by David Gilman
‘Do you think I would carry payment with me?’
The Welshman grinned. ‘It should offend me that you don’t trust me. Don’t forget I was the one who saved your life at Brignais.’ He chewed, ruminating on how best to deal with Blackstone, who was no longer a knight who fought where he chose, but who was now King Edward’s Master of War and who carried Edward and the Prince’s authority. ‘And I gave you back the money I stole from you before the battle at Brignais.’
‘To avoid bad blood between us.’
‘There was that,’ he admitted. ‘The thought of us fighting to the death caused my passionate Welsh heart to melt at the prospect of me killing you.’ Killbere snorted derisively at the thought of ap Madoc besting Blackstone. The Welshman shrugged. ‘Well, I have the men you want. And if you have the King’s writ then we can do business.’
‘I want supplies for the men who are following me.’
‘I’ve raided all summer to secure winter feed for my horses and men. Why would I share it?’
‘Because you made a pledge to the man I sent that you would offer all assistance. For payment.’
‘I did, I did. You know, Thomas…’ He got off his stool and poured himself more wine into a clay beaker. ‘Time is a fickle mistress. Those weeks ago when your men sought me out and you were still wherever it was you were, I made, let’s say, an agreement with someone else.’
‘You’re reneging on your agreement with us?’ snorted Killbere. ‘If you do, you betray an agreement with the King of England.’
‘Now, there you are, Gilbert, jumping to conclusions, casting my character into the shadows. I did not say I was reneging, simply that circumstances have altered my terms of commitment.’
‘He’s backing out. I told you, Thomas, you cannot trust this whoreson.’
Gruffydd ap Madoc’s temper broke and he flung the beaker across the room. ‘Damn you, Killbere, I’ll not be insulted here in my own stronghold! I will not!’
As Killbere reached for his sword, Blackstone got between the two men. ‘Sit down. Both of you. There’s a battle to be fought, and it’s not in this room.’
The two men quietened.
‘Gruffydd, you promised me men.’
‘I have them.’
‘The six hundred?’
‘Almost, Thomas. Some have deserted; others have gone to fight in Spain. The weather is kinder there.’
‘How many?’
‘Two hundred,’ ap Madoc said apologetically.
Blackstone took the bad news stoically. ‘Not enough.’
Ap Madoc shrugged. ‘Maybe a few more. Another fifty.’
‘Four hundred,’ said Blackstone. ‘That’s what I need.’
‘No. They are needed elsewhere now. I will give you two hundred and seventy-five men, all equipped and provisioned.’
‘Three hundred and fifty, including any more archers you have.’
‘Three hundred, but the archers are few now so I cannot spare them.’
‘Very well. I’ll reduce the agreed payment accordingly.’
‘I accept,’ said the Welshman. ‘I will send them to your captains at the place you choose and as a gesture of my affection and respect for you I will give you the supplies you requested without charge.’
Blackstone looked hard at the man who had changed sides so often. ‘There’s more you want from me. What is it?’
Gruffydd ap Madoc sat back down and rubbed a finger in spilled wine on the wooden table. ‘I ask a great favour of you.’
Killbere quickly glanced at Blackstone. The devious routier was like a winter fever that crept up on an unsuspecting man and brought him down. Ap Madoc’s tone was now that of a reasonable man seeking understanding. ‘I seek… redemption.’
‘I’m no damned priest,’ said Blackstone.
‘No, no, wait, do not judge me, I beg you.’
‘Too late for that, you lying, thieving whoreson,’ said Killbere.
Ap Madoc did not raise his voice or a hand in anger. ‘I understand you doubt me but only Thomas can help me. I fought for our blessed King Edward, fought as hard as any man. I spoke up for you against my own archers at Crécy when you were a young bowman and you wore the silver goddess at your neck because they thought you had taken her from a dead man. Yes, of course you remember. And you, Gilbert, we bled together. So, when the fighting ended, and we parted – when Thomas hovered close to death – I sold my skills, which set me on a path of violence that continues to this day. We were comrades-in-arms and now… now… I wish to be pardoned by the King and serve him again.’
