A Crowning Mercy

by Bernard Cornwell

  “Enemies?” Devorax said the word with a sneer. “What enemies? You, Sir Grenville? Your corpse will be dung in this marsh tonight.” He watched the fear show in the bulging, glaucous eyes. “Lopez? The Jew is an old man, and he knows what my sword can do. He will not seek revenge.”

  Campion gripped Toby’s hand. She would not show fear. “My father.”

  “Your father?” The bearded face turned to her. “Kit Aretine abandoned you, girl, so what makes you think he’d come running now even if he could? And if he did, what makes you think he’d prefer a daughter he’d never seen to the riches of a Padua whorehouse?” Devorax laughed. “You forget I knew your father. I knew his tastes.” He watched her face. “Of course, if you want to save your life you could come and work for me.”

  Devorax put his head back in laughter. Ebenezer smiled. Two guards clamped gloved hands on Toby’s shoulders, forcing him back into the chair.

  Devorax waited until Toby was quiet. He glanced at Ebenezer. “What shall we do with them, Mr. Slythe?”

  Ebenezer shrugged. “Kill them.”

  Devorax pretended surprise. “But Sir Grenville was good to you! You won’t plead for his life?”

  Sir Grenville looked with hatred at Ebenezer. Ebenezer smiled slowly at his erstwhile patron. With Sir Grenville dead he would inherit his wealth. “Kill him.”

  “And your sister?” Devorax was pretending innocent inquiry. “Would you not save your sister’s life?”

  Ebenezer looked at her. “She’s not my sister. She’s the daughter of Aretine and his whore.”

  Devorax smiled. “You want her to die?”

  Ebenezer nodded.

  Devorax smiled at Toby. “And doubtless you’d like to be buried at your wife’s side, puppy?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “In my own time, puppy, in my own time.” Devorax smiled about the table. “What a pleasant evening. A rising tide, a waiting ship, three seals, and friends. Mr. Slythe and I to share the Covenant, and the rest of you to die.” He let the word hang in the cold stone barn. The wind rose in the broken rafters, died again. The waves were closer, the sound insistent.

  Campion looked at the tall soldier and kept her voice as calm as she could make it. “Toby has done nothing. He didn’t ask for this. Let him go.”

  “Campion!”

  “No! No! Quiet!” Devorax was smiling. “Is this love?”

  Campion raised her chin. “I love him.”

  “Oh! This is touching! How much do you love him, girl?” He leaned toward her. “How much?”

  “I love him.”

  “Enough to sign away the Covenant?” Devorax grinned. “Will you put a price on it? I’ll make an agreement with you. The puppy can live if you sign away all your wealth.”

  He had stolen it anyway, but Campion nodded.

  It was a ploy. She realized, as he opened the square, leather travelling case, that Devorax had planned this; that he had known she would plead and that he could ask his price. He brought from the case a piece of paper, an inkpot, a quill, and a bar of sealing wax. He put the paper, pen, and ink in front of her. “Sign it, girl, and the puppy lives.”

  The paper was brief. It renounced her ownership of the Covenant at twenty-five, ordering the Bank of Amsterdam to ignore the instructions that she was to receive the seals. She dipped the quill in the ink, the point scratched, and Devorax smiled at her. “Now it’s legal. Sir Grenville will tell you that it’s better to have these things done legally. Isn’t that right, Sir Grenville?”

  Sir Grenville said nothing. He was watching Devorax who had stood, taken the paper, and now dripped hot wax at its bottom. Devorax picked up the seals. “St. Matthew, St. Mark, St. Luke. There!” He held the paper up. The three wax seals shone like new blood in the candlelight. “The Covenant is changed for the first time. Lady Campion Lazender is a pauper. You, Sir Toby, will live.”

  Toby looked at the paper, at the three seals that took away Campion’s wealth, and he looked at the soldier. “She’s no danger to you now. Let her live.”

  Devorax put the paper on the table. “You want her to live, puppy?”

  Toby nodded.

  Devorax looked at him, pretending to think. “She gave up all for you, puppy, what will you give for her?”

