by David Gilman
‘She killed him? Even though he lured routiers behind her walls?’
Simon Bucy suppressed the sigh of exasperation. His face remained passive. ‘Sire, Château de Felice was taken by Thomas Blackstone. His men burned and raped. Blackstone killed William Cade.’
The Dauphin’s face sagged. ‘If Cade was tortured he would have told Blackstone who sent him.’ He gave it a moment’s thought and shrugged. ‘That is of no consequence. What of the Countess?’
‘One of the garrison men who escaped said that she was alive when he left. But Blackstone’s men had pillaged and killed with abandon. It is not known whether she has survived.’
‘It grieves us to think that a loyal widow who waged her own war against these vermin might succumb to the likes of Blackstone.’ The Dauphin stood and tugged the cloak around him. He smiled. ‘Our father must take action against him. He has legitimate cause now.’
‘There is more information that the King has not yet been made aware of. Nothing is yet clear and we do not know whether the reports are first hand but, because the King desires to travel to Avignon, I thought you should be the first to hear what we have discovered,’ said Bucy, clearly enjoying the privilege of bearing important information.
The Dauphin waited. ‘Are we to die of exhaustion awaiting your news?’
‘Sire, our envoys travelled down the Rhône to ensure that the army had secured his route. Our people in Avignon report that Pope Innocent is ill and in his weakened state we were fearful that he might grant an amnesty to the routiers who press close to the city walls. I was concerned for the King’s ongoing comfort and safety. The Pope has excommunicated the mercenaries who demanded payment in return for raiding elsewhere, but we have heard that he has pardoned one group of brigands. The circumstances are not clear and we do not know why but there was word that they were Thomas Blackstone’s men.’
Bucy was gratified to see that the news focused the Dauphin’s attention.
‘He is in Avignon now?’ said the Dauphin, shocked.
‘We are uncertain, but his name was heard many times. We assume it to be true.’
‘The Pope has pardoned him and his men?’
‘It would appear so.’
‘Why would he go to Avignon?’ The Dauphin considered the possibilities. ‘Unless… unless he is leaving France to go to Italy. You say we have heard nothing about his son in Florence but is it possible that Blackstone has? Is he retreating to Italy to be with his son?’
‘It is doubtful, sire. Our sources say his men are riding north from Avignon.’
‘Here? Or… do they intend to invade Burgundy? It is a prize the English failed to secure in the past. We do not understand. Our northern army is between the King and them.’
‘Other routiers gnaw at the edge of Burgundy, highness. If he is joining these others then they might be arriving in force.’
The Dauphin fell silent; thoughts of Blackstone demanded concentration. ‘If our father places a bounty on Blackstone now and the Pope has granted a pardon does that not cause a conflict between the Holy Father and ourselves?’
Bucy hesitated. Let the young Dauphin see that he, the wise counsellor, thought deeply on the matter before answering. As always it added weight. ‘Not if Pope Innocent was pressured to do so,’ he said as if he had considered the ramifications. In fact he knew already that no such conflict would exist should the King of France bring the weight of his authority to bear against Blackstone. ‘If the Pope lies sick and there are brigands at the gates of Avignon then what value can there be in granting such a pardon? It does not absolve Blackstone from rape and murder and further atrocities. There is also rumour that before Château de Felice and after he destroyed Saint-Aubin, he and a marauding band struck at Sainte-Bernice-de-la-Grave. There was a great slaughter and mutilation of the worst kind. And it appears the young son, Alain de la Grave, was taken hostage. Nothing is known of his welfare.’
The Dauphin’s parchment skin creased into a smile. ‘I laid traps for Blackstone, and my plan in Florence to kill his son and blame the Visconti might still bear success, but now Blackstone places his head in a noose of his own choosing. He will find no favour now with Edward. He can no longer serve the English King and secure the towns ceded under the treaty. Here is proof that he has taken matters into his own hands and benefits as much as any common mercenary.’
