Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "The monk made the mistake of suggesting that some sort of evil runs unchecked in his land. It is not the best way to gain his ear."

  "But you believe the old man?"

  "About the ancient evil, no of course not," she lied. It was a risk, but she saw a way in which he might help her. "But the attacks are real enough. I have been concerned for some time. The King does not share that concern." She took a moment to consider her words, knowing it was dangerous to lie to him. "The places attacked are often remote. The people are poor and vulnerable. It would be easy to treat their losses as unimportant, but I have a duty to protect them." It was the truth, as far as it went. She thought he would ask more. Instead, he smiled and said lightly.

  "So, you were not hastening to comfort Edouard de Chamfort. I apologize." His gaze held hers. "Perhaps to make amends I can offer my help. You want to find the monk?"

  "Yes," she said and returned his smile.

  "And do you know anything about him?"

  "No."

  "Well if he remains in the city it should not be so hard." He laughed. "I might think you arranged this misunderstanding." He moved closer. "It's not wise to play games with me, sweet Duchess."

  "I thought you liked games."

  "Those I choose to play. You will have my help, but if there is anything else I should know, tell me now."

  He was very close. She tilted her head so she could meet his gaze. "Find the monk for me, Roslaire. You won't be sorry."

  "It is done."

  ####

  It was not done two days later, and Mariette was thinking about the monk as she made her way to answer Prince Arnaud's unexpected invitation. The old man had disappeared, and with each day that passed, she became more concerned. She had not expected it would be easy to find him, but no one disappeared so completely even in Fourges, and particularly not when a man with Roslaire's contacts was searching for them. Of course, the monk's lodgings would be humble, somewhere deep in the poorest quarters of the city. If he had left directions, she had not been able to discover them. He may have judged it unlikely the King would send for him. If his enemy was the same as hers, it made sense that he would be cautious.

  Though Roslaire would reveal nothing of his sources, he was certain the old man had not left the city. He said it was only a matter of time before he was found. She believed him, but she was apprehensive too. The old man had made a very public declaration, and he had claimed to have proof. It was a dangerous position to take. People who threatened the shadow did not survive for long. If she was to keep him safe, she needed to find him quickly. Edgar and Roslaire were employing all their resources, and there was nothing more she could do. She must wait.

  Approaching the Prince's apartments, she put the thought aside. She was fond of Arnaud and pleased to receive his invitation. The Prince kept to himself now, and it was a while since she had spent time with him. Nodding to the Captain, she passed the guards and was received at once by the Prince's chamberlain.

  He led her towards the library. The door was ajar, and as they approached, she heard a voice raised in complaint, and then Arnaud's laughter. After a moment, the Prince replied and the laughter increased. It seemed Arnaud had another guest. Not wishing to disturb their fun, she turned to the chamberlain, gesturing to indicate she would like to surprise them. He smiled and nodded, leaving her to walk on alone. She passed through the door. Across the room, the Prince was seated with his guest. At first, she saw only two heads bent over something spread across the low table. Then, too late, she recognized the other voice. She could not, with any dignity, turn back now. Cursing Arnaud, she walked forward and favored both young men with a smile.

  Edouard, who had been speaking, broke off in the middle of a word. He came to his feet and took a step back, moving with silky speed reminiscent of the tournament field. His retreat amused her, and she smiled at him. Arnaud rose slowly. She turned to him, sinking into a low curtsey. Rising, she caught Edouard pulling a furious face at Arnaud. Catching her gaze, he stopped and flushed.

  "Mariette, thank you for coming," said Arnaud. "Will you join us?"

  She hesitated, understanding, reluctantly, what the Prince must know. Before she could answer, Edouard stepped forward. She could not see his expression as he faced his cousin. "Arnaud, I must go." He turned back to bow to her. "Duchess Mariette, you will excuse me." He did not wait for her answer.

  Arnaud watched him leave and then sat down, carefully. He gestured her to a seat. "Are you angry with me too?"

  "Why would I be?"

  "Because I arranged this, meeting. I thought..." Arnaud shifted position. "He's been in such a strange mood, I thought you might..."

  "I expect he's upset over the quarrel with your father."

  "He's had plenty of quarrels with my father. It's never upset him before."