  Toby was fighting an impotent rage. He was trapped in this room, far outnumbered by implacable enemies. He knew that Vavasour Devorax was passing the time as the tide rose, amusing himself, but Toby could see no course but to play the big soldier’s game.

  “I will give whatever you want.”

  “Your life, puppy?”

  “No!” Campion protested.

  Toby frowned at Devorax. “Will she live?”

  “She’ll live.” Devorax nodded at the men behind Toby and, at the prearranged signal, they seized him. They were big men, easily overpowering him, and he could only watch as two more of Devorax’s soldiers took hold of Campion. They pulled her upright and led her to the stone wall of the barn. There they stood her, her back to the stones, while Vavasour Devorax, pistol in hand, walked to face her. He glanced at Toby. “I shall count to three, puppy, and then I will shoot your wife. If you wish to stand in front of her then my men will go with you.” He raised the huge pistol, its muzzle a gaping, black hole five paces from Campion. He pulled back the flint. “Do remember, Sir Toby, that your wife is a pauper. She has nothing. You can let her die and you can walk away from here. You’ll find a wealthy bride. There are plenty of young widows in England today.”

  Campion looked at the terrible black muzzle. She raised her eyes to stare through one of the high windows of the barn. A single star glittered at her.

  Devorax’s voice was harsh. “One.”

  Toby shouted. He wrenched with huge strength at the men who held him, but they were ready, they were strong, and he could not release himself to attack Devorax. Ebenezer grinned.

  “No, Toby, no!” Campion shook her head. He had pulled his captors close to her.

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. He leaned forward and kissed her. Her cheek was cold. He kissed her again on cold, soft lips. “I love you.”

  “Two!”

  The men holding Toby and Campion had arranged themselves either side of the pistol’s aim. Devorax, fearing perhaps that the bullet might still strike one of his own men, moved two paces closer. The guards grinned. Devorax’s voice grated, “You can walk away, Sir Toby. You don’t need a pauper as a wife.”

  Toby ignored the taunting voice. He could not embrace Campion because the guards had his arms held. He leaned forward again and laid his cheek against hers. “I love you.”

  “Three!”

  Devorax fired. Flame jetted from the muzzle, blossoming filthy smoke. The explosion echoed in the barn, the sound shattering back and forth between the stone walls. Toby, his back to the gun, felt a blow in the center of his back.

  The shot was a signal. Ebenezer’s guards were watching, grinning, but as the sound rang in their ears they were assailed by Devorax’s men. Sword-hilts raked faces, gun-butts slammed into bellies, and Ebenezer’s six men were overpowered, disarmed, then kicked and clubbed down to the earthen floor.

  A leather-clad arm came over Ebenezer’s shoulder, clamped a hand on the pistol, and a knife blade pricked Ebenezer’s throat. Devorax’s man smiled. “Don’t move, Mr. Slythe.”

  Devorax turned to Ebenezer. He lowered the smoking pistol. “Why should I share the Covenant with anyone, Mr. Slythe?”

  The guards had let go of Campion, she clutched Toby, her arms about his back. “Toby!”

  “He’s not hurt.” Devorax’s voice rode over the ringing echo of the shot. “The gun was loaded with powder and wadding. Nothing else. Let him go.”

  The guards let go of Toby’s arms, stepped away, and he turned, Campion still holding him, and stared at the arrogant, helmeted soldier. “What are you doing?”

  Devorax laughed. He tossed the pistol to the floor. “Seeing if you deserve the Covenant, Sir Toby. It’s yours anyway.” H
e took the helmet off and he laughed at their expressions. “I’m Lopez’s man. I always was, I suppose I always will be.” Sir Grenville listened with terror, Ebenezer stared open-eyed. His pistol had been taken away.

  Devorax walked to the table. “There was only one way to gather the seals, and that way was treachery, but I’ll admit to a curiosity.” He held up the piece of paper with its three seals. “You’re going to be rich beyond your hopes, Sir Toby, and I wondered whether you loved her for the money or for herself. I don’t think Kit Aretine would have liked his fortune to go to a greedy man.” He held the paper into the flame of a candle. It flared up, suddenly bright in the room that was misted with the smoke of his pistol. Devorax watched the flames. “If you had not stepped in front of my pistol, Sir Toby, I would not have sent you to Holland with Lady Campion. As it is,” he dropped the burning paper, “you both go.” He stamped the burning ashes and melting seals into the floor, then grinned at Campion. “You’re rich again. Congratulations. You’re also loved, which I suspect is a greater blessing.”