Bucy watched the agitated Dauphin stand and pace back and forth, fists clenched. ‘Sire, hardly proof. May I beg to remind you that all of this is only rumour. That the messenger from Château de Felice might be exaggerating events there. Yes, of course we know Blackstone sacked Saint-Aubin, but as to the rest of it…?’
The Dauphin glared at Bucy. ‘Rumour serves our purpose. Told convincingly enough it becomes truth.’
‘And dare we deceive King Edward? If he discovers that—’
‘Edward has forced a foul treaty on our father!’ the Dauphin interrupted. ‘We fought that treaty with you at our side. We denied Edward even more territory. We will take France back one day but if there is an opportunity to impugn Blackstone in the eyes of his King then we will not hesitate.’
The Dauphin had found a new energy and strode from the room with a subservient but worried Simon Bucy in his wake. Merciful Christ, Bucy prayed quietly, grant those who labour to restrain an impetuous king-in-waiting the ability to control his actions. The Dauphin sought satisfaction against Thomas Blackstone with an unquenchable thirst. But if the allegations against the scar-faced knight were proved to be nothing more than exaggerated tales and the all-powerful English King learnt of it, then Edward would find a way to inflict further punishment and humiliation on the French Crown. He would decide that the French were undermining the treaty. Bucy followed the man to whom he had committed his loyalty to a room where a dozen courtiers and advisers waited and clerks had quill and parchment ready.
‘We desire that word be taken to our father bearing news of Thomas Blackstone.’
The clerks started writing as the Dauphin settled himself by the fireplace and a servant poured him wine.
‘There is now sufficient evidence that King Edward employs a mercenary knight who hides behind the official duties imposed by his own King,’ said the Dauphin. He glanced at the gathered courtiers. ‘It would not be the first time that Thomas Blackstone has defied his monarch.’ He saw the clerks scratching away. ‘No, no. Do not write that.’ He gestured at the clerks to wait and then signalled he was ready to dictate again. ‘We entreat our beloved father to summon Sir John Chandos and deliver a formal writ of complaint. We implore him to send word to the English King that the atrocities committed by Thomas Blackstone will be a cause of concern to him and that we will pursue such criminal and foul activities in defence of our treaty.’ He raised a hand to stop the scribes writing. ‘Edward has vowed to rid us of these brigands. He cannot in good conscience employ this mercenary in his service.’ The Dauphin glanced at Bucy. ‘We will bring Edward’s force against Blackstone as well as our own.’
Bucy felt a grudging respect for the ailing Dauphin. He had thrown a wide net to entrap Thomas Blackstone and even if each attempt failed he now reached into the very heart of England and was in effect blackmailing Edward. The English King could not object to the French hunting down his own chosen captain, and if Edward feared his will had been thwarted by a rogue knight who placed the treaty in jeopardy then he would have his chosen commander Chandos stop Blackstone. The physically weak Dauphin might spend his days in his library rather than enjoying the hunt at the King’s side, but his mind was agile and as cunning as a rodent finding its way into the grain store. Perhaps, Bucy dared to think, when the Dauphin Charles came to the throne he would be known as the Rat King.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The Gascon captain Beyard had led Fra Foresti and Henry Blackstone out of Avignon as Niccolò Torellini remained to recuperate from the arduous journey across the Alps. That a loyal captain serving Blackstone had arrived in the same place as Torellini’s fo
othold in southern France could only be an act of God. And that Beyard had been sent by Blackstone to recruit more men gave the old priest even more comfort. But the sooner Beyard departed from Avignon, where whispers travelled more quickly than the wind, the better. If Blackstone and his small band of men were less than ten days away then his son could be delivered safely and with more protection than Torellini could have hoped for. Once he had secured the Pope’s pardon for the Gascons under Beyard’s command he embraced the son of the man whom God and Fate had brought into his life.
‘Tell your father that I send him my heartfelt wishes and that I beg his forgiveness for allowing you to be placed in danger while in my care,’ he told Henry.
‘Father Torellini, my father would never bear you any ill will. It is I who must beg your forgiveness because my presence in Florence caused an attack to be made on me and that you have been obliged to journey so far from the comfort of your home.’
