The Accursed Kings Series Books 1-3: The Iron King, The Strangled Queen, The Poisoned Crown

‘I’d swear he was looking for a whore! And now he’s gone off to a brothel,’ said Philippe.

He was wrong. Robert of Artois had not gone off to a brothel. He had made a detour through the Pré-aux-Clercs and, returning to the river bank, had come back to the neighbourhood of the Tower of Nesle.

The moon was obscured once more. He whistled with the same low whistle that had preceded the fight.

The same six shadowy figures detached themselves from the wall, and a seventh stood up in a boat. The shadowy figures stood in respectful attitudes.

‘Good, you’ve done your work well,’ said Artois. ‘Everything went off as I wished. Here, Carl-Hans!’ he called to the chief blackguard, ‘share this between you.’

He threw him a purse.

‘You gave me a terrible blow on the shoulder, Monseigneur,’ said one of the cut-throats.

‘Bah! That’s all in the day’s work,’ Artois answered laughing. ‘Now, get off with you. If I should need you again, I’ll let you know.’

Then he got into the boat. It sank low in the water under his weight. The man who took the oars was the same ferryman who had brought the Aunays over.

‘So Monseigneur is satisfied with the night’s work?’ he asked.

He had lost his whining tone, seemed to have become younger by ten years, and gave way with a will.

‘Splendid, my dear Lormet! You played your little trick on them wonderfully well,’ said the giant. ‘Now I know what I wanted to know.’

He leant back in the stern of the boat, stretched out his monumental legs, and let his huge hand trail in the dark water.

PART TWO (#ulink_8b9e23b4-35d1-58ab-b4af-82f2b6736b4b)

THE ADULTEROUS PRINCESSES (#ulink_8b9e23b4-35d1-58ab-b4af-82f2b6736b4b)

1 (#ulink_9a71ee94-5f9a-5fa2-9036-c114fe7257d6)

The Tolomei Bank (#ulink_9a71ee94-5f9a-5fa2-9036-c114fe7257d6)

MESSER SPINELLO TOLOMEI’S expression took on a reflective seriousness, then, lowering his voice as if he feared someone might be listening at the door, he said, ‘Two thousand pounds in advance? Would that suit you, Monseigneur?’

His left eye was closed; his right eye shone with calm innocence.

Though he had lived in France for many years, he had never been able to get rid of his Italian accent. He was fat and dark and had a double chin. His greying hair, carefully cut, fell upon the collar of his robe which was of fine cloth and edged with fur. At the belt the robe was stretched taut over his pot-belly. When he spoke, he raised fat, pointed hands and rubbed them together. His enemies asserted that his open eye was the lying one and that he kept the truthful one shut.

He was one of the most powerful bankers in Paris and had the manners of a bishop. At all events he assumed them on this occasion because he was speaking to a prelate.

The prelate was Jean de Marigny, a slender, elegant, almost graceful young man who, the day before, at the episcopal tribunal in front of Notre-Dame, had been remarked for his languid air until the moment came when he lost his temper with the Grand Master. He was the brother of Enguerrand de Marigny and had been appointed to the archbishopric of Sens, from which depended the diocese of Paris, in order to bring the proceedings against the Templars to a happy conclusion. He was therefore in the closest touch with the great affairs of state.

‘Two thousand pounds?’ he said.

He seemed a little on edge and turned his head away to hide his gratified surprise at the banker’s figure. He had not expected so much.

‘Yes, certainly, that figure will suit me pretty well,’ he said with an assumed air of detachment. ‘I’d like to settle the business as quickly as possible.’

The banker watched him as a cat watches a fat bird.

‘We can deal with the matter at once,’ he replied.

‘Excellent,’ said the young Archbishop. ‘And when shall I send you the …’

He interrupted himself, thinking he heard a noise beyond the door. But no, all was quiet. There was nothing to be heard but the usual morning sounds from the street of the Lombards, the cries of the knife-grinders, the water-sellers, the hawkers of herbs, onions, watercress, white cheese and charcoal. ‘Milk, ladies, milk … Fine cheeses from Champagne! … Charcoal, a sackful for a penny!’ From the triple, mullioned window, built in the Siennese fashion, the light fell softly upon the rich tapestries on the walls with their warrior themes, upon tables of polished oak, and upon the great coffer bound with iron.

‘The objects?’ said Tolomei, finishing the Archbishop’s sentence. ‘At your convenience, Monseigneur, at your convenience.’

He had gone over to a long work-table which was covered with goose-quills, rolls of parchment, tablets and styles. He took two bags from a drawer.

‘A thousand in each,’ he said. ‘Take them now if you wish. They were prepared for you. Will you sign this receipt, Monseigneur?’

And he handed Jean de Marigny a document which had also been prepared in advance.

‘Certainly,’ said the Archbishop, taking up a quill pen.

But as he was about to sign, he hesitated. On the receipt were listed the ‘objects’ which he was to send to Tolomei that the latter might sell them: church plate, gold chalices, jewelled crucifixes, valuable weapons, all that had been sequestered from the Templars in the diocese of Sens. Yet all these valuables should have been handed over either to the royal treasury or to the Order of Hospitalers. The young Archbishop was committing, and without losing any time over it, malversation and embezzlement. To append one’s signature to that list, when the Grand Master had been roasted only the night before …

‘I would prefer …’ he said.

‘That the objects should not be sold in France?’ said the Siennese. ‘That goes without saying, Monseigneur. Non sonno pazzo, I’m not mad.’

‘I meant to say that this receipt …’

‘It will never be seen by any eyes but mine. It’s as much to my interest as to yours,’ said the banker. ‘It’s merely in case something should happen to one or other of us … may God preserve us.’

He crossed himself, and then quickly, behind the table, made the sign for warding off the evil eye with two fingers of his right hand.

‘They won’t be too heavy?’ he went on, indicating the bags, as if the matter as far as he was concerned required no further discussion. ‘Would you like me to send someone with you?’

‘Thank you, my servant is below,’ said the Archbishop.

‘Then, just here, if you please,’ said Tolomei, indicating the place on the document where the Archbishop was to sign.

The latter could no longer refuse. When one is compelled to have accomplices, one is also compelled to trust them.

‘Besides, you must very well realise, Monseigneur,’ the banker went on, ‘that in giving you a sum such as this I am making no profit. I shall have all the trouble and none of the reward. But I want to help you because you are a powerful man, and the friendship of powerful men is more precious than gold.’

He had said all this in an easy good-natured way but his left eye was still closed.

‘After all, the man’s telling the truth,’ thought Jean de Marigny. ‘He’s thought to be cunning; but his cunning is merely frankness.’

He signed the receipt.

‘By the way, Monseigneur,’ said Tolomei, ‘do you know how the King received those English hounds I sent him yesterday?’

‘Oh, so that big greyhound that never leaves him and which he calls Lombard came from you, did it?’