Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  The twins yelled their approval. Along with Eloise, Mariette applauded. Beside her, Rupert was smiling. Only Charles remained tense and unmoved. As Michel left the field, Mariette heard Henri yell above the roar of noise.

  "Huzza, Chamfort!"

  Rupert reached to touch him on the arm, and Henri spun wide-eyed with excitement.

  "Didn't you see? No one else can do that."

  "Maybe not, but it is not seemly to applaud your brother too loudly." But he smiled at the boy, and then at her saying more softly, "Even if it is deserved." He looked back to the melee and groaned.

  She followed his gaze and saw that Edouard now faced another Chamfort knight. Already they were trading vicious blows, and a space quickly opened around their personal battle. She did not recognize the knight. Worried, she looked back to Rupert, but he was smiling. He leaned close.

  "This will give the crowds something to remember. Angelo de Loristen is one of Edouard's closest friends. Though I don't know how they remain friends when they fight like this."

  He was right. They might be friends, but theirs was the most ferocious contest on the field. It was raining now. Sieur Angelo's chestnut stallion darkened from flame red to rust. Steam rose in a cloud from the packed men and horses. The shouts and curses reached the stands, muted by distance. As she watched, Angelo mistimed his blow, giving Edouard an opening.

  She saw him raise his hand to curb the stallion. Bluesteel danced sideways, but Angelo knew what was coming. Seizing on an impossibly narrow gap, he spurred his horse towards escape. In strides, he was clear of the melee. Edouard went after him. He reached the edge of the crowd and spurred forward. Caught up in the excitement, Mariette heard Rupert exclaim. As the gray stallion emerged into open space, she saw two dark horses come fast across his path. Edouard saw them, but it was too late. He could not stop or turn.

  A moment later, the horses collided. The impact was brutal. She heard a crack of sound and the horses fell in a heavy tangle of legs and bodies. The riders flew through the air, pounding into the wet sand.

  The crowd gasped, and gradually the cheers died. People rose to their feet, straining to see. Two of the horses scrambled awkwardly to their feet, men clustered around their fallen riders. In silence, the crowd waited anxiously. One by one, the men stood, supported or alone. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief, then stilled again. One horse still struggled.

  Mariette was on her feet. Beside her, Rupert was staring at the arena, his face grim with concern. Eloise stood with tears in her eyes, her arms around the twins. The boys watched in horror. Beyond them, Charles de Chamfort stood white faced.

  Mariette saw Edouard shrug off Michel's assistance and stumble to his knees by his horse's side. Michel followed him. The stallion thrashed helplessly. Close by, Angelo leapt from his horse and ran to help. Edouard held the stallion's head and quickly they restrained his struggles. The Master of Horse and his head groom arrived at a run. A younger boy, one of the grooms, came with them. They crouched beside the fallen stallion.

  For a moment, Mariette looked away. It was clear the horse was injured beyond help. She looked back to the arena. Edouard spoke a few words to the boy, and then looked to Angelo. The knight took the boy by the shoulder and drew him away. Mariette held her breath, knowing what must come. She watched as Edouard slid his dagger across the stallion's throat. He reached to soothe Bluesteel's neck, and gradually the stallion's struggles ceased.

  Chapter 36

  It was late as Charles de Chamfort settled at his desk. He glanced at the neatly stacked papers awaiting his attention but did not touch them. He could hear the rain lashing the windows. Wind howled around the chateau. The weather added to his grim mood. After a hellish day, he was tired. Dinner had been long and unpleasant. He had remained remorselessly sober, listening to his father and Mariette de Montmercy engage in witty and elegant discussion. He had even managed to contribute where necessary. Whilst Edouard, neither sober nor polite, had glared at him in murderous silence.

  With an impatient gesture, Charles pushed the papers away. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and stared vacantly into space. His fingers drummed against the desk as he reflected on the day's events. Edouard had embarrassed him in front of members of the court, and that had needed to be answered. But it had not played out as he had planned. You might consider the scales balanced, but Edouard had loved the damn horse. He sighed. There was no help for it, there would be a reckoning, and somehow he must manage it. Damn Edouard, and his ability to cause trouble.

  Of course, it had been pure chance that only a horse suffered, any one of the riders might have been killed. It had been an ill-conceived plan, and the outcome was not to his liking. He grimaced; it could not be changed. He'd wanted to ensure Edouard did not triumph in the melee, and to see him to take a fall in front of the cheering crowds.

  The quiet knock made him jump. Annoyed, he waited as the boy came forward and proffered a sealed note. Charles saw the seal was Edouard's and ripped it open. He scanned it quickly and sent the boy away. There was no need for an answer.

  He tidied the desk, locking away certain papers. Finished, he stood and stretched, yawning more from nerves than tiredness. Then, as there was no point putting it off, he made his way downstairs, taking the stone steps that led to the lowest rooms in the old fortress. He crossed a bare stone hallway and reached a door, dark and scarred with hard usage and age.

  He paused briefly before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The long stone room with its low vaulted ceiling held racks of polished swords, daggers, pikes, axes, and the dangling chains of mace; shields hung above them, and benches lined one wall. At the far end of the room, Edouard was leaning against the wall, his jacket thrown across the bench close by. Charles saw the look on his face and came to a halt.

  The Chamfort weapons room, as children, they had brought their arguments here. It was years since they had done so and nearly as long since they had fought in anger. Their conflicts were confined to words now or had been until today. Facing his brother, Charles found it ironic that it was his actions that had brought them to physical confrontation. Sharply, he rejected that thought. Edouard might intend them to fight, but he did not have to allow it. He set himself to prevent it, for both their sakes.

  "I'm sorry." It was the easiest place to start. "I hope you will believe that serious injury to anyone was not an outcome I envisaged. I realize now that it was an ill-conceived and foolish idea."

  "And whose ill-conceived and foolish idea was it?"

  "Mine." Charles took a steadying breath and spoke softly. "I truly am sorry."

  "I find that unlikely." Edouard had not moved. He looked relaxed, leaning back, his fingers laced together before him. "And as for being your idea, it's hardly your style."

  "The fault, as I am sure you agree, is mine. The conception hardly matters, I think."

  "So your friends should take no blame for the results of this ill-conceived idea?"

  It was not what he had expected. "No. Timo and Philippe acted on my instructions, but that does not mean they should share the blame."

  "If I disagree?"

  "Edouard, you have my apology, and you may have what recompense you desire, from me." He watched his brother with growing unease. He had suffered most of Edouard's moods, but this was one he did not recognize. His brother was too quiet. Behind him, the door stood ajar, and he heard footsteps. Edouard was listening too. He smiled. Charles spun as the door opened.

  With a sense of foreboding, he watched as Timo and Philippe entered. Two capable men, of his age; they had been squires with him and were now knights sworn to Chamfort. Though he now followed a different path, their friendship had endured and their loyalty. They came immediately to his side. Philippe glanced to Edouard and then looked to him.

  "Charles, you called for us?"

  "No."

  "I did," Edouard said and smiled. "It seemed fitting."

  "Saints of mercy, Edouard. What were you thinking? This is a privat
e matter." Charles had not expected this. He had never understood Edouard, but he knew instinctively they were one step from real disaster. There was something terrifying about his brother tonight. He turned to him, searching for the right words, but Edouard spoke first.

  "Don't worry on my account, I'll thrash the three of you," he said, still smiling.

  There was no doubting him. And it made a strange sense, if you could manage to think like Edouard. Against the three of them, he would have an excuse to employ all his skills without constraint. Edouard in this mood would fight like a berserker. Charles knew what his brother was capable of. This must not happen. There were still guests in the chateau. Playing for time, he said desperately. "Maybe, but what of the consequences?"

  "What consequences?"

  "Well, when Father hears, for instance."

  "When you tell him," said his brother scornfully.

  "No, but you can't think a brawl on this scale will remain secret." He knew as he said it that Edouard did not care. Seeing the look on his brother's face, he started forward. "Edouard, is there something else?" He received no answer. "Is it something I have done?"

  "Other than nearly kill me?"

  At a sound of protest from behind him, he raised a hand for silence. He kept his gaze on his brother. "You have every right to make that accusation. But I hope that you know I would never…" He stopped, floundering. Edouard was too calm. He did not understand why, and it unnerved him. He began to see there was no way out of this, but there was one thing he must try to do. He turned to Philippe and Timo, who were waiting in silence close to the door. "I don't want you here. Please go."

  "But we can't leave you…" It was Philippe who started to protest.

  "This is between my brother and me. Please go."

  Philippe was not sure, but Timo turned and murmured something to him. They left together, throwing the door wide. Charles felt a moment's relief; at least Edouard had allowed them to go. When he turned back, his brother was watching him.

  "Why did you do that? It won't make any difference."

  "You still intend to thrash me?" He did not wait for an answer. "I'm not going anywhere, but perhaps you remember the old rules?"

  "No biting? I was ten years old when that happened; surely you realize my technique has progressed?" Edouard said, grimly amused.

  Charles very tired. "I was thinking of something else." He slipped out of his jacket and laid it carefully aside.

  Watching him, Edouard said, "You don't want me to spoil your clothes?"

  "As I remember that was not one of the rules." He walked to where his brother was waiting. "Not where it shows," he said.

  Edouard stared at him in surprise. "Ah, you have a lady to impress. I had no idea, should I offer congratulations?"

  "No."

  "Then why would you give up the chance to play the martyr?"

  "Because, idiot, it is the only way if we want to keep this quiet." It was a poor choice of words, but he was nervous. He saw his brother's face and raised his arms to protect his face, but the blow, when it came, was to his body. It was heavy enough to knock the breath from him; he doubled over, and the second blow took him in the ribs, spinning him against the wall. He rebounded from it into his brother's merciless grip, bracing himself for what must follow.

  Edouard's grip shifted. Charles waited for the next blow to fall, but it did not. A moment later, he was released. Pushed backwards, his head cracked against the wall; he bit his lip and then he fell, smacking hard against the floor. He looked up. Edouard was standing over him, fists clenched.

  "Are you going to fight?"

  "There doesn't seem much point; we both know what the outcome will be." He got to his feet. "I understand that an apology will not suffice, but I don't understand why I must fight you?"

  "Damn you, Charles."

  Edouard lashed out. Charles flinched, but the fist did no more than graze his ear. Edouard stepped back, breathing hard. Charles shivered; the blow would have taken his head off. They stood in silence.

  Charles tried to master his breathing and find the right words. "Hit me if you must. But it won't prove anything we don't already know, and it will cause trouble for you, most likely." He paused, knowing this was not the right way to deal with Edouard.

  "Are you going to call me an idiot again?" Edouard asked.

  "No, but…" He stopped.

  Edouard turned away. "You wouldn't be wrong," he muttered.

  Charles was about to deny it, but something in his brother's voice, something in the slump of his shoulders, stopped him cold. "Edouard?"

  He had taken a step forward when he heard footsteps, and a voice demanded.

  "What is going on here?"

  Charles turned, quickly wiping the blood from his lip. For a terrible moment, he thought it was their father. Then he saw the tall gray haired figure and recognized Sieur Gerald, one of the senior Chamfort knights. "It is nothing, Sieur Gerald. Just a minor disagreement, it's sorted now."

  Gerald came to a halt. "A minor disagreement?" He glanced to Edouard's back.

  Charles cursed his brother's inability to dissemble and tried again. "It is done with now, isn't it, Edouard?"

  He got no answer. Turning, Edouard brushed past them without a word. His footsteps echoed into the distance. Left to deal with Sieur Gerald, Charles ducked his head to wipe unobtrusively at his bloody lip. "Really, it was nothing. I picked the wrong day to take him to task over some minor indiscretion and got no more than I deserved for being so thoughtless."

  "He's upset over the horse?" Gerald nodded. "Still, your father won't put up with this."

  "There's really no need to mention it to him," he said, trying to sound unconcerned. "It is over and done with. It was of no importance, and he has enough to worry about."

  "You want me to keep quiet about this for your father's sake?"

  He smiled ruefully. "In part, and of course it does not reflect well on me, so I would prefer you allow me to deal with it."

  "I will if you swear to me it will involve no more brawling."

  "I can assure you of that. It's not a failing I am known for."

  "Unlike your brother."

  "This was not Edouard's fault," he said firmly.

  "You really can't have it both ways, Charles."

  "Please, leave this with me, I promise there will be no more trouble." As the knight turned to leave, he had a sudden thought. "Sieur Gerald, what brought you down here so late?"

  Gerald turned back. "I have the watch tonight, and a message came to say I was needed."

  When he was gone, Charles walked slowly to gather his coat. Timo or Philippe, one of them had sent for Sieur Gerald. He had guessed as much, and no doubt Edouard would too. Charles sighed. His brother would think it had been planned, or at least that he had sent them away with that hope.

  He left the weapons room and walked towards the stairs. He wondered if it would be wise to look for Edouard. Thinking about it, he climbed slowly. He was halfway up when the wall sconce at the top of the stairs went out. He thought nothing of it until he rounded the corner and saw the outline of a figure waiting on the steps above him. The first blow took him before he could speak. The blows that followed quickly put speech beyond him, until at last he was released to fall. He felt the impact of the stone against his back, leg and head. He continued to fall into the bottomless dark.

  Chapter 37

  The bell tolled the hour; it was past midnight. Rain spattered the windows, driven by fierce gusts of wind. Mariette shivered, hoping the weather would be better tomorrow. She signed a hastily written note, an apology that would be delivered to Rupert in the morning before she left Chamfort. Sophie had just finished packing the last of the dresses and jewelry into trunks. Stefan had his orders. All was set for an early departure.

  She folded and sealed the note, holding it between her fingers as she contemplated her decision. The need to escape the coil she had created grew with every passing hour. At dinner, she had watched Edo
uard. She had seen the barely leashed fury and tension. The loss of the horse and something more; something between him and Charles she did not understand. Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it, already things were too complicated between them. Perhaps Matt had been right. There were other ways to find the truth.

  Someone knocked softly at the door. She knew at once, who it must be. She gestured urgently to Sophie.

  "We must hide the signs of packing. Snuff most of the candles and cover the trunks as best you can." Quickly they arranged the room. There would be trouble if he discovered she had planned to leave without telling him.

  When Sophie opened the door, the room was near dark. Mariette stood by the fire, her hair loose, a night robe around her shoulders. A tremor of apprehension pricked her as she listened to the murmur of voices. Then Sophie stood aside to let Edouard enter.

  Mariette remained silent and watched him as he stood, hesitating in the darkness. After a moment, he came towards her, moving with his usual easy grace. It seemed he had not been injured in the fall, though, set against the loss of his horse, she doubted that was any comfort. The door closed softly, and they were alone.

  The darkness that hid the room also hid his face until he was very close. Then she saw the glisten of moisture. He was soaked, water dripped from his unbound hair. His face was unreadable in the play of firelight and shadow. But something was very wrong. "Edouard?" She reached to brush his hair back so she could see him better. He flinched from her touch. "Edouard, what is it?"

  Silence.

  "Edouard, you can't be here. Your father…"