by Stuart Daly
‘The Prince had the surgeon from the Royal Charles see to him,’ Francesca says, her eyes downcast. ‘He removed the shaft of wood, but Wolf had lost a lot of blood. He hasn’t regained consciousness.’
‘He’s a tough career soldier,’ Armand comments, offering us hope. ‘I’m sure he’ll pull through.’
There’s a moment of silence before I ask, ‘And what of Dorian?’
Armand shakes his head and smiles in an impressed manner. ‘He’s bruised and battered, but he’s rearing to go after the Sons of Cain.’
‘He’s a brave one, I’ll tell you that.’ Von Frankenthal’s eyes are full of admiration for the young witch hunter.
‘He’s brave, but he’s also reckless,’ I correct, lowering my voice, unaware of the whereabouts of the Angeli Mortis and wary that they may overhear our conversation. ‘He has no regard for his personal safety. It’s almost as if he has a death wish. I even heard him say that he considers himself already dead. What’s that all about?’
‘I suspect Dorian can see the dead.’ Armand looks into his goblet, reaffirming the suspicion he voiced yesterday. ‘He has been corrupted by the Malleus Maleficarum. Of that, I am certain. He may be a brave and skilled witch hunter, but I fear he has paid a terrible price to acquire those skills.’
‘Death wish or not, I’d have him fight by my side any day,’ von Frankenthal says.
‘Well, I hope I’m never forced to pair up with him again,’ I say, not placing the same emphasis as von Frankenthal has on courage and fighting prowess, believing the qualities of friendship and trust to be more important. ‘Dorian has no regard for the value of life – especially his own. He scares me.’
‘There’s no need to worry about that. We’ll stick together from here on,’ Armand says, and I am reassured by the conviction in his tone. ‘I won’t run off again, and we’ll keep a close eye on one another, making sure that we watch each other’s backs and that none of us get left behind. As Francesca said, we are lucky none of us were killed last night. We will need to be more careful when we go after the Sons of Cain.’
‘And when are we planning on doing that?’ I ask. ‘Please don’t tell me we’re going after them today.’
Armand stares into his goblet again. ‘We don’t have the luxury of time. The Sons of Cain may already be in London, inside the Altar of Sun, preparing to use the Codex Gigas to summon the Antichrist. Before we pursue them, we need to remove the satchel from the Hanging Tree, free the bodies hanging from the gibbets and have a priest administer them their last rites. Only then can the Sons of Cain be killed.’
‘And when do we plan on going out to the Hanging Tree?’ I ask.
Armand drains the remnants of his drink and wipes a sleeve across his mouth. ‘We’ll be riding out with the Angeli Mortis within the hour. Which reminds me – Jakob, can you come with me? There’s something we need to discuss.’
My mind reeling from the fact that we will be shortly heading out to the Hanging Tree, I shrug at Francesca and von Frankenthal, follow Armand back along the corridor and enter a bedchamber.
‘I’m giving you one last chance to remain behind,’ Armand says, closing the door after us.
‘What? And miss out on all the fun. Not on your life.’
Armand grins. ‘Francesca is right – you have been hanging around me too much. But seriously, you’ve been hurt and are exhausted. Perhaps it’s best if you sit this one out.’
I look Armand square in the eye. ‘I won’t turn my back on my friends. You can lock me in one of these rooms, but I’ll find a way out and come after you. And you know I will. You were prepared to risk your life to help me find my father, and I want to repay the favour. You’re only in this mess because I dragged you off to Rotterdam. How do you think it makes me feel to be asked to sit back whilst the rest of you go off to slay the Sons of Cain?’
‘We have become terribly sidetracked from our original mission, and I intend to help you find out what happened to your father once all this is resolved. But I hope you don’t think that you are in debt to me because I helped you break into the gaol. I did that out of friendship.’
‘And it’s that very bond that won’t allow me to abandon you and the others,’ I say, believing Armand has just backed himself into a corner in this discussion. ‘Don’t underestimate its power. It’s important to be skilled in the use of blades and firearms, and I know that you place sole faith in your ability to wield your swords. You told me as much when we were trapped inside Noah’s Ark beneath the Dead Sea. But sometimes the only thing we can truly rely on is our friends. The main reason why none of us were killed last night during the coach-chase was because we were watching out for one another. And not even a minute ago you said that we wouldn’t be leaving anybody behind from here on.’
Armand looks at me for some time before sighing in acquiescence. ‘You present a convincing argument, young Jakob. You constantly remind me – both through your words and actions – that the biggest hero is not the one with the strongest sword-arm, but the one with the biggest heart.’ He points a finger in warning. ‘But don’t be too upset when I position you at the rear of the group. I might even see if we can get you a rifle and put you on sniper duty.’
A smile so wide crosses my lips, it’s a miracle it doesn’t knock Armand off his feet. ‘Then get me a rifle. Let me show the Sons of Cain what the Hexenjäger are capable of.’
Armand punches me playfully on the shoulder. ‘What have I created?’
I smile back. ‘I’m only following in your footsteps.’
Armand shakes his head. ‘I know, and that’s what’s worrying. Come on, we should join the others.’
‘I’m glad that you wanted to talk in private,’ I say, preventing him from opening the door, ‘as there’s something I want to discuss with you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Please, don’t take this the wrong way. But you have changed since your appointment as Lieutenant.’
Armand makes a curious expression. ‘How?’
‘I think you feel a great burden of responsibility for those under your command. You don’t want to see any of us get hurt.’
Armand gives me a sheepish look, removes his hat and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ I say. ‘A good commander should look after his troops. They look up to him for leadership and guidance, but they should also know that he cares for them and will not commit their lives to foolhardy actions.’
‘It’s strange, but it never used to worry me,’ Armand says. ‘I was Captain of Louis XIV’s Palace Cavalry for two years, and never once did I ever question the decisions I made. Though I think you’re right – I have changed. I’m not worried about von Frankenthal. A building could collapse on top of him and I’m sure he’d crawl out with nothing more than a few scratches. But I’m concerned for both you and Francesca.’
‘After what took place in Sodom, you should know by now that we can take care of ourselves.’
Armand sighs and plays absent-mindedly with his hat’s crimson plume. ‘I know. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to worry. Sometimes I wish I could be more like Captain Blodklutt. I know Francesca considers him to be heartless. She was very critical of his decision to leave you and me behind when we fell into that spider-infested pit back in Sodom.’
I shudder. ‘Please, don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about that.’
Armand places his hat back on his head and adjusts its brim. ‘Well, heartless or not, the fact remains that Blodklutt does not hesitate when it comes to making tough decisions. I’m sure he’d have no qualms in committing both you and Francesca to go after the Sons of Cain.’
‘But we trust you with our lives,’ I say, and notice a faint smile cross Armand’s lips.
There’s a knock on the door, a
nd Prince Rupert enters the room, his left arm supported in a sling.
‘I’m glad to see you up and on your feet again.’ He pats me on the shoulder and nods at Armand. ‘I was worried that I might not have had the chance to say goodbye.’
‘You’re going somewhere?’ Armand asks, unable to mask his surprise.
‘I’m afraid so,’ the Prince says. ‘I’ve only just stepped out of a meeting with the King and his war cabinet. Reports are flooding in that a massive Dutch fleet is assembling in the Channel. I’ve been ordered back to sea.’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘But what of the Sons of Cain and Mother Shipton’s prophecy?’
‘As much as the King wants the Sons of Cain slain, he believes that my expertise will be better served with the English fleet,’ the Prince explains. ‘And his Majesty is right. I would like to lead you to the Hanging Tree, but the English fleet will be in need of me more than ever in the ensuing battle against the Dutch. The commander of the Dutch fleet, de Ruyter, is throwing everything he has against us. This could well be the battle that decides the outcome of the war. Sir Robert has already set sail, and my orders are to follow after him aboard the Royal Charles within the hour.’
