The Knights Templar Collection: Volume 2

by Michael Jecks

Genres: Historical Fiction; Medieval; Historical Mysteries

Synopsis

THE KNIGHTS TEMPLAR COLLECTION: VOLUME 2 brings together three more of Michael Jecks' most popular Knights Templar mysteries. Join Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and Baliff Simon Puttock as they journey from England to France, and back again, in three riveting tales of murder and intrigue. The Templar, the Queen & Her Lover : Queen Isabella, wife to Edward II of England, has been dispatched to France in an attempt to bring about peace between the two countries, and Sir Baldwin de Furnshill must accompany her with his friend Simon Puttock. But the day after their arrival, a servant is found murdered, with Baldwin's dagger lying next to the body. As Baldwin struggles to prove his innocence, the killer strikes again. With so many English enemies gathering in Paris, will he be able to expose the culprit in time to protect the diplomats and their mission? The Prophecy of Death : It's 1325, and in England turmoil is rife. But could the Prophecy of St Thomas's Holy Oil be the key to saving the ill-fated reign of King Edward II? It is believed the one anointed with it will be a lion among men: he will conquer France, unite Christendom and throw the heathens from the Holy Land. Meanwhile, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King's Peace, and his friend Simon Puttock return from France with urgent messages for the King himself. Soon they find themselves at the centre of a deadly court intrigue involving the most powerful and ruthless men in the country, who will stop at nothing, not even murder, to achieve their ambitions... The King of Thieves : 1325: Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and his friend Simon Puttock are in France guarding King Edward's son on his perilous journey to meet the French king, Charles IV. But they are unaware that King Edward's wife Isabella is disaffected and plotting her revenge... What first appears a simple diplomatic mission is fast becoming lethally dangerous. Meanwhile, two murders in Paris are causing alarm. Is there a connection between the killings and the shadowy 'King' of thieves? Simon and Baldwin know the future of the English crown is at risk. And in order to protect it they must put their own lives in jeopardy. What readers are saying about The Knights Templar mysteries: 'Full of twists and turns right up until the end' 'Superb, with a diverse and fantastic cast of characters, mixing historical fact with the author's creations - and they blend beautifully ' ' Jecks continues to astonish me in adherence to historical accuracy but also in his ability to write a tale so well '

Release date: February 7, 2019

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 1153

Sample

THE KNIGHTS TEMPLAR COLLECTION brings together three of Michael Jecks’ most popular Knights Templar mysteries. Join Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and Baliff Simon Puttock as they journey from England to France, and back again, in three riveting tales of murder and intrigue.

The Templar, the Queen & Her Lover: Queen Isabella, wife to Edward II of England, has been dispatched to France in an attempt to bring about peace between the two countries, and Sir Baldwin de Furnshill must accompany her with his friend Simon Puttock. But the day after their arrival, a servant is found murdered, with Baldwin’s dagger lying next to the body.

As Baldwin struggles to prove his innocence, the killer strikes again. With so many English enemies gathering in Paris, will he be able to expose the culprit in time to protect the diplomats and their mission?

The Prophecy of Death: It’s 1325, and in England turmoil is rife. But could the Prophecy of St Thomas’s Holy Oil be the key to saving the ill-fated reign of King Edward II? It is believed the one anointed with it will be a lion among men: he will conquer France, unite Christendom and throw the heathens from the Holy Land.

Meanwhile, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace, and his friend Simon Puttock return from France with urgent messages for the King himself. Soon they find themselves at the centre of a deadly court intrigue involving the most powerful and ruthless men in the country, who will stop at nothing, not least murder, to achieve their ambitions . . .

The King of Thieves: 1325: Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and his friend Simon Puttock are in France guarding King Edward’s son on his perilous journey to meet the French king, Charles IV. But they are unaware that King Edward’s wife Isabella is disaffected and plotting her revenge . . .

What first appears a simple diplomatic mission is fast becoming lethally dangerous. Meanwhile, two murders in Paris are causing alarm. Is there a connection between the killings and the shadowy ‘King’ of thieves? Simon and Baldwin know the future of the English crown is at risk. And in order to protect it they must put their own lives in jeopardy.