  "But this was not just a quarrel, Arnaud. It was a public confrontation. Edouard lost his knighthood. The court is still reeling from it. And there has been more trouble since." If she was being disingenuous, what she said was still true. The court was unsettled. Since Edouard's row with Ferdinand, the younger knights had made their disapproval clear. They had been pushing the limits of court etiquette, indulging in wild exploits, heavy drinking and rowdy behavior. Edouard was prominent among this set. She guessed Arnaud must know what was happening.

  He was silent as he considered her words. "I know what happened with my father, of course it was unfortunate, and from what I can tell they were both to blame. I still think there is something more to this. And I hoped you might want to help."

  "Of course, I would help if I could, but really, Arnaud, I don't see what I can do."

  "You could speak to him."

  "That would not help," she said, allowing a little of her impatience to show. She was fond of Arnaud, but she was not prepared to confide in him. Normally the most polite and charming of young men, he was being unusually slow to take the hint.

  "And if I asked you to?"

  It gave her pause, but after a moment's consideration, she answered him, "I would ask you to trust me in this. I have no influence with Edouard, and I am sure he would find advice from me unwelcome." Seeing the Prince's face, she took a breath and spoke more gently. "Forgive me. I understand your concern, and he is lucky to have such a staunch friend. I am sure that you are the person most likely to influence him."

  "I only want to see him happy." Arnaud shifted, only a slight movement, but suddenly he looked more frail and tired. "And I worry. Edouard is always in some sort of trouble, but this is different. There is a wildness I have never seen..."

  Mariette looked down, trying to hide her anger. Arnaud spoke as if she was responsible, and he was not the first to suggest it. The whispers around court said that and much worse. It galled her to be blamed for Edouard's behavior. Whatever had motivated him to goad Ferdinand it was not her fault. She could not imagine how anyone could judge his arrogant and dangerous display an act of lovelorn distress. Mariette sighed, wishing she could confide the depth of her worries, but she would not distress Arnaud's with such accusations against his cousin. As the silence lengthened, she searched for an answer that would satisfy him and found none.

  When she looked up, he was watching her and frowning. After a moment, he shrugged. She knew he was disappointed in her and when he spoke his clipped tone confirmed it. "I am sorry; clearly this is not your concern. It was wrong of me to involve you. No doubt, Edouard will get over whatever ails him. I'm a little tired, will you excuse me."

  Dismissed, Mariette rose at once and made her curtsey. "I'm sorry…" The injustice of it infuriated her. She was ready to protest, to tell him all she knew, but one look at his face stopped her. She could not burden this sick young man with such a tale, at least, not without proof.

  Chapter 44

  Edouard swallowed, wincing at the sour bite of cheap wine, thinking how well it matched his mood. Across the table, Gaspard de Nortial grinned at him. De Nortial held Edouard's gaze as he lifted his beak
er in ironic salute. He downed the wine and raised a hand to call for more. When it came, he poured for them both, pushing a brimming beaker forward. Edouard accepted the drink. It was insanity to match Gaspard drink for drink; the man had the size and strength of a bear. He could drink all night and be no worse for it, whilst his companions struggled and failed to match him. Knowing this Edouard still raised the beaker and drank; de Nortial would not drink alone. It was one of the games he played.

  The dockside tavern was packed, every trestle table squeezed tight with customers. Beneath the low ceiling, the air was thick with heat and smoke, and noise reverberated against the walls. Shouts of victory and complaint followed the patrons' fortunes at cards and dice. The girls waiting table screamed with shrill laughter or in complaint when groping hands trespassed too far.

  Seated at a table of eight, playing cards, Edouard lounged back and watched de Nortial deal. The giant knight had quick hands. His touch belied his brute size, and the quantity of wine and spirits they had consumed. There was much about the giant knight that was not as it seemed. Gaspard de Nortial was not like other knights. He did not spar and he had no time for tournaments, judging them pretty court games. But, despite an unshakeable belief in his own skill, Edouard had no doubt that if he ever crossed swords with de Nortial he would be more than hard-pressed. De Nortial's size and strength were unmatched, and alongside that brute strength, he had an athlete's speed and reflexes. He was as deadly with his fists as with a sword. