The King’s Assassin (48 page)

‘You would be right to fear that,’ I said, feeling the good wine rushing through my veins. ‘When your men came to Westbury we taught them a valuable lesson; and we will gladly teach them another at any time you care to choose.’

‘Alan!’ said Robin, frowning at me. ‘The Master is our guest, do not give him cause for offence today, I beg you.’

‘I know Sir Alan of old,’ said Sir Aymeric, ‘and I have admired him for years; it would take a great deal for a man of his courage and skill to offend me. And since he has brought it up – I must apologise for the events at Westbury last spring. Brother Geoffrey was a zealous knight, a true warrior of Christ, of course, and a fine priest, but he did sometimes overreach himself. Mistakes were made—’

‘You said he
was
a zealous knight,’ I said, my anger close to boiling over. ‘Do you no longer consider him one?’

‘Alas, my friend, Brother Geoffrey has been called to God.’

I was stunned. ‘Do you mean he is dead?’ I said stupidly.

‘Sadly so. He was set upon by a murderous thief in London not far from the gates of the Temple itself just two days ago. Some blackguard lay in wait for him and cut his throat from ear to ear, nearly took his head off.’

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ said Robin, smoothly. ‘The streets of London grow more perilous by the day. We really must do something about it.’

‘Indeed, and it was a most curious crime. The thief must have been a man of prowess, for Brother Geoffrey, while advanced in age, was still a formidable fighter, and yet this thief defeated him with no great difficulty, or so it would seem. Poor Brother Geoffrey’s purse was missing – which is why it must have been a thief – but his body was also mutilated. His attacker cut his manhood from his body and left his male part in the poor fellow’s mouth.’

Sir Aymeric’s tone had hardened as he spoke these words. ‘We will investigate the matter further and with all the resources at our disposal. And rest assured that we will find the thief, in time, and when we do Brother Geoffrey will be avenged.’

There was a long, awkward silence in that hot tent. Not a man spoke. I was frowning at Robin. Two days ago? Surely Robin did not know what kind of man Brother Geoffrey was before yesterday at breakfast.

‘More wine, Sir Aymeric,’ said my lord in a voice of silk.

‘Thank you, yes. But perhaps we had better get to the crux of things,’ said the Master of the Temple briskly. ‘Do you have it? Do you have the Grail? Will you willingly surrender it to me?’

‘No,’ said Robin. ‘I do not have it, and I will tell you why.’

‘You say you do not have it,’ said Sir Aymeric slowly. ‘Why then did you invite me here today?’

‘My lord, you know well enough that I am not – how shall I put it? – the most devoted of the Church’s servants.’

Sir Aymeric made a coughing sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh.

Robin continued: ‘I fully admit that I did not treat fairly with Guy d’Épernay outside the walls of Montségur. I gave him a false Grail. I lied to him. But I had already made a solemn commitment concerning that relic to another man, an old priest and my friend, that I particularly wished to honour. Also, I am the kind of man who does not respond well to threats. I wished to save my men and also honour my promise to my friend, and so I played your Order false. I am sorry, I am truly sorry for my actions and yet, I might well do the same again if I found myself in the same circumstances. I gave the false relic to the Templars. But mark this: the true one, much later, was destroyed in a fire in Toulouse. It was an object made of very old cedar wood and I saw it burn, and so did Sir Alan, for that matter. The true Grail no longer exists and I will swear on the souls of my two children’ – Robin pointed at Miles and Hugh – ‘that now I speak only the truth in this matter.’

Sir Aymeric had his head cocked on one side and he seemed to be solemnly weighing Robin’s words.

‘The true Grail is no more,’ said Robin, ‘but I would make amends to your Order for what I have done. And this is what I will offer in recompense. I will grant one wish, one boon, any favour that it is within my power to fulfil, anything to you as Master of the English Templars, or to any of your successors. If you ask me to kill a man, even a close friend or relative, I will do it with no questions asked. If you ask me to bathe in the font at St Paul’s or juggle apples at Nottingham fair, I will do it with no demurral or hesitation. For one time only, your Order’s lightest wish is my command. That is what I offer you if you will put this matter behind us. One favour, for the wrong I did you.’

The Master of the Templars was smiling calmly at Robin.

‘Three favours, my lord of Locksley,’ he said. ‘The true Grail, the cup of Christ, is worth at least three of your favours.’

‘No,’ said Robin, his voice hard as stone. ‘I will not change my offer. One favour is all I will give you. And I would remind you that I am not altogether defenceless. If you wish to make war on me and my friends – well, I believe we can withstand the force of your arms and even strike a few telling blows against the Order ourselves. If you choose war, so be it.’

‘Enough,’ said Aymeric. ‘Let us not descend to vulgar bluster. I do in fact believe you when you say the Grail is destroyed – it was reported lost to fire by the Templars of Toulouse. I had hoped that it was not true, but now I believe I must accept that it is. I do not think you would swear on the lives of your children that it was lost were it a lie. I am also pleased that you did not increase your offer to three favours. If you intended to be dishonest in this regard, it is as easy to promise three false boons as one. So I accept your offer – on behalf of the Order, myself and my successors. And we shall call on you for it, you may be sure of that. But until that day, I will treat you as a friend and not an enemy, and I trust you will do the same.’

The Templar raised his wine cup and drank.

‘I shall be honoured to,’ said Robin, and he, too, raised his cup and drained it.

When Sir Aymeric has taken his leave. I asked Thomas to accompany me for a stroll around the field of Runnymede while the servants began to dismantle the tent and pack our gear. The wine had given me something of a headache and, much as I longed to lie down somewhere quiet, I could not rest until I had said my piece to the dark-haired knight. We walked down the bank of the brown, slow-rolling Thames and sat on a dead tree by the water’s edge.

‘I suppose I must thank you, Thomas,’ I said.

‘Thank me for what, Sir Alan?’

‘For Brother Geoffrey.’

Sir Thomas Blood said nothing for a long while. And I watched as a pair of duck flashed through the air and landed with a splash in the water just before us. Then Sir Thomas said: ‘If you are glad that Brother Geoffrey is dead, I believe your thanks should go to this thief that Sir Aymeric mentioned, whoever he might be.’

‘Thomas,’ I said. ‘I am not angry with you. I only learnt what that vile wretch did to Robert yesterday, and I would have ripped him apart myself. You have saved me a bloody task and it seems that you have accomplished it very neatly. So I thank you. I also apologise for accusing you of gaming when you were gone from my side.’

‘Only a fool would admit to committing a murder,’ Thomas said carefully, ‘even to a trusted friend. And particularly when the mighty Knights of the Temple have vowed to track down the perpetrator of the crime and have their vengeance.’ He stopped and tossed a scrap of bark into the water, frightening the ducks into flight.

‘I do not wish to speak about this matter ever again,’ Thomas said, ‘either to you or to anybody else. But I will say this, and only this: your son Robert, whatever his shortcomings, whatever his strengths, is my friend. And any man who deliberately harms my friend will always suffer the consequences while I have strength.’

Lord de Lowdham proved to be an amiable fellow, as reasonable as Robin had said, if slightly plump and near-sighted and, in my opinion, not overloaded with intellect. He seemed utterly determined to make everybody he met like him, which made him charming company, to be sure, but made me wonder whether he would be able to shoulder the burdens of the office of High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and the Royal Forests with any degree of competence.

‘I am sure I shall find it a most taxing position,’ said Lowdham, with a chuckle and a glance to see if I appreciated his hilarious jest. Then he saw my pained expression and said: ‘But my lord of Locksley tells me that if I find myself in any difficulties I am always to seek your counsel. If you won’t mind me constantly badgering you for advice, Sir Alan…’

I said that I did not mind and that I would be at his disposal whenever he needed me. Privately I thought that it would be satisfying to have the ear of the sheriff, and for once in my life not to be in conflict with the man in that powerful position.

We were riding north from London to Nottingham with Robin, Miles, Hugh, Sir Thomas, Boot, Robert and all Robin’s men, plus a hundred men-at-arms in the red, blue and gold de Lacy livery, who belonged to Lowdham. He was a relative of the powerful de Lacy family, a nephew of old Roger, the stubborn defender of Château Gaillard, and cousin to the new young lord, his son John.