When I first had the idea for the Templar Series, I set out to imagine two leading characters who could have been involved in murder investigations. I had always loved the Sherlock Holmes stories, and felt that using two strong characters who could work together was inherently more believable than one omniscient ‘Poirot’.

In 1993 I read the fabulous DUNGEON, FIRE AND SWORD by John J. Robinson, and in early 1994 Baldwin de Furnshill appeared in my head almost completely formed. Looking for his colleague was more difficult. It was only when my researches took me to Ely and I learned of the Bishop’s serf, Stephen Puttock, that the idea for the Bailiff occurred to me.

Both my characters were men of their times. One was a knight who had been a warrior-monk, and who was deeply conflicted. A religious man who had been persecuted by the Pope, he still had strong beliefs, but his faith in the political organisation of the Church had been utterly destroyed. Still, Baldwin was the perfect detective for his time, because his understanding of death, jealousy, betrayal, politics, greed and hatred made him both the ideal fellow to look into suspicious death – and also the worst imaginable. After long years living in the Holy Land, then more living as a Knight Templar, he had no idea about local characters, customs or history. He needed the stolid common sense that Simon, a man who had spent all his life among the peasants, miners and farmers of the area, could bring to their partnership. Making Baldwin a Keeper of the King’s Peace, with a warrant to hunt down felons, added to the strength of my stories; having Simon made Bailiff of Lydford also helped, because it made Simon an ecclesiastical officer – he worked for the Abbot of Tavistock.

The two were definitely men of their landscape. Dartmoor and the lands surrounding the moors have almost become a third leading character in these stories. For that reason, many readers wondered why I sent the two abroad, to experience the alien environment of Paris and other cities in this trilogy. Some wrote to me asking whether I had merely run out of ideas for the west country. Perhaps I was bored with it?

Some chance! No, the fact was, that I wanted to show what life was really like. I always intended to keep the two men firmly grounded in their home landscape, but after twenty-three stories, I realised that I was hitting a difficulty. Realism had to intrude.

While reading Jonathan Sumption’s excellent series on the Hundred Years War, I was struck by one fact: that there were never more than some 2,500 knights in England. Yet there were many jobs that had to be filled by these few. Some were to be Coroners, others Keepers of the King’s Peace, Sheriffs, or Members of Parliament, as well as fulfilling their military positions. It occurred to me forcibly that it was unlikely that Baldwin would have been permitted to live quietly as a rural peace-keeper without being involved in the issues of his day. Added to that, early in the series I had introduced them to Bishop Walter of Exeter, who was one of the leading statesmen of his time, and made it clear that a friendship between them had developed. It was obvious that their relationship with him must lead to their being called to help when there was a national issue.

From the publication of THE LAST TEMPLAR in 1995, I was forever researching my period, relying heavily on the actual history. And one thing became clear to me: if I was going to explain the fascinating period of the 1320s, I would have to explain what was happening in the greater world. I could resort to occasional chats with the great diplomats and statesmen of their age, with men such as Abbot Champeaux of Tavistock, or Bishop Walter of Exeter, but although I could thus express some of the concerns and trepidation of politicians, it made more sense to look at the events shaping history from the point of view of insiders.

Baldwin and Simon must become involved.

THE TEMPLAR, THE QUEEN AND HER LOVER was my first foray into this world.

The premise of this book is taken from the events of the Tour de Nesle, when it was discovered that the French royal princesses were engaged in adultery with a pair of knights. The shock of this led to the death of the old King, and although his sons followed him to the throne, none was to live long, and none left an heir. It was directly owing to this that France and England would soon be engaged in the Hundred Years' War, a war that plumbed new depths of brutality unequalled until, probably, the Thirty Years' War (for more on this see my Vintener Trilogy, based on a vintaine of archers).

In early 1325, Baldwin and Simon were asked to join the Queen’s entourage as she travelled to Paris, where Queen Isabella must negotiate with her brother the French King to try to prevent war. But the Queen and her husband King Edward were estranged. The King did not trust Isabella, and had reduced her position to that of a near-prisoner, controlled by the wife of the King’s favourite companion, Sir Hugh le Despenser. King Edward did not appreciate how this had affected her, nor how strongly she resented Despenser – and him.