  Devorax opened the leather box and took from it a bottle and two glasses. He held one of the glasses toward Toby and grinned. “I remembered your delicate drinking habits. Will you join me?”

  They still stood together, holding each other, not understanding. The pistol shot still rang in Campion’s ears. “You’re Lopez’s man?”

  “Of course!” Devorax sounded cheerful. He had poured two glasses of wine. “When you have a good friend you don’t abandon him and, believe me, Mordecai is a good man. He lost a house in London to gather these seals, but he thought it a small price for your happiness. Now, come and collect the seals, Lady Campion, and drink a toast with me.”

  John Mason, grinning hugely, offered Toby his sword and pistol. Toby, still dazed, took them. He buckled the sword belt, pushed the pistol home, then took Campion’s elbow and walked her toward the table. His chair had been overturned when Devorax’s guards seized him and he bent to put it upright. He looked at Ebenezer’s guards, each one threatened by a weapon, and he looked back to Devorax. “I thought you were going to kill her.”

  “They thought so, too.” Devorax nodded cheerfully toward Sir Grenville and Ebenezer. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have come. Think about it, Sir Toby. Think how else I could have done this.” He raised the bottle. “I agree it wasn’t comfortable for you, but I think it passing clever of me, don’t you?” He chuckled and looked at Campion. “Lady Campion, please pick up the seals. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble for them and I need to get drunk.”

  Campion sat. Devorax put a glass of wine before her, handed another to Toby as he sat beside her. Devorax raised the bottle. “I give you an absent friend, I give you Christopher Aretine.”

  Campion smiled, sipped, and found she was thirsty. She drained the glass.

  Vavasour Devorax smiled sadly. “He would be proud of you.”

  She looked up at him. “He would?”

  “Both of you.” He nodded at Toby. “Both of you.” Devorax pulled the seals toward him, put them on the top of the box and then, one by one, put them before Campion. “I’m just sorry that the last seal isn’t here.”

  She stared at the three cylinders of gold. “So am I.”

  “Pick them up, Lady Campion. They’re yours.”

  She stared at them. She did not move.

  Devorax sighed. “Sir Toby? Order your wife to pick them up. I really could not do all this again, I’m getting too old.”

  Campion touched them. She fingered them cautiously, as if they might burn her, and then, decisively, she took her father’s fortune. Matthew, Mark and Luke. An axe, a winged lion and a winged ox. She looped the chains wide about her bonnet and let the jewels hang bright over her cloak. Ebenezer watched. Sir Grenville watched.

  The sound of the waves breaking in the night was closer now. Campion listened, remembering the poem that had comforted her in the Tower. She wondered if this was the sound of mermaids singing.

  Vavasour Devorax heard the surf too, and he smiled at them. “You’ll be gone soon, we’re just waiting so that a boat can get close enough to the shore.”

  Campion looked at the scarred, ravaged face. “You’re not coming?”

  “No.” He seemed to laugh. He looked at Sir Grenville and Ebenezer. “I have this filth to clear up.”

  Campion looked at her brother, but her question was to Devorax. “You’re not going to kill him?”

  “I am!”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “No?” Devorax sounded genuinely surprised.

  He had been her brother, whatever he had done, and in his defeat he looked young again. Devorax’s betrayal had taken the supercilious smile from him, had taken away his newly won assurance, had left him as Campion remembered him at Werlatton; a gawky, awkward boy whom she had tried so hard to love, to protect from a world that was hard to the whole, let alone the lame. “No. He’s my brother.”

  Devorax looked at her, shrugged. “You’re a fool.” He nodded. “I’ll let him live, but with a remembrance of me.” He stopped her question. “I said I’ll let him live.”

  A soldier came to the door. “Colonel? Boat’s coming!”

  “So soon?” Devorax put the bottle down. He nodded to Campion. “Come on, you’re going to Holland. Say goodbye to Sir Grenville, you’ll not meet again.”