John de Lacy had supported the rebellion almost from the start and he was now a power in the north. He had been allowed by King John to choose the new sheriff of the county, ably assisted by Robin and other northern magnates, and his amiable cousin Lord de Lowdham had been selected by popular acclaim – Robin was not the only one to realise that a pliable royal official at Nottingham would be a boon.

Our official task was to escort Lowdham safely to Nottingham and install him as the new constable of the castle there. But there was another urgent matter that I wished to settle as soon as possible.

We left Runnymede that same afternoon the great charter was sealed and I confess that I hurried our party north. I wanted, if possible, to outstrip the news of John’s humiliation, though it soon became apparent that it was a vain hope. Word of the charter travelled faster than lightning across the land and when we arrived at the town of Nottingham, at dusk on the second day, it was clear that the news had arrived well before us. As we rode our horses through the dim streets, Robin was recognised by many, and we were besieged with questions about what the new charter would mean to ordinary people. Would all tax debts be forgiven? Would no man ever be imprisoned again? Were the cruel forest laws abolished? The answer to all these questions was no. Indeed, I knew that for many English folk the extraordinary event that had occurred between the King and his barons in a Thames-side meadow would have very little or no impact on their daily lives.

We were swiftly admitted to the castle of Nottingham, even though it was past curfew, simply by announcing the presence of Lord de Lowdham, and showing the parchment that confirmed his new position as sheriff.

I left Robin and Lowdham in the main hall, where the new lord of the castle insisted on meeting all the hall servants. Taking only Boot with me, I hurried to the great tower, a massive square fortification between the inner and middle baileys which housed the sleeping quarters of the castle’s more senior knights.

I ran up the stairs and sped down a corridor and stopped dead outside a large oak door, my hand poised to turn the handle and ready to barge straight in.

What stopped me was the sound of a voice.

A female voice. And it was speaking about me:

‘…whatever they have agreed to, this silly charter they have made the King agree to, there is no reason I can see for us to give up the fight against
him
,’ said Tilda, the loathing in her voice thick as curdled milk.

‘It’s not so easy, my darling. Dale has the luck of the Devil,’ said Sir Benedict Malet. ‘I had him here, in my hands, chained like a dog, and I was ready to pay him back for all the humiliations he has heaped on us – and what did he do? He persuaded that monster to help him escape. His luck is scarcely believable.’

Boot was a looming shadow behind me. I controlled the urge to order him to charge straight through the doorway.

‘Do not upset yourself, my dear,’ Tilda said. ‘Dale is a hard man to kill, as I know myself. I informed the King that he was planning to murder him – he practically admitted the plot to me himself, the love-struck cretin – and even though he was caught in the act of murder, he somehow wriggled out of that crime.’

At St Paul’s, I thought. Yes, I told her myself. And yes, I had been a cretin.

Tilda was still speaking: ‘…I gave him poisoned meat when he was at the very door of death after some illness and the big lump didn’t even seem to notice – he actually got better. The Devil’s luck once more. But we must not give up, my love. We must not. He is vulnerable through his son, you have proved that here at Nottingham, so if we can get to the brat—’

That was when I pushed open the door. But once inside I stopped, frozen with sorrow. For all that I had suspected for the past few days was now proven to be true. I had hoped, with a mad, tiny part of my soul, that I had been mistaken. But there was no doubt. I stood there transfixed, just staring at the two figures in the big bed on the far side of the room, naked but for the linen bedsheets. Tilda, I saw with a pang, looked more beautiful than she ever had before, her black hair falling in curls over her perfect bosom, her lips blood-red, her blue-grey eyes huge in the candlelight. Benedict, doughy and white as lard, looked like a shaved pig in the bed beside her.

I could think of nothing useful to say, except: ‘Boot, take that man down to the hall, now, and keep him under guard.’

As Boot lumbered over to the bed and hauled a protesting Benedict out from under the covers by his foot, I gazed at Tilda’s naked white flesh and realised, quite suddenly, that I felt nothing at all for her. Not the slightest stirring of love, nor even lust, just a chilly acknowledgement that she possessed a great and flawless beauty.

At least on the outside.

‘You had best get some clothes on and quickly get yourself back to Kirklees,’ I said to her. ‘And if you ever come near my son or me again, I will tell Mother Anna how exactly you spend your nights when you come to visit Nottingham.’