‘These are indeed grave times for England, beset by both the Devil’s servants and the Dutch,’ Armand says.
Prince Rupert nods, his eyes restless. I wonder if he feels restricted by his duty as an Admiral of the English navy, and would prefer to come with us after the Sons of Cain. During the Civil War, he was renowned as one of the bravest and most impetuous soldiers in England. Perhaps the rescue mission in Rotterdam and the chase through London last night have sparked his passion to once again feel the weight of tempered steel in his hands and engage enemies in close-quarters combat.
‘I must go immediately, but I could not leave without saying thank you and wishing you luck for the task ahead,’ he says, shaking our hands in turn. ‘And as a token of my gratitude for saving my life last night, when you dragged me out of the sinking carriage, I would be honoured if you were to accept this.’ He draws one of the cavalry pistols from his belt and hands it to me.
I accept the gift and study the Latin engraving along its barrel – bono malum superate. Translation: overcome evil with good. The barrel itself is much longer than any other I have seen, perhaps twenty inches in length, looking more like a carbine than a pistol. A heavy ornamental metal boss is attached to the butt, to act as a counterweight against the massive barrel.
‘It is one of the finest pistols I have ever fired,’ the Prince says fondly. ‘As you can see, its barrel has been inscribed with holy text. It has also been blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. I had that done as a precautionary measure during the Civil War in case I happened to come across the Sons of Cain. Although I never got to test it against them, it will serve you nicely, for not only can you use it against the Sons of Cain, but it will also be effective against witches.’
The Prince then leans in close and whispers in my ear so that not even Armand can hear. ‘It is one of the pistols I used to shoot the weather-vane atop St Mary’s Church in Stafford, many years ago during the Civil War. But it has a secret – its barrel has been rifled. You can clip the ear off a fox at fifty yards with that pistol.’ He winks and taps the end of his nose. ‘Let’s just keep that to ourselves.’
I hold the pistol before me, turning it around in my hand, marvelling at it. ‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can accept such a gift.’
‘It is yours to keep,’ the Prince says, his words final. ‘If it were not for you, I would have drowned last night.’ He taps the remaining pistol tucked into his belt. ‘Besides, I still carry the pistol’s twin. From this day forth consider us bound by a union of firearms.’
I smile warmly. ‘But we are already connected.’
The Prince’s brow furrows. ‘Oh, really. How?’
‘My father served under your brother, Prince Maurice, during the Civil War,’ I say, informing the Prince of what Dietrich had told me just after my return from Schloss Kriegsberg. I’m also hopeful that the Prince might be able to reveal something about my father’s past; some clue as to how he is connected to Vicomte de Turenne. ‘He learned much about cavalry tactics from your brother, which he later employed in the Low Countries, fighting for the Spanish against the French. He became a cavalry officer of considerable repute thanks to Prince Maurice’s training.’
Prince Rupert tilts his head in an interested manner. ‘I had no idea. What is your father’s name?’
‘Tobias von Drachenfels.’
‘It rings a bell,’ the Prince says, nodding slowly. ‘But its chime is so distant, muffled by the passage of so many years, that I cannot put a face to the name.’ He laughs. ‘Besides, I have had many knocks to the head. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle that I can even remember my own name.’
He turns to leave but spins on his heel, as if he has suddenly remembered something important. ‘I was wondering. Francesca . . . is she . . .’ He pauses, evidently searching for the right words. ‘Involved with any of you?’
‘Yes,’ Armand says quickly – defensively – putting an abrupt end to the topic.
‘Oh, well. There was no harm in asking.’ The Prince grins. ‘Then it is goodbye for now. Hopefully we will meet again, under more favourable circumstances. Franz will see to your needs, and feel free to stay as my guests as long as you please. Godspeed, gentlemen.’
