"I am surprised you would take such an interest in our affairs, your duty is to the King," the Prince answered.
"My loyalty is to the King, but also to Valderon." For a moment, steel showed in the Marechal's voice and manner. "Any man who values the safety of this land would seek to promote good relations between Chamfort and the crown. I have been sent to you with a task that, ill handled, could damage such relations. I would like to avoid that and to offer my help to you in this difficult time."
"And in the future?"
"You are wise to be cautious." St Andre spoke with effortless confidence. "But this is not an overture to win Chamfort's favor against the future." He stretched his shoulders, his height and presence dominating the room. "If I may speak without false modesty, I have earned my position, and well merit it. I have no fear for the future."
Charles could see this was true; St Andre did not come creeping like the guildsmen to seek favor. It would be the new King who would entreat him to keep his place at the head of Valderon's armies; there had been no more successful general in living memory. Why, then, would he risk so much, he wondered. Before he could find an answer, the Marechal spoke again.
"Forgive me, Prince Rupert, I have no right to speak of such matters to you, and I do not expect to win your confidence at once. But perhaps you will allow me to discuss these issues with you again. You have received news tonight and you will wish to consider it. If I may be allowed free access to the resources of Chamfort, I will undertake my duties. I would only assure you of my good intentions towards your family." St Andre bowed and turned to leave.
The Prince hesitated.
Charles was almost holding his breath. There was so much at stake, his father could not afford to act rashly.
"Marechal." The Prince waited until St Andre turned back to face him. "I appreciate your honesty, and I am aware that Edouard holds you in high regard. You must forgive my caution, these are not easy matters."
"Of course," the Marechal agreed. "Nor will they be easily resolved, but I hope in time you will find me to be your friend in this and trust me as such."
"You have been more than a friend to my son, and for that I thank you."
In the shadows by the door, St Andre smiled. "Edouard's achievements are his own, and Chamfort's. You will know something of the circumstances in which he took the championship victory. The King's best efforts could not thwart him. Take heart from that. Your family has strength, it will endure." On these dangerous words, the Marechal bowed and turned away. He paused at the doorway. "If I might ask one favor? The King has sent orders to roust the brigands in the great woods. I would be happy for my men to assist, but perhaps you could spare Edouard to lead them? His knowledge of the area would be invaluable."
"Certainly," the Prince agreed. "While you are here, he is at your disposal. I know he will be happy to help."
The Marechal nodded his thanks. Charles watched him go and let the silence settle before he glanced to his father.
"We knew Ferdinand would act against us eventually. But this…" He raised a hand, at a loss for words.
His father had returned to the window and stood with his back to him. "It will only get worse," he said softly as he turned. "It's late we'll talk in the morning. I'm going to check on Louis."
Charles did not argue. Instead, he joined his father and they walked together to Louis's room.
The door was ajar. The Prince pushed it open. Charles stood at his shoulder. One candle cast soft light over the bed. Louis was asleep, the bandage pale against his dark hair. He was not alone. Henri was tucked beneath the covers beside him. Edouard had fallen asleep in a chair beside the bed, no doubt during or after the telling of some bloodthirsty tale. The twins suddenly seemed very young. Asleep, Edouard's face lost its habitual arrogance and he looked hardly older than his brothers. It was hard to imagine he could cause so much trouble.
The Prince sighed as if he had the same thought. "We'll let them sleep," he said.
Charles did not get the chance to answer. The sound of footsteps echoed along the corridor. His father closed the door softly and turned. He stood waiting as Sieur Gerald, the officer of the watch, approached. The knight bowed.
"I am sorry to trouble you, my lord Prince, but I bring urgent news from the town. Mayor Arno has been murdered."
Chapter 22
Remy woke with a feeling of dread. As the reason for this fear returned he lay rigid and silent, listening for the sound that had woken him. Someone was moving around downstairs. After a while, his nerves steadied, and he found the courage to raise his head and look around the room. The small fire had hardly burned down at all; he could not have slept for long. With relief he realized the noise below must be Simon, yet to retire to bed.
