A Convenient Solution

A CONVENIENT
SOLUTION

A Jean Bellimont Mystery
by Trevor Whitton




Copyright 2012 Trevor Whitton

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Chapter 1


1308 – Troyes, Kingdom of France………

The old man sitting before the exquisitely carved oak table
took a deep breath – his pen poised over the official
parchment before him. Beside it sat a small purse of coins.
It was a reasonable price given the gift at his disposal. He
ran his hand through thinning grey hair, his heavy, pouched
eyes straining to make out the characters on the page. His
name was Guichard, and he was the current Bishop of
Troyes – an important appointment by most people’s
reckoning. But his greatest disappointment was the
contempt in which he was held by his townspeople. He
looked at the purse again, and then slowly tipped its
contents onto the table. Twelve coins. What was that,
really? Compared to the post he was giving, it was
nothing. The recipient would be set for life - as would his
family. What price could you put on that? And his enemies
accused him of simony! Well, they could call it what they
liked – those ill-bred, uneducated buffoons. He was the
Bishop, and he was far from being the only churchman in
Christendom to do it. In fact, it would be considered
arrogant of him not to. Besides - his decision was God’s
decision. Anyone who challenged that was a heretic.
He stood slowly, his back bent from the pain in his
joints and his knees stiff from sitting too long at his table.
As the sun came out from behind a cloud it cast a beam
through the Palace window and onto the Bishop's face. He
looked out at the unfinished apse of his Cathedral, another
irritation to add to his woes. It was a sorry state of affairs
for a Bishopric of this standing. Nearly one hundred years
of building – including the setback of the Great Storm in

1228 – and still it was incomplete!
He leant forward on the windowsill so that he could see
whether anyone was working below. Pulleys, ropes,
scaffolding, cranes, mortar buckets, masonry and tools of
all kinds desecrated the site. A frown crossed the Bishop’s



brow as he noticed the idle men. That was the trouble with
paying labourers as they worked – the longer they took to
finish the job, the more they were paid. It practically
amounted to an incentive to be slow! (He neglected to
acknowledge that many of the labourers gave their time
voluntarily in the service of God!)
He turned back into the room with a shake of his
head. Yes, it was indeed necessary – even imperative – for
him to make the most of every financial opportunity that
presented itself. If his detractors could only see that he
didn’t do it in order to line his own pockets but for the
greater glory of God, they might leave him alone to get on
with the business of the Church. What made him
particularly angry was the fact that King Philippe had
caused this problem himself by recalling the Kingdom’s
coinage and replacing it with currency of a lesser value.
What kind of idiot would do that? And – as if that wasn’t
enough - having survived the outrage that followed by
hiding behind the skirts of the Templars (taking refuge in
the Paris Temple), he then proceeded to banish the Italian
bankers! The Jews followed just two years ago - and then
the ultimate proof of his madness. Last year he’d had all

the Templars arrested, and was now trying to coerce Pope
Clement into dissolving the Order altogether. So much for
gratitude! And it was all very well for the King to confiscate
the Order’s wealth and property, but what about the impact
on trading towns such as Troyes? The combined effect of
his policies were devastating! The revenues from the Great
Annual Faire alone had been halved in the last three years.
Well, the irony was that those very Templars who had
once protected the King and were themselves betrayed,
now provided the possibility of a financial solution to the
Bishop’s problems. God knew how to care for His own and
had directed Providence to Troyes. Guichard looked long
and hard at the second document on his desk.
As always, things were made more difficult by the
politics of the day. Even Guichard didn’t know the Pope’s
true position in regard to the Templars. Publicly he
condemned the King’s actions, and the Bishop was sure



that privately he opposed them as well. But it was
rumoured that Clement realised that – in reality - there was
little he could do, and that in order to win the war in the
long run he was prepared to lose this battle. Consequently,
any support of those Templars who had managed to escape
the purge was fraught with danger – both from the Church
and the King.
But no one had any moral right to object to the
methods by which Guichard sought to keep his Bishopric
financed – least of all the King. Philippe ‘the Fair’ indeed!

No, he had absolutely no justification for objecting to the
way in which any Bishop or member of the clergy sought to
compensate themselves for his catastrophic policies. And
with that thought he bent and signed the document without
any further hesitation.

Just a couple of miles away, on the plains to the west,
justice in the form of half a dozen riders was approaching
the gates of Troyes. At their head was Guillaume de
Nogaret, one of the most feared men in France. His
mission was a bold one, and would undoubtedly cause
shock and debate throughout the Christian world for years
to come - but this was of no consequence to him. Fulfilling
the commands of his King was all the justification he ever
needed, but the opportunity to inflict harm on the Church
as well definitely offered an added bonus.
By the time the riders had reached the gates of the
city they were attracting considerable attention. They
navigated their way through the narrow streets in the
direction of the Bishop's Palace with no need for secrecy.
Their mission today would be swift and completed before
anyone had a chance to react. Even the Bailli of Troyes
would be unaware of events until they were well away on
the road back to Paris. It would be much later as news
reached the ears of the Pope when matters would come to
a head.
They crossed the expanse of Saint Jean's market as
the stalls were beginning to pack up for the day.