I give Armand a wry glance as the Prince exits the room. ‘You genuinely care about her, don’t you?’
‘Francesca? No.’ Armand gives me an awkward look. ‘I only said that to save the Prince from getting a bloody nose if he ever tries to make an advance on her.’
‘But the Prince won’t be able to do that if he’s leaving this very instant, going off to war,’ I say. ‘So don’t lie to me. You like her, and I don’t mean in your usual, superficial way. You care deeply for her. Don’t deny it – for you confessed as much yesterday.’
Armand snorts and waves his hand dismissively. He goes to exit the room, then turns and says, ‘And what if I do? What difference would it make? You’re the one she cares about.’
‘She cares for me in the same way she would a younger brother,’ I point out, making Armand hesitate in the doorway. ‘Yes, I have a strong bond with Francesca. But she’s like a sister to me. We are close friends, but nothing more.’
Armand comes back inside the room, closes the door behind him and grins wolfishly. ‘Then the hunt is afoot again.’
I shake my head and laugh. ‘You cannot help yourself, can you?’
Armand assumes a hurt air. ‘What? I’m a passionate man in the prime of his life. And it’s not every day that you meet someone like Francesca. Although, I must say, I am more shocked than anyone that I could actually consider settling down with one lady.’ He grabs me by the shoulder and his eyes narrow conspiratorially. ‘You have her confidence and trust. Can you put in a good word for me; drop a few subtle comments about how devilishly handsome and charismatic I am? She barely says a word to me these days; I think I took the teasing a little too far.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Perhaps you did. I will see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. Although, as a starting point, it wouldn’t hurt for you to be a bit more modest in her presence.’
Armand makes a baffled gesture. ‘I’m one of the most humble people I know.’
I shake my head in wonder, amazed by the irony of this entire situation – that I, a mere novice in the ways of women, should be offering advice to a man who is notorious for stealing women’s hearts.
‘So, can I rely on you?’ Armand presses.
‘As I said, I will see what I can do. But I’d like you to answer something first.’ I pause for a few seconds, wondering how Armand will respond to my question. ‘What is the significance of your handkerchief?’
Armand’s eyes narrow defensively. ‘Why?’
‘You risked your life trying to retrieve it when you dropped it back in the monastery atop Meteora. I also noticed how you tied it to your sword and kissed it, almost as if it was the cheek of a loved one, before we faced the Musketeers in the dungeon in Rotterdam. You also said that you had some debt to square with the Musketeers. I cannot help but think that the handkerchief and the Musketeers are closely connected.’
Armand regards me, his expression sombre. ‘You don’t miss much, do you?’
‘No,’ I say.
Armand wanders over to the room’s window and stares out across the rooftops for a few moments. ‘We are all haunted by ghosts from our past,’ he says at length, his back still turned towards me. ‘Von Frankenthal was tormented by the loss of Gerhard, and you desperately want to know the truth concerning your father. But I’m haunted by an event that has plagued my sleep every night for the past two years. I fear that not even God will grant me His forgiveness for what I have done.’
‘Nothing can be that bad,’ I say dismissively, but dreading to hear what could cause Armand such torment.
Armand lowers his head and takes a deep breath. His entire body becomes rigid, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as if he is trying to keep some distant memory from invading his thoughts. ‘The handkerchief belonged to a woman whom I once loved. But she was also loved by the commander of the Musketeers, Charles d’Artagnan, who we encountered in the dungeon in Rotterdam.’ He drifts into silence for some time, and when he eventually turns to look at me his eyes have glassed over, almost as though he is fighting back tears. He walks past me, opens the door to exit the room but then pauses, his head lowered. ‘And I accidentally killed her. Promise that you will never ask me of this topic again.’
‘I promise,’ I say, dumbstruck.
Armand steps out into the corridor, leaving me to listen to his footfalls. I stare blankly at where I had last seen him. It is a long time before I finally leave the room.