Although he was exhausted, once he started to think about the day's events, Remy found all chance of sleep gone. His thoughts circled endlessly around what he had seen. In the dark, another worry rose to plague him; how would he persuade Simon to take him home without further questions? Simon was friendly with Captain Vincent, the Master of Squires at Chamfort. There was little hope of him allowing Remy to leave Chamfort without the courtesy of at least informing the Captain.
With this thought, Remy began to wonder if Captain Vincent or Sieur Edouard might track him down here. If they did, he was sure they would easily persuade Simon to hand him over, unless he told Simon everything. He tossed and turned, imagining he heard footsteps approaching the house.
Finally, too agitated to remain in bed he got up and dressed quickly. He stood in the cramped room undecided. It was very late now, but he could still hear Simon moving around below. He wanted to go down and tell the old man everything, but he could not. He felt trapped, unable to face telling his story, too frightened and unsettled to return to bed. Driven to act, he shoved pillows under the bedclothes, so he would not be missed should Simon chance to look, and climbed quietly out the window. After looking around, he dropped carefully to the street below.
Remy headed toward the old town where, in the many taverns and inns, men gathered late into the night to talk and gossip. He had a half-formed idea that he might hear some news of what had occurred at the chateau, and of Mayor Arno. Maybe there was an explanation for what he had seen.
The air held a slight autumn chill, but not enough to make it cold. Above the town a half moon slid across the sky; its glow lit the night and rimmed silver the few wispy clouds that floated beneath it. Remy walked along deserted streets, past shuttered windows, few still with soft lights behind. Here, outside the walls, the town was quiet. He walked through the silent streets until he saw the Wayman ahead.
It was a large inn just outside the old town walls. For years it had been the most prosperous of Chamfort's many inns. It was set back from the road, a rambling building with stables and barns to one side. The front yard was dominated by a huge circular stone basin and fountain which served as a watering trough for the many horses and animals that passed by. Remy made his way around the basin, idly trailing his hand through the water. The inn was still bright and busy. He considered going inside.
The Wayman was likely to be full of visitors and travelers, people passing through Chamfort. It was not the place to hear the latest gossip. As he turned away, his eye traveled across the skyline and caught upon the elegant moonlit silhouette of the chateau. A world away across the river, the intricate skyline looked beautiful and otherworldly. With a strange pang of loss, he studied its pale cold perfection. He shivered. Tearing his gaze away, he followed the path of the road as it dropped and twisted from the chateau to the town. He froze, staring hard. Outlined in the moonlight, a group of knights swept down from the chateau towards the bridge and the town beyond.
As Remy stared a bank of clouds swirled across the moon. The sudden darkness left him blind. There were reasons why a group of knights would leave the chateau so late, but his panic and uncertainty returned. The moon stayed hidden. He stood waiting in the darkness, straining to catch any sound t
hat would tell him the knights' direction. To reach Simon's house, they must pass along this road. Numb with fear, it was easier to wait than move. He dropped to a crouch, hidden beneath the basin rim.
The sky remained dark, the moon trapped and helpless behind dense clouds. A sharp breeze blew fallen leaves around the yard. They swirled by Remy's feet and gathered against the stone. He peered out from his shelter, staring at the road until the knights approached. They traveled slowly now, eight of them riding in pairs. They passed by making hardly any noise. Pressed back against the stone, he wondered why he was so certain they came for him. With a sense of foreboding, he watched as they took the river road towards Simon's house.
When they had passed out of sight, Remy crept out from beneath the basin and, almost against his will, turned to follow. He did not take the same road. Instead, he made his way down another street to the back of an orchard. Keeping to the shelter of the trees, his feet sliding on fallen apples and raising their sharp scent, he edged closer to the road opposite Simon's house.
It was as he had expected. The knights had halted in the road just along from Simon's house. Remy dropped to the ground. Terrified, but horribly driven to see what occurred, he inched his way forward. He saw three of the knights had dismounted and approached the house. For the first time, his thoughts turned from his own troubles. Concern for Simon gripped him. He watched as the men approached the door and knocked quietly. On his belly in the damp grass, Remy prayed Simon would not answer.
After a while, the knights knocked again. Remy grimaced as the door opened. He watched as Simon, dressed for bed, listened and replied. Unable to hear what was happening, Remy inched forward through the damp grass. In the poor light from the open door, he watched as Simon and the leader seemed to argue. Then, as the man tried to push past into the house, a scuffle started.
Remy came to his knees. He watched as Simon pushed the man away. The other knight gave ground and then advanced. Simon was a big man and still strong. His years of experience made him a wily opponent. As the two men struggled, the other knights started forward. Halfway to his feet, Remy saw the flash of a dagger. He saw it outlined against the light, saw it sweep down towards Simon's back, and almost felt the vicious blow land. The old man jerked. He tried to turn, flinging one arm up to ward off the blow. But as Remy watched, the dagger rose again, striking the old man until he fell. Simon crumpled to the floor and lay still, ignored as the men pushed past into the house.
Remy fell to his knees. He shoved his hand across his mouth, choking on a sob. The night was silent again. The moon crept clear of the clouds, casting a chill glow. Remy could almost feel the eyes gazing from the road. He trembled at the sound of voices, and dropped to lie flat, hidden in the long grass. With a clatter of hooves, the other knights approached.
"What happened?"
"The old man's dead. The boy's not here, but he was. Can't have been gone long."
Unable to lie still, Remy began to inch back. He did not dare raise his head. He crawled beneath an old apple tree with branches drooping to the ground. His hands slipped on rotting apples, and a sleepy wasp hidden in half eaten fruit stung his hand. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, and tasted blood.
The voices from the road still reached him. He heard the leader issuing sharp orders. It was not a voice he knew.
"Search the roads, his father's home lies to the south; go that way first, and quickly."
The knights mounted their horses. Remy crouched beneath the tree until the thunder of hooves died away. Then he crept from his hiding place and gazed toward the place where Simon's body lay. From a distance, it looked more like a bundle of rags than a man. Lights appeared in the windows of houses close by. He watched as people emerged and came to investigate. A man crouched by Simon's huddled figure. There was a shout and more men came running. Lamps illuminated Simon's bloodstained nightshirt and motionless body. Remy heard them shout for the town guard, but no one called for a physician. Shivering, he watched as two men lifted Simon's slack body and carried it inside. Shamed, but too frightened to approach, he turned his back and fled into the dark.
Chapter 23
Remy did not stop running until he was deep in the forest, far from any path or track. Fear kept him moving. When it became impossible to catch his breath, he stopped and stood gasping. The trees loomed above him like giants, with branches sweeping down to grab him as he passed. Nothing moved. Shaking with exhaustion, he dropped to the ground. He knelt in the leaves as his heaving breath gave way to uncontrollable sobs. He wept for Simon, ashamed of the cowardice that had kept him from going to help his friend. He wept from fear. His throat ached as he gulped back the last of the tears. As the tears ended, he crouched in the dark and wondered what would become of him. The men who had killed Simon were hunting him. There was no one he could trust, no one to turn to for help. He was a long way from home, and he was alone. He had never been alone before.
The thought was terrifying; it drove him to his feet and sent him stumbling on deeper into the forest. It was too dark to see. Brambles snagged his clothes and low branches smacked against his face. At last, exhausted, he could go no further. He curled up beneath an ancient oak tree, and lay shivering until he fell in to an uneasy sleep.
He woke before dawn, cold, his throat dry and sore with a terrible thirst. As the sun rose, he turned south and started to walk. After a while, he found a small pool to drink from. He gathered berries and nuts to ease his hunger. Gradually the sun rose higher, and sunlight filtered through the trees, easing the chill from the morning.
At first, he walked in a daze, too numb to do more than put one foot in front of the other. As he tramped south, marking his direction by the sun and river, Remy started to think clearly again. Shying from thoughts of Chamfort and Simon, he thought of his home and wondered how he would ever get there. He had no food, no jacket and no weapon. There were villages and farms spread along the river, and hidden deep in the woods. He would have to find the courage to approach one, and the nerve to steal what he needed. He did not like to steal, but he had no money, and he was terrified to show himself in case he left any clue for those hunting him. But even if he could find what he needed, his home was three weeks' ride away. It would take him months to walk that distance. Remy knew he could not walk all the way. Even if he could, winter would come before he was halfway home. Somehow he must buy a ride with a group of travelers heading south. But for now, he could only think of getting as far from Chamfort as he could.
That night he was woken by wolves howling in the dark. He clambered into the low branches of a beech tree and tried to rest, but he was too frightened to sleep. The next morning he climbed down as the sun rose. The forest was silent. The memory of the wolves in the night haunted him. Slender trees stood all around, their bare trunks rising high above him, topped with feathery leaves. The sun fell in dazzling shafts of light between them, reminding him of a great church. Feeling very lonely and far from help, he pushed himself up and started walking. The sun's heat made no impression, under the trees, it was chilly and damp. He felt hungry and weak. He knew he must find food and clothes for the rest of the journey. He risked going closer to the forest edge and waited for sight of a village.
It was mid-morning before he came upon one. It was small, and busy with people and travelers passing along the road. He crouched at the edge of the trees to watch. People bustled about their business. Mothers called to children and sent them to their chores, then gathered in groups, laughing and talking. A smell of baking drifted through the morning air. Remy groaned with hunger.
He had just started forward when he heard the sound of horses approaching. Quickly he ducked down, hidden, and watched the road. Two riders entered the village and headed to where the women gathered near the well. The men drew their horses to a halt and dismounted. As one of them stood talking with the villagers, the other scanned the village and the woods beyond. Caught between the two, Remy scrambled beneath an old cart. He watched as the men w
atered their horses and paused to buy food from the women. While they were busy, Remy scrambled up and ran back into the forest. He hurried away miserable and defeated.
That evening he passed close to an isolated farm. Exhausted, and frightened to sleep in the woods again, he watched the house for a while. He saw no sign of movement. He decided the farmer was done for the night. Desperate for a night's sleep, he gathered his courage and crept towards the barn. It was situated a little way from the house, with its door on the far side, out of sight. Approaching it, Remy listened carefully; hearing no noise from within the barn, he lifted the wooden latch. The huge door swung gently back. He stepped inside, hoping for a bed in the hayloft and maybe some sacking to keep off the chill.
As he groped his way into the darkness, a black and white shape leapt at him, barking furiously. Remy and the collie dog collided. He stumbled, falling backwards from the barn. The dog pursued him, snapping and growling. Remy cowered on the ground, arms raised to protect himself, but the dog stopped and stood barking a few yards away. Clambering shakily to his feet Remy saw that it was tethered by a piece of rope inside the barn. In the distance, he heard a door open; realizing that the dog had alerted the farmer, he ran for the trees.
It was not far to the cover of the woods, but once under their shelter he kept running. Fear of the farmer and his dog driving him on, Remy ran until he could go no further. He collapsed to his knees, gasping and choking. It was night now, but terrified by his mistake, and certain it would somehow lead his enemies to him, he was too afraid to stop. He stumbled on through the dark, tripping over roots and walking into branches.
Still walking, he watched the sunrise glimmering through the trees. It brought him no encouragement. Coughing and terribly tired, he struggled on. It was an effort to move now. When he stumbled and fell, he lay on the ground shivering. He had just enough sense left to know he must risk the road in the hope that a passerby would help him. Dragging himself up he set off, planning to hide by the road until someone who looked friendly passed by.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 21