  Campion did not. She stood up, Toby took her elbow, but she stayed a moment. She smiled at Ebenezer. “Goodbye, Eb.”

  His dark eyes looked on her with loathing.

  She kept her smile. “We’ll be friends one day.”

  He sneered. “You’ll burn in hell, Dorcas.”

  She left her brother, guarded by Devorax’s men, and she followed the tall soldier into the moonlit night. Their bags had been taken from the pack-horse and were being carried to the beach by two soldiers.

  The waves sounded loud now. Campion could see the small surf as a white line that stretched in the darkness, a line that wavered, broke, thickened, moved endlessly. She pulled her cloak over the seals.

  Devorax stood on the small ridge of turf that had once been a Roman wall. He was searching the sea’s darkness. “We use this place a lot.” Campion knew he spoke of the King’s spies who went to and from Holland. Devorax saw something. “Come on.”

  He led them on to the beach, his boots crunching on the humped shells that marked the high-water line. Seaweed smelt strong.

  Campion could see the large ship, lights dim at its stern windows while, much closer, oarsmen rowed a small boat toward the beach. The water showed white where their blades dug at the waves. Devorax pointed to the large ship. “That’s the Wanderer, Mordecai’s ship. The crew are all his men. You can trust them.”

  “Just as we trusted you?” Toby smiled.

  Devorax laughed. “Just as you trusted me.”

  Campion looked up at the grim face. The moon silvered his hair, his beard, the broad buckle of the leather sword belt. “Thank you.”

  “You must be tired of thanking me.” He laughed. “You’ll forgive me, Sir Toby?” He did not wait for an answer, instead he scooped Campion into his arms and waded into the low, fretting surf toward the small boat. He called out in a strange language, received a cheerful reply, and then the boat was turned, its stern toward Campion, and Devorax lifted her inside. The bags were thrown in and Toby clambered over the transom. The wind blew cold from the Essex marshes. The waves lifted the boat, dropped it, slapped peevishly at the overlapping planks.

  Devorax looked down at Campion. “Tell Lopez I killed Cony.”

  She nodded.

  “And tell him what else I did.”

  “I will.”

  Devorax opened his pouch and tossed a square package to Toby. “That’s for Mordecai Lopez. Keep it dry and safe!”

  “I will.”

  Devorax reached for Campion’s hand, pulled it toward him, then kissed it. “It’s a fair night for a crossing.” He released her hand. His men had already gone back toward t
he barn. “God speed!”

  The Dutch seamen bent their oars in the water. Spray broke on the bows and spattered back.

  Campion turned. Devorax still stood in the surf. “Will we see you again, Colonel?”

  “Who knows?” His voice sounded harsh again. The boat pulled away from him. Already Campion could see a bubbling, streaked wake behind her. The oars creaked in the rowlocks.

  Toby held her. It was bitterly cold on the water. To his left he could see the sea broken into a stretch of serried, small breaking waves where the tide was frustrated by the great mudbanks. His arm was tight round his wife’s shoulders. “I’m glad he wasn’t our enemy.”

  “So am I.” She felt the seals under her cloak. They were safe. She was taking them from her enemies, from the war, to the fortune her father had wished on her so long before. She was leaving England.

  She turned again, but already the shore was indistinct. She could see the sharp, pointed gable of the old barn against the night sky, but she could not see Vavasour Devorax. She gave a strange laugh. “He kissed my hand.”

  “Perhaps he liked you after all.”

  The ship’s boat bumped against the Wanderer. Men handed Campion up the ship’s waist, strong hands leaned down to pull her to the safety of the deck. The ship smelt of tar and salt. The wind slapped ropes in the rigging.

  The captain, bearded and smiling, took them to the large stern cabin. It was lit by shielded lanterns and made comfortable with cushioned seats. He gave them boat cloaks for warmth, promised them soup, and begged they excuse him while he set sail.

  Campion looked at Toby. She was nervous and excited at the thought of a sea voyage. They were alone. They could look back on the night, remember its fears, the kisses beneath the threatening pistol muzzle, and the strange moment when Devorax had revealed himself to be Lopez’s man still. Campion smiled. “I love you.”