‘God’s tears,’ said Killbere. ‘You waste good breath on a speech fit for a whimpering novice who played with his cock during Holy Communion.’
Gruffydd ap Madoc bowed his head. ‘I am not a man who can use words well,’ he said and raised his eyes to Blackstone. ‘I give you my word. I beg you, speak on my behalf to the King.’
‘I have no means of speaking to him,’ said Blackstone. ‘Even if I believed you.’
Ap Madoc lifted his hands in surrender. ‘Then to prove myself I will not accept the payment offered in the King’s writ. I cannot join the fight against Armagnac because when you did not arrive in good time I made an agreement to take some of my men and help another. I ride south tomorrow but the men, and the supplies – they are yours. If I cannot serve the King then I will serve the Prince, as do you, Thomas. I will be his vassal. I shall pledge my fealty and my sword to him. I do not wish to be outlawed any longer. I wish to prove myself again as I once did.’
For a ruffian like Gruffydd ap Madoc to refuse a substantial payment for his men was a convincing gesture.
Killbere gazed in disbelief. ‘Thomas? You don’t believe this scoundrel?’
Blackstone remained silent, giving the proposition thought. ‘And if I seek this favour from the Prince you would relinquish the lands and towns you have seized, and return that which has been looted?’
‘Gladly,’ said the Welshman. ‘I was content as a soldier of the King. Come, Thomas, did you not tire of selling your sword to the Italians or any other feudal lord who offered enough money? Was it not a relief to surrender all of that when you were honoured and made his Master of War?’
‘Where do you ride tomorrow?’
‘To the King of Navarre. He has asked for men.’
‘Jean de Grailly is advising him now. Why would you be summoned?’
‘An old debt, Thomas. I owe him. I wish to clear my name and reclaim what little of my honour remains. I will do the Prince’s bidding. When he receives the fealty of the Lords of Aquitaine I will bend the knee and kiss his hand. I swear it.’
Blackstone hesitated. ‘He’s not here for some months. Attend to your business with de Grailly and Navarre. I’ll speak to the Prince. That’s all I can do.’
*
Blackstone and Killbere rode away from the walled town. A dozen levies followed with supply horses and food for the men in the bastide.
‘He’s a viper that slips beneath a man’s blanket for warmth and then sinks his fangs, Thomas.’
‘I know. But I have his men and supplies without payment and I can use that money elsewhere for good cause.’
‘And you said nothing about von Plauen and his comrades. If they discover where the Welshman is it would remove a potential problem. Why not let them kill him? Who would grieve?’
Blackstone nodded. ‘I know but I cannot forget that he and other routiers came to our aid at Brignais. We would all be dead if he had not arrived in good time. If he can be brought to heel and to fight for the Prince, then Aquitaine has gained a man whose presence will help keep the peace. I’m not concerned, Gilbert. It’s months until the Prince lands and I would rather have the Welshman away from the field of battle in case he turned and ran when he saw the odds that face us.’ The turn of events troubled him but as the bastide hove into view, he couldn’t see any reason not to have agreed to ap Madoc’s request. Time was against Blackstone. His captains would soon be following on
his heels, threading their way across the countryside, forming up their ranks of fighting men. They had arranged a gathering place. Now all he had to do was convince the Count de Foix that he needed them.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Gunther von Schwerin rode back into Dome as the chapel bell rang for vespers. His companions were already making their way inside for prayers when he dismounted and handed his reins to a stable lad who had run for the honour of caring for the knight’s horse. Sibrand von Ansbach turned around before the doors closed and strode to the mud-splattered knight.
‘Gunther, where were you? We searched everywhere. One of the stable hands said you left before we awoke.’
Von Schwerin pulled free his gloves. ‘You’re missing prayers, my friend.’
‘And you have been gone all day. Wolfram is angry.’
‘Wolfram is always angry these days. He must have some kind of brain fever. I’ll explain everything. I need something to eat and drink – it’s been a long ride.’
His fellow knight matched his stride as he made his way towards their tents. Around them the town’s soldiers went about their business. Preparations were being made for Father Torellini’s departure the next day, and the additional fifty men who were to accompany the King’s escort were being harangued by their sergeant.
‘Is everything ready for tomorrow?’ said von Schwerin. ‘Is Wolfram staying true to his pledge of protecting the woman?’
‘Gunther, we have no choice. You said yourself we must remain patient. God will lead us to the Welshman in good time.’
Von Schwerin reached his tent and unbuckled his sword belt. He wanted nothing more than to slake his thirst and sluice the sweat from his body. ‘I stink. Help me with my mail,’ he said, ‘and then fetch me that bucket of water.’ He bent so that his friend could pull free the weight of the mail from him. Ignoring the cold evening air he stripped off the shirt as von Ansbach placed a wooden bucket at his feet. He splashed the cold water rigorously onto his chest and arms and then soaked his hair. He shook his head like a dog out of water and dried himself with a rough length of sacking. He took out his second shirt from his bag and pulled on the dry linen cloth, then buckled his jerkin on again.
‘Well? What have you to say?’ said von Ansbach as Gunther drank from a wineskin.
‘It’s vespers. A time for quiet contemplation on the events of the day that has gone before us,’ he said solemnly.
His companion’s jaw dropped, and before he could recover sufficiently to reply, Gunther smiled. ‘Don’t be so serious all the time, Sibrand. We will pray again at compline. By then I will have satisfied the demands of the body with food and drink. My conscience isn’t burdened because I left without telling you or the others where I was going. Let’s attend to the fire and when Brother Wolfram and Rudi return I’ll tell you where I have been.’
He settled himself on the upturned bucket as von Ansbach ignored his own frustration and concentrated on stoking the fire. Gunther watched the activity in the town as he cut a wedge of bread and meat. They could not avoid the journey to Avignon but there was nothing stopping them from riding free of the column as the journey progressed. He watched as Henry Blackstone and the woman’s son, Jocard, carried saddlebags towards the stables. The young men worked diligently without supervision: Blackstone’s son obeying earlier commands from his now absent father, and acting like a guardian to the younger boy. It was easy to see the lad had leadership qualities. From what von Schwerin had witnessed and heard of Henry Blackstone the boy also had courage and intelligence. The two combined meant he could make a mark in life and he wondered if Blackstone was sending his son to Avignon in the hope that an education would remove him from the bloodshed that stalked his father like death’s shadow.
Idle reflections about Blackstone’s son left him as thoughts of his own destiny beckoned. When evening prayers ended the two knights watched their companions come out of the chapel. Wolfram von Plauen strode towards him. ‘We do not act alone, Gunther. I gave our pledge and we must abide by it. Where did you go?’
‘Brother Wolfram, I made no pledge to stay with the Lady Cateline; we only gave our word of honour that we would see you keep yours and act as her guardian. Nothing binds us to you.’
‘Except the brotherhood,’ said von Burchard.
‘Rudi is right, Gunther,’ von Ansbach said and stood with his companions. Gunther had not raised himself from where he sat but he knew, as did they all, that their strength lay in the bond between them. They had vowed to travel together until they killed Gruffydd ap Madoc.
‘I apologize, Brother. I should have told you but your duties have kept you occupied and away from us.’
Colour crept up von Plauen’s neck. Was this mockery? Was his desire so obvious? ‘As you said, I swore an oath,’ he said coldly. ‘Where did you go?’
Gunther von Schwerin looked beyond the three men to where Gisbert de Dome was speaking to one of his captains. A secret could escape without a word being spoken. Men who were given news they were desperate to hear acted differently. Their eagerness would be clear to anyone with a keen eye. He had no choice but to tell them and hope they kept aloof from the others. ‘We leave early tomorrow, my friends, with the Italian priest and the Lady Cateline. We ensure that Brother Wolfram stays true to his promises. We will go to Avignon, but along the way we can ride free of the escort without suspicion and attend to our own business. I shadowed Thomas Blackstone. I have found the Welshman.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
As Blackstone and Killbere, accompanied by John Jacob, rode south towards the Pyrenees, William Ashford led his men out of Dome. Father Niccolò Torellini had Henry and Lady Cateline with her children ride close to him so they had the immediate protection of William Ashford’s escort. Gisbert de Dome’s additional fifty men rode ahead and the Teutonic Knights brought up the rear. Wolfram von Plauen had attempted to keep Cateline at his side, insisting it was his duty to keep her close. It was a futile suggestion, given the number of men surrounding her but she mollified him by telling him he could camp close to her when they stopped for the night.
Von Plauen’s fellow knights remained silent as they watched their leader press his case with her. She was a noblewoman who saw the Teutonic Knight as a vassal monk. His status within the Order meant nothing to her and his companions wondered quietly among themselves whether his behaviour was that of a spurned guardian whose pledge to Blackstone was being rebuffed or of a man unused to being in such proximity to a woman. A beautiful woman.
Gunther von Schwerin rode forward to William Ashford. ‘We are leaving the column for a few hours,’ he informed the King’s sergeant. ‘Our horses are used to more a more strenuous pace than this.’
Ashford had no control over the Teutonic Knights; it was Blackstone’s decision to make one of them guardian to the Frenchwoman. She seemed self-assured enough to look after herself as far as Ashford was concerned. Von Plauen was no longer a threat now he had been beaten and subjugated to the role of wet nurse and obliged to shadow the woman. And, frankly, William Ashford had seen enough erratic behaviour from wayward priests who lied about visiting whorehouses to have no interest in what the Teutonic Knights wanted to do away from the column.
‘As you wish,’ he said.
‘We will return by morning.’
Ashford shrugged. ‘As long as you cause no problems to this escort and the people it protects I don’t care.’
The gentle rebuff gave von Schwerin pause and he scowled. These Englishmen had no manners. But then he heeled his horse and returned to his comrades.
Father Torellini had overheard the conversation and turned to watch the four Teutonic Knights gallop away. What was so pressing?
‘They’re in a hurry,’ said Henry, unconsciously echoing the priest’s thoughts.
Henry’s inquisitiveness was not lost on Torellini. He lowered his voice. ‘You’re to stay here.’
‘My father saved those men. There is a debt of honour. What if they are about t
o betray us all? We don’t know, do we? There is only one way to find out.’
The Italian studied the boy who had been under his care and protection when they were in Florence. He was capable enough of defending himself and had got the better of a knife-wielding assassin when other young men of a similar age would have run for safety. He glanced to where the four horsemen disappeared around the edge of a forest.
‘How long would it take to ride back to Dome?’ he asked.
Henry looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know. A fast ride, a few hours.’
‘There and back before dark?’
Henry understood. Torellini was giving him an excuse he needed to leave the column. ‘By nightfall, yes.’
‘Master Ashford,’ Torellini called.
The King’s sergeant checked his horse and rode to him. ‘Father?’
‘I have left a document in my chamber. Master Blackstone has offered to ride back and retrieve it for me.’
Ashford looked unhappy. ‘I don’t know about that, Father. Sir Thomas would skin me alive if anything happened to the lad while under my escort.’
‘I will take full responsibility,’ said Torellini. ‘I think it’s important enough for him to go and we are still in safe territory.’
Ashford nodded. The priest’s words took the responsibility and authority from him. ‘As you wish, Father. But I cannot split the escort and come looking for you,’ he told Henry.
‘I understand, Master Ashford.’
‘Do not push your mount too hard. A skittish horse can put the best of riders under its hooves,’ said Ashford.
Henry tugged the reins and heeled the horse.
*
Henry kept a safe distance from the Teutonic Knights, always staying below the skyline, and when he lost sight of them used his instinct as to what direction they would take. His father had taught him well, and he picked up the trail easily. As skilled as the Germans were they had no expectation of being followed and when they finally saw Gruffydd ap Madoc’s bastide they did not spot the lone horseman observing them from the edge of a distant woodland.