France wanted to annex Guyenne from England, and threatened to invade unless the English King agreed to pay homage for the lands he held in France. Isabella had been ordered to negotiate a face-saving way out.

The 25th book in the series, THE PROPHECY OF DEATH, was the story of the aftermath of Isabella’s embassy, which had profound consequences. The French King refused to agree to the English claims, and demanded that either the English King must travel to France to pay homage or the French would annex Guyenne and other territories held by the English. Since these lands contributed more to the King’s purse than England, Scotland and Wales combined, the English refused to accept this. However, paying homage to the French was impossible. The English King’s favourite adviser and friend, Sir Hugh le Depenser, is loathed and detested by the English and French alike. Were Despenser to travel with King Edward II to Paris, he would be arrested and charged with piracy (with good reason, it should be noted). However, he could not be left alone in England without the King’s protection. The last time a favourite of Edward, Piers Gaveston, had been caught alone, he had been summarily executed.

Isabella proposed a fresh option: to send their son to Paris. She could protect Earl Edward, and as the heir to King Edward, his father, he could pay homage for the French territories. Honour would be satisfied, and Despenser safe.

Baldwin and Simon were sent home with that message, but as they reached England, they were made aware of the dangerous atmosphere.

The King’s reign had started with a disaster, when Sir John of Bakewell was crushed by a falling wall at the coronation, and the years had only served to fulfil the dreadful forecasts of disaster. There was only one possible defence for the King: if he could have himself anointed with the Holy Oil of St Thomas, his reign would be saved. There was a prophecy that a King who was anointed by St Thomas’s Oil would be a lion amongst men. If he could only be anointed, he would be revered, his diplomacy must succeed, and his lands secured. But the oil has been stolen.

THE KING OF THIEVES ends this short excursion into Anglo-French politics in 1325 with the next journey to Paris. Walter II of Exeter was sent as the King’s trusted ambassador, with the task of protecting Earl Edward on the way to Paris to pay homage to the French King as agreed with Queen Isabella. King Edward was not aware of the bitterness his wife felt for him and Despenser.

Because I have always considered Baldwin and Simon as reliable friends to the Bishop, it made sense to me to include them in the entourage led by Bishop Walter. He would have known and trusted his local knights, and when taking part in an important diplomatic embassy of this nature, he would have wanted to bring along men on whom he could rely.

I will not go further into the individual stories. It’s enough to say that each is a separate murder story in its own right. The difference between these and previous stories is that they form a coherent trilogy of the period of impending disaster in 1325. The War of St Sardos the year before had brought about significantly increased distrust between the French and English Kings; the breakdown of the English royal family, leading to Isabella’s confinement, had irreparably harmed relations between the couple; and the situation was exacerbated by the French King’s ambition and his willingness to use his sister and nephew as sources of political leverage.

These three stories follow that terrible year and the effects on the leading political protagonists as well as Baldwin and Simon. When I discussed a second volume of books that could be offered by Headline, it made sense to offer these as a trilogy based on this terrible period.

I had enormous fun researching and writing these books, and I hope you get as much enjoyment from reading them as well.

Michael Jecks

North Dartmoor

January 2019

This is a great digression from my usual Dartmoor, English-based stories, and perhaps I should say a few words about what
led me to have my friends Simon and Baldwin thrown into the heart of European politics.


As those who have followed the careers of my two characters will already know, I try to base all their adventures in solid
historical fact. Thus many of the stories I have written have been based upon actual murders and felonies in Devon in the
early 1300s. At the same time I have attempted to capture the essence of the way people lived, and how they were affected
by the degenerating national politics over this period.


Making use of people living in ‘real time’, for want of another phrase, has its own problems. It does mean that one must be
cautious that one book doesn’t start before the predecessor ended, for example. It is also important that the larger themes
of political incidents are treated fairly. Those matters which would not have been brought to the attention of rural folk
hundreds of miles away can happily be ignored.


However, in these times, the King made regular use of messengers across his own country and over Europe, who could all travel
thirty to thirty-five miles each day. That means that even Devon would only have been a week or so behind events in London.
We know that monasteries, cathedrals and other religious foundations had extensive networks of communications connecting them
too. If anyone should doubt the ability of medieval man to maintain efficient lines of communication, one need only consider the fact that throughout the Middle Ages it was possible to buy fresh sea fish
anywhere in England. Bearing in mind the trouble that would be involved in moving fish from the coast to places in the Midlands,
it is clear that people were capable of moving swiftly when necessity demanded. And with them would come news – some of it
accurate!


