents from other barons including the earls of Winchester and Essex and the Bishop of Hereford – numbered fewer than a thousand.

It was not much of an army with which to challenge a King.