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Day Three
Philippe
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Philippe had found the army where David’s man had said it would be, and along the way they’d seen no sign of either Templars or Jews. The young man, Roger, had worked miracles it seemed. No surprise David trusted him with so much. Philippe needed to find a man like him for himself—one who did his bidding rather than the other way around.
Once John Jr. had arrived and pledged his fealty, Philippe had taken him from room to room, rousting his other advisers. Philippe had begun with Archbishop Romeyn, who had risen with alacrity and even now was personally seeing to the cleansing of the palace of anyone whom he knew to have been in Nogaret’s thrall. Romeyn had the same intelligence Nogaret did, and while Philippe was well aware where his loyalties lay, he was honest. One knew where one stood with him. It was quite startling to know such a man could still exist.
Philippe had gone next to the room of John Sr. and made short work of his bluster. The others, Robert of Burgundy and Bishop Mornay, Philippe had outright threatened with prison—and insisted that they ride with him to Bobigny so they could see what their machinations had wrought. They’d sworn by St. Peter they hadn’t known what Nogaret had done. He didn’t think he believed them.
They, however, might be redeemable. Nogaret was not, and he couldn’t wait to see his face when he confronted him. But first, he had Bobigny to deal with.
The army’s commander was a man Philippe had never seen before, not local to Paris, but nonetheless he bowed before Philippe, practically blubbering with fear when he learned Nogaret had lied to him.
“What was the original plan, the one Nogaret recruited you for?” Philippe glared down at the man, who was still on his knees in the mud. It was continuing to rain, though perhaps not as hard as before.
“We were to b-b-burn the homes of villagers who hadn’t paid their taxes. Lord Nogaret said you would be confiscating their lands for the crown.”
“Why were you dressed as Englishmen?”
The man plucked at his surcoat, which still displayed David’s red dragon. “He said it was better not to have the crown associated with such acts, even as they were necessary.”
Burgundy was off his horse in a heartbeat, striding up to the man and lifting him to his feet by his gear. “You believed the king could be so cowardly?”
“I did-did-did as I was told!”
His second-in-command, whose name was Justin, was also on his knees, and he said, “We’d heard of the army marshaling in the south to march on Aquitaine. We thought you wanted to start a war with England.”
Philippe motioned that Robert should release the captain, and he dropped him to his knees. Meanwhile Philippe directed his attention to Justin. “Stand up.”
Justin did so, and though he tried to disguise his height by hunching, he was a good four inches taller than Philippe. He also had prematurely balding red hair and something of a squint.
But he was smart and told the truth. All of a sudden, Philippe liked that.
The man also had no loyalty to Nogaret.
Philippe liked that even better.
“Get these surcoats off. We’ll burn them before we go. Find some dry kindling.”
“But sire—” The protest came from Mornay, as it would.
Philippe swung around. “Were you going to suggest I keep them? That they might be useful for some later deception?”
That was clearly what Mornay had wanted. But under Philippe’s glare, he was frozen to the ground, despite the warm rain.
Philippe swung out an arm. “Nogaret’s new orders were for them to descend upon the Jews and murder them, along with their Templar escort—and England blamed for it all!”
“I realize that—”
“And you a priest.” Philippe made a tsk of disgust. He would do what was necessary, always. Murdering women and children, however, was not to be condoned, even five miles outside the city. “I owe David that at least.” Then he turned back to Justin. “Get on the bishop’s horse. He can walk back.”
Doing the right thing was proving to be exhilarating. He had missed feeling like a king.
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With his new palace guard at his back and his new captain Justin riding at the army’s head, Philippe swept into Vincennes an hour later at nearly three in the morning.
Having called to the guard on the wall-walk for admission and finding no response, Philippe made Brittany dismount and walk to the gate. A single push swung it open on greased hinges.
John Sr. looked up at Philippe. “Sire?”
Philippe made a motion with his hand to Justin, who, with a jerk of his head, summoned his men to move past those mounted and into the courtyard of the manor. None of the guard appeared to be having trouble with the change in leadership. Their old captain was walking, his wrists tied to the end of a leading rope attached to John Sr.’s saddle. Mornay hadn’t been tied. Nor had he been able to keep up.
After a quick perusal of the grounds, Justin, who was growing into his new role by the moment, leapt up the steps to the main door. He disappeared inside but returned almost immediately, loping to where Philippe waited, still mounted on his horse.
“The queen awaits you, sire.”
Philippe’s heart was in his throat. “She ... is here?”
“Yes, sire. In the receiving room. She is alone but for your sons—and unharmed.”
Philippe frowned. “Where are the guards?”
“According to the queen, they are captive.”
“And Nogaret?”
“She does not know. Other than King David and a few of his men, she neither saw nor spoke to anyone. Everything was already arranged by the time she left her room.”
Until this moment, Philippe had hardly dared believe David would succeed. But then, it was David who’d sent his man through the passages, effectively engineering Philippe’s freedom and the recruitment of a new personal guard—one that could have taken Vincennes on its own, as it turned out.
Philippe frowned internally, wondering how David had managed it. It seemed he had plans within plans. Philippe wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“Sire?” Justin’s face was upturned and wet from the rain.
Philippe had been hesitating on his horse, but now he dismounted and ran up the front steps of the palace, and then up the steps again to the receiving room.
At which point he stopped short, taking in the scene. The wetnurse rocked a sleeping baby Charles in a chair near the low-burning fire. Joana sat across from her in a cushioned chair, a blanket covering the large mound of her belly. Philippe and Louis lay sprawled on blankets at her feet, also asleep.
Philippe’s heart filled with joy at the sight.
Then Joana turned her head to look at him and smiled the sweetest smile he had ever seen. “Welcome to Vincennes, my love.”