In the year 1325, the most important aspect of politics, internal or international, was the treaty to be signed with the French.
There had been continual haggling over the precise rights of the French king compared with the feudal duties of the English
king for those lands and provinces which happened to be situated in French territory. The initial disputes had been over Normandy
and other parts of the great Angevin empire. By 1325, though, most of these had already been lost by the English, partly because
of their own incompetence, partly due to superior French policy-making. Having the greatest and best-equipped force of men
and cavalry in Christendom was no doubt something of an advantage at the time. It is astonishing to consider that when the
English entered the Hundred Years War a dozen years later, the rest of the world looked in amazement at this upstart little
nation trying to sting the massed ranks of French chivalry. Nobody seriously believed that the English could achieve much
– and that is as true for the English as for anyone else. The English thought they were participating in some small-scale
chevauchées, raids in search of booty, in effect.


When they defeated the French host with tactics refined over years of battling with the Scots, it was a shock to the whole
of Europe. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, though. The British had a small but experienced army which was used to
fighting on foot, just as the men of Morgarten had been, and those at the ‘Battle of the Golden Spurs’ at Courtrai. At both battles groups of supposedly ignorant and incompetent peasants had destroyed more powerful French armies.


But in 1325 the conflict, the truce, and the negotiations between the English and the French were crucial to the whole period.
Not only because they were to set the stamp on the subsequent suspicion and dislike that existed between English and French
in the run-up to the Hundred Years War, which itself polluted relations between the two countries right up until the Franco-Prussian
wars of the later 1800s, but because at the time this difficult and protracted parley itself helped Mortimer and Isabella
plot their invasion, and gave them a ready source of supporters – the British who had been exiled under the reign of the deplorable
Despenser.


So I am afraid poor Baldwin and Simon, the long-suffering companions, have been thrust into the limelight for this story.
They have been cast into France for their sins, and now must live perilously amid the great forces at work to start a fresh
war.


Some may be surprised by the account of the troubles of the unfortunate Lady Blanche, once princess bride to the man who was
to become Charles IV. Sadly the story is all true.


The affair of the silken purses has been covered in another book1, so I shall not go into detail here. Suffice to say that two royal princesses were shown to be carrying on adulterous affairs
with a pair of brothers. The men were killed, rather horribly, and the women locked up in 1314.


Marguerite, the older of the two, was thought to be more responsible, and was thrown into a freezing cell in the Château Gaillard.
She survived a short while, but the cold and poor diet put paid to her in a matter of months.


The second was Blanche, wife of Charles. She too was thrown into a dungeon at the château.

It is said that she was made pregnant by her gaoler, and gave birth to a child in 1323. A little while before that, while
she was pregnant, her marriage had at last been annulled, and in 1325 (I think – the sources grow a little vague over precise
details) she was allowed to move to the convent abbey of Maubisson. Here she survived only one more year, dying perhaps because
of the damage done to her constitution over the previous eleven years of incarceration.


So – was her gaoler her enthusiastic lover? Did she welcome the attentions of any man, no matter how lowly? Or was there a
plot set in train by the French king or his courtiers to have her proved adulterous so that the Pope would be forced to annul
the marriage? Could someone else have had a similar desire to see the marriage annulled?


I do not know the truth. However, it is all too easy to sit in judgement after some seven hundred years and take the 21st-century
view. What would it be? Well, first that it was shocking that these two women should have been so appallingly treated for
their sexual misdemeanours. Second, that clearly the poor woman in the cell would never have courted the attentions of a mere
castle gaoler.


And yet . . .

These people lived in a different era. The two princesses were guilty not merely of betraying their own husbands. That was
unforgivable enough. But they had committed a vastly worse crime: they had risked the bloodline of the kings of France. So
heinous was their offence that it may have helped kill off the reigning king, Philip IV. Then, because of the women’s behaviour,
their existing children had to be rejected by their fathers (presuming, of course, that the princes involved were the genetic fathers, which was the concern and doubt).