‘A gracious answer, my boy. You have been educated by the finest minds and you have learnt good manners and the importance of respect. But you have also been close to death before and forced to defend yourself and I know you do not take killing lightly. But your journey is not yet over and you may once again be required to take your sword in hand. It is then, as happened in that street in Florence, that you must set aside the laws of reason and the language and emotion of the schoolroom and defend yourself.’
‘I am in good hands, Father Torellini,’ said Henry, acknowledging the two men who were now his guardians for his onward journey to his father.
* * *
Beyard gathered the men he had recruited but made no mention who it was that travelled with them. It was enough for them to know that the Tau knight had promised to escort the young man in his charge to Canterbury on pilgrimage. As they rode cautiously towards the agreed meeting place with Blackstone they saw increasing signs of French troops on the banks of the Rhône. More men were gathering than they had seen before and if the French army was marching from the north to entrap the mercenary bands then their ranks would soon be swelled by these thousands of men moving up from the south.
‘Do we make ourselves known to the French?’ asked Henry.
‘No, we have had skirmishes with them. We did not know whether their attack was deliberate or whether they mistook Sir Thomas and thought us a band of routiers.’
‘If my father serves the King and there’s a treaty then why would they now wish to deliberately attack him? The French would bring King Edward’s scorn and anger upon them.’
Beyard looked with uncertainty at the Tau knight. How best to answer the boy?
‘He has a point,’ said Fra Foresti. ‘If you and these men cannot appeal to the French for further protection then that means you are fearful of them. But it seems impossible that we will be able to avoid them on this journey.’
‘Avoid them we must, Brother Foresti, and Master Blackstone is correct. We might be mistaken about their intent but it is my opinion we would be safer in routier hands than with the French. The war was won but a treaty can be tested. Who knows what Edward might sacrifice to see his ceded lands brought under his control? A king would not lose sleep over the loss of one of his captains if it meant keeping hold of peace.’
‘Then we are thankful that good fortune has brought you to us,’ said Fra Foresti.
Beyard wasn’t listening. His attention had been caught by his outriders, who urged their horses from the high ground ahead. He spurred his own horse away from the Tau knight and Henry but the Gascon’s sense of urgency was infectious and the column of men quickly followed.
Beyard heard only a few words of his outriders’ report and then, wheeling his horse, followed them at the canter. They crested the ridge and looked across the valley below. On the far side, a thousand yards distant, he saw fluttering banners and a mass of men. They were moving across a battlefield. His eyes swept the expanse beneath them. Hundreds of corpses littered the field. The killing must have ended only hours before. Loose horses stood and grazed, ignoring the twisted dead. Others had fallen alongside their riders. It looked to have been a sudden confrontation.
‘French army,’ said Beyard as the other men caught up. He pointed to the indistinct huddle of men in the distance.
‘Routiers,’ said one of his outriders. ‘Caught like rats.’
‘They came down that plain between the hills and the river and had nowhere to run,’ said another man-at-arms.
‘Beyard!’ called one of the Gascons from down the line of men who were gazing at the slaughter. ‘Look sharp!’
The Tau knight and Beyard looked to where the man pointed. Horsemen, several hundred yards away, were riding hard towards them.
‘Rearguard ready to kill stragglers,’ Beyard shouted. ‘Too many. We must outrun them!’
He yanked his horse around and spurred it towards the higher ground that lay two or three miles away. If they could make the rocky, forested heights their pursuers might have second thoughts about attacking them uphill. Beyard realized that if they survived they would need to find sanctuary behind the walls of a town because the countryside was crawling with determined French troops. And if Blackstone was travelling towards their rendezvous then he too was riding into an overwhelming force. But there was no way he could be warned. He looked across to where the Tau knight and Henry Blackstone whipped their horses. At least the boy could ride. The test would come if the outnumbered men were obliged to fight. Beyard did not wish to be the man who told Thomas Blackstone that his son lay dead in a sodden field of blood.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Blackstone had suppressed his impatience and desire to be free of the Countess and Felice. The apothecary had pleaded with him to delay his departure so that Alain had a chance to survive the butchery on his leg. So Blackstone had delayed. Waited and kept the men sharp, once their wounds were healed, for Gruffydd ap Madoc’s camp in the mountains would likely be a stronghold that would take its toll on Blackstone’s men in an attack. Patrols went out every day but there was no sign of French troops making their way towards the château. Finally, at the end of the month with bad weather looming, they took their leave.
Blackstone’s horsemen rode slowly through the gates of Château de Felice. The town’s walls had no sentries. Felice was left to defend itself and its predatory Countess Catherine de Val as best it could, a depleted citadel that now had only its sheer walls to repel any invader. The blood-clogged mouth of William Cade gaped in a silent curse. His blind eyes, already taken by the crows, denied his departed soul the sight of the victor leading his men away to seek further retribution against Gruffydd ap Madoc. Cade’s skull would rot, or the townspeople would cast it into the river; either way the time of the routiers at Felice had ended.
Countess Catherine stood at her window, the fire in the grate cold, her gown loose, her skin puckered from the wind that swept down the valley. She wore no make-up; her hair was unkempt, her mind desperate. Every ambition to avenge her dead husband and children had been crushed by the Englishman. Her town was defenceless, her people fearful and she had nothing to comfort their grief. She watched as the line of horsemen faded into the distance. She had given Blackstone the Welshman’s location. That Blackstone and his men would be outnumbered and surely killed when the Englishman found the man he hunted brought her no satisfaction. She had gambled and lost. How long would it be before the people in the town turned on her and sought out the gold that still remained? She was a defenceless woman utterly alone. How could she carry on?
She gazed down the sheer walls to the jagged rocks far below. It would take only a few terrified breaths before her body smashed into the gully. Then the barren life that beckoned and the impending assault from her own people would be averted and she would, at last, find some kind of peace by joining her husband and children. She raised her face to the wind and let it chastise her body a moment longer, then called to her servants to bathe her and prepare her finest clothes. She stepped away from the window and
its temptation.
A better day would come.
Other men could be bought and power regained.
* * *
Alain de la Grave lay tied onto a litter. Blackstone had kept the pace slow during the first day and stopped frequently to attend to the young Frenchman, but he knew he could not pursue the Welshman or fend off any attack with the injured boy slowing them down. Given that they were carrying an invalid, Blackstone had decided to avoid taking the ceded town that he intended to secure for Edward, knowing that Beyard would by now be making his way northward with any men he had recruited. As they edged towards the monastery he knew he had to risk the boy’s life again. He would leave him in the care of Prior Albert, the man who had betrayed them. ‘Unless we meet Beyard coming north we will have to leave word at the monastery,’ said Blackstone.
‘These scab-arsed monks might smother the lad or let him rot,’ said Killbere.
‘I’ll give them cause not to do that,’ said Blackstone as they eased their mounts into the forest for the night.
Killbere and Blackstone dismounted and pushed through the low ferns to where fallen trees and a rocky outcrop created a natural encampment. Killbere ran his hand across the velvet coat of the moss-covered deadwood.
‘Damned forests are always wet, Thomas. My bones ache from it. I have been denied the comfort of a feather mattress with a woman whose teats would please a wet-nurse and any suckling babe. I thought myself well suited to the life of lord of the manor at Felice. My cock ached for her, and in time my heart would have come around as well; now all I have are aching bones. A poor exchange.’
Blackstone tethered the bastard horse and pulled free the saddle. He tore a handful of ferns and rubbed its sweat-slicked back. Muscles quivered as it turned its oversize head, fixed its glare on him and then shifted its weight. Blackstone moved carefully out of reach of the iron-shod hooves. ‘Too many old wounds, Gilbert. All of us – including him,’ he said, meaning the horse. ‘She would have gelded you one day. That or cut your throat – as she tried to do. She had an appetite for men. You would not have lasted long in her embrace.’