Guichard’s reverie was suddenly interrupted by the
entrance of one of his staff. Thomas Garonde, the manager
of the Office’s estates, bowed his head politely.
'Sorry to disturb you, Your Eminence, but it has come
to my attention that the Bailli has again acted contrary to
our wishes in regard to the poachers we caught several
months ago.'
'Has he taken any action against them?' asked
Guichard impatiently.
'I believe they have been fined a trifling sum – hardly
a sufficient deterrent, I fear.'
'Well? Why come to me? Surely you should be
harassing Bailli Dubois?'
'I wanted your authority to pursue the matter and to
insist that he prosecute these men,' replied Garonde
humbly.
'Is it absolutely necessary? After all, it’s such a trivial
matter…’ Guichard was only too well aware of his estate
manager’s shortcomings. He was a young, good looking
man, dark of complexion with long, well groomed hair
which fell easily to his shoulders. His prospects in life
seemed promising on the face of it - he had a job that was
usually reserved for men twice his age and experience, and
he had a generally sober disposition. Unfortunately, he
also had a serious gambling problem and, as a
consequence, was as poor as a beggar’s dog. He had no
inheritance at all to look forward to, and his poor temper
made him an unlikely suitor for any woman who might be

able to help him out of his pecuniary difficulties. In many
ways he was a gifted manager, but Guichard knew it was
largely due to his meanness and lack of sympathy for
others less fortunate. There was no doubting he felt a
certain contempt for those worse off than himself, and it
was common knowledge that the tenants loathed him. He
was very good when circumstances demanded a firm hand,
but was often over-zealous when a gentler approach might
have been more effective.
'The incidence of poaching has been growing steadily
for some time, Your Eminence. I believe it is necessary to



make an example of these men,' the young man added,
pressing his cause.
'Very well – but don’t get carried away. Remember
you’re a Christian, Thomas, and should behave with
compassion.'
'Yes, Your Eminence, always.' He bowed respectfully
and backed out of the room. Guichard shook his head
irritably once he was alone again. He liked to be respected,
but he hated sycophancy. He was just about to return to
his work when there was a loud crash from downstairs -
followed by the sound of shouting and the unmistakable
clang of swords.
Fear, anger and bewilderment in equal measure
passed through the mind of the Bishop. Who would cause
such a disturbance? Thieves? The townspeople rising
against him? A disgruntled suitor seeking redress for an

appointment he had been expecting? Eventually the
intruders reached the top of the stairs and burst through
the study door. The first thing Guichard saw as the six men
entered was the gold fleur-de-lys emblazoned on the
soldiers’ sleeves. Fury welled up inside him.
'This is an outrage!' he began to shout, until he looked
beyond the soldiers and recognised the face of the man
standing behind them. Guillaume de Nogaret – Councillor,
Keeper of the Seal, and ruthless prosecutor of the King’s
commands. The colour drained from the Bishop’s face and
he collapsed, terror-stricken, into the chair behind him.
'What is the meaning of this?' he croaked as the men
crossed the room towards him. Nogaret stepped forward,
pulled an official parchment from his belt, broke the seal
and began to read in a confident, powerful voice:
'Guichard, Bishop of Troyes, you are charged with the
murder of Jeanne of Navarre, Queen of France, through
witchcraft. You are also charged with murdering the
Queen’s mother by poisoning, as well as simony, sodomy,
being the son of an incubus, various acts of homicide and
sorcery, usury, counterfeiting, blasphemy and incitement to
riot.' The Bishop’s mouth hung open and his eyes were
wide with horror. Behind the intruders he could see several



members of his staff – the over-zealous Thomas, his legal
adviser Antoine Reynard (a red headed man who was
cursed with a club foot), and his scribe Jean Bellimont.
'You can’t be serious? I haven’t done any of those

things. This is some kind of mistake,' stammered Guichard,
the sweat now pouring off his brow. Nogaret continued,
speaking over the top of the terrified accused:
'I have been authorised by the King himself to place
you under arrest and to convey you immediately to the
Louvre for questioning and trial. You are immediately
stripped of your office and may bring with you no servants
or entourage of any description. An advocate will be
appointed by the State in due course.' The Councillor
smiled, baring broken, rotted teeth. 'You can be assured
that you will receive a fair trial.'
Guichard jumped to his feet, knocking his chair to the
floor in the process. He came from behind the desk to
confront his attacker directly.
'Who do you think you are – you son of heretics – ' (it
was rumoured that Nogaret's parents had been loathsome
Cathars) ' - to cast such ridiculous accusations at me? For
that matter, who is the King to interfere in matters that –
notwithstanding their absurdity - are wholly within the
preserve of the Church? The State has absolutely no
jurisdiction…' Growing impatient, Nogaret gave a sign to
the nearest soldier, who responded by ramming the butt of
his sword hard into the Bishop’s stomach. Guichard’s face
betrayed utter astonishment, before he crumpled to his
knees in agony. He could vaguely hear the town’s bells
ringing outside as he was picked up by the soldiers – one
under each arm – and forcibly removed from the Palace.
Through misty eyes he saw the dim outlines of his staff
wringing their hands, uncertain what to do.
'Send a message to the Pope – quickly. Tell him I’ve

been arrested by the King and will perish if he doesn’t act
immediately,' - then he retched violently and, thankfully,
the world went black.