By a sad twist of fate, the princes concerned all proved to be short-lived. By 1328, all had died, and there were no male heirs.
The Capetian line had died out. That led to the election of the first of the Valois kings of France, which itself contributed
to the Hundred Years War, because the English had a claim to the French throne through Isabella. However, the French refused
to consider her and her descendants’ claims. It was not surprising. Edward probably thought of himself as a Frenchman, but
all the French thought him English. They would not have him.


So the adultery of these women was to have far-reaching consequences for hundreds of thousands in the coming century. Perhaps
if they had remained obedient and chaste, European history would have followed a different course. It is an interesting speculation.


Michael Jecks

Northern Dartmoor

April 2007

This book was intended to be a very different tale originally. The main bulk of the story was to be set in the later part
of the year 1325 in France, but things have conspired against me, as usual.


The problem I suffer from, and the attraction to me of my writing, is that the stories are set in ‘real time’ through history.
This means that the stories have to stack up logically with the events of the period. When there was a famine, I have to mention
it. Likewise, when there was a massive scandal over the princesses in King Philip’s court in Paris, I have to incorporate
that, too. It also means I have to be accurate about where people were.


I cannot, for example, cheat and suddenly have Edward II lifted from England and set down in Paris, just to facilitate the
plot. He didn’t go there. Worse, I know where he was in April, so I have to be true to the history and have the plot working
around him in Beaulieu.


Equally, though, it’s hard to jump from The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover, which was set in March and April, and suddenly move the action straight to September when the Earl of Chester was sent to
France to pay homage for the English territories. That would be a large gap, and one which would take a lot of background
flashbacks to explain.


So, to the despair of my editor, I threw the synopsis for Book 25 (untitled) into the box marked ‘Stories to return to’, and started again from scratch.


And came up with this plot.

It is different from earlier stories, but the main aspects are quite correct. There was a prophecy regarding the ‘Boar from
Cornwall’ and the story of the Oil of St Thomas was also well known. No, it’s not made up by me.


Nor is the basic story of the coronation. I am afraid that John of Bakewell did die during a mad press at the time of the
coronation in the manner described. It was only one of a number of aspects of the coronation day that struck chroniclers at
the time as being proof that Edward II’s reign would be enormously unlucky. And they were not wrong, as events were to prove.


The nature of the King’s son, Earl Edward of Chester, is very much my own interpretation and guesswork, but set on solid foundations.
I would refer any serious investigator of the period to look at Roy Martin Haines’s work King Edward II (McGill Queen’s University Press), and the truly excellent book published by Random House, The Perfect King – The Life of Edward III, Father of the English Nation, by my good friend Ian Mortimer of Exeter University.


To a large extent I can blame Ian for this book. It was his mention of certain aspects of the younger Edward’s life that tempted
me to look at this story from the viewpoint of the Earl. The idea that the next king would have grown to manhood in a febrile,
dangerous environment, with a father who was so alienated from his mother that she lost her properties, her income, her servants,
even her children; all taken away because her husband considered her too dangerous, was too appealing to my novelistic imagination. He feared she might pollute their children with treasonous thoughts. All this,
because her brother was considering (how actively, I am not sure) invasion of England.


To look at the boy, and then consider his tutor, the strange Richard of Bury, who was an avid book collector (although detractors
said he was illiterate!) and taught his charge all about the Greek and Roman heroes, and then to see the kind of man into
which Edward grew, with the various influences which had shaped his life, this was fascinating.


Earl Edward (I am reliably informed by Ian Mortimer that he was never created a prince, and the title was not in those days
automatically passed on to the King’s sons, so he was at this time a mere earl) must have been an impressive character. It
is true to say that he was one of our most revered Kings up until relatively recently. Attitudes have changed, largely as
a result of politically correct rethinking, but, bearing in mind his dreadful upbringing – he would have witnessed his role
models being executed, even his father’s cousin, seen his family broken up, and the hatred that surely existed between his
mother and his father’s probably homosexual lover, Hugh le Despenser – it is astonishing that this lad developed into such
a spectacularly effective king. Not only that, by all accounts he was also a loving, generous father and husband. A marvellous
role model – if you can ignore the numbers of dead from his wars, the devastation of swathes of France, the consequential
destruction of much of Europe when mercenaries swept over the continent, and the obscene cruelty aimed at the general population
by arrogant and largely barbaric men-at-arms.


The trouble is, it is easy to admire men of his stature for what he achieved in his time – but his time was not the same as ours. It is hard to imagine living in a period when, to take the John Hawkwood example, two men arguing over which would
rape a nun first were told that their leader would cut her body in two and they could both have ‘half each’ as some sort of
Solomon-like judgement. The simple fact is, these were appallingly vicious people living in a harsh and uncharitable environment.
Those who won were those, like Sir Hugh Despenser, who were the most appalling, the most cruel, the most ruthless. Pacifism
was not a successful trait.


Those, like King Edward II, who wanted a more gentle, kindly existence, were forced to accept the facts of their era and become
more cruel.


And after saying all this, the final comment has to be that this is my twenty-fifth book in the Templar series. It is rare
for any author to be able to write these words, but for me to write them in the knowledge that the whole of the backlist is
still available and selling, gives me a wonderful sense that the effort is worthwhile.


In my research, I have referred endlessly to so many books, from Mary C. Hill’s The King’s Messengers 1199–1377, to Ian Mortimer’s book on Edward III mentioned above, and his superb The Greatest Traitor; Alison Weir’s Isabella – She-Wolf of France, Queen of England, and many of the Selden Society records, that it is hard to know which books should be mentioned and which need not be. So
I shall take the easiest line, and suggest that if you really want to learn more about the period, refer to my website at
www.michaeljecks.co.uk where you will find a more detailed bibliography for the period, based on my own library.


As always, though, the mistakes are my own. And I confidently expect Ian Mortimer to point them out to me!


I hope you enjoy this book, and that for a little while it gives you the distraction from modern life which so many of us
crave.


Michael Jecks

North Dartmoor

November 2007

There can be few such events in history quite so incompetently handled as the diplomatic mission in 1325 to France of the
Earl of Chester.


Never actually created a Prince, the Earl was nonetheless in receipt of every gift a grateful father could bestow. He became
an Earl only a few days after his birth, whereas his father, King Edward II, and grandfather were both in their mid-teens.
Edward, so it would appear, doted on his little son. However, all that was to change. As King Edward grew in authority after
the dreadful Battle of Boroughbridge – following which he systematically hunted down and executed most of the ‘rebels’ – so
he also grew to rely ever more on the judgement of Sir Hugh le Despenser – a judgement which was invariably skewed to the
advantage of Despenser himself.


It would be tedious to recite all the crimes of Despenser here. Suffice it to say that the man was entirely ruthless, particularly
violent, and peculiarly avaricious in an age when violence was normal and greed not viewed as an especially vile sin. Despenser
was notable for his extremes. His behaviour does appear to be deplorable, seen from the safe perspective of seven hundred
years.


But after the short war of Saint-Sardos in 1324, all the English territories were at threat. The French had overrun them,
with little defence put up by the English – partly because they were starved of funds and men by Despenser.


The result was a protracted negotiation intended to save English suzerainty. But the French King was not hoping for that –
he wanted the English off his territories entirely. So it suited his purposes to raise the stakes. He demanded that the English
King should travel to Paris to pay homage, as any vassal should to his liege-lord. However, because Edward dared not leave
England, he hurriedly created his son Duke of Aquitaine, and sent him instead, under the watchful eye of Bishop Walter II
of Exeter.


And thus begins our tale.

The Hundred Years War began only a few years after the events depicted here. Most readers will have heard of the great battles
of Agincourt, Crécy and Poitiers, and may find it hard to understand why the English should have been so nervous about losing
Aquitaine. There are a number of reasons.


First, was the very real damage that would have been done to the economy. Medieval kings may not have been especially fiscally
aware, but they employed a great many men who were – Bishop Walter was one such.


Even in medieval times, accounting was considered a serious business. It is fortunate for us that this is so, because it is
often the old rolls of accounts which give us an accurate feel for the period. Be that as it may, the simple fact is that
the Duchy of Aquitaine, the rich lands of Gascony, provided more money to the English Crown than the whole of the British
Isles. And with a small, loyal population, the Gascons were less troublesome to rule!


The second point, though, is much more important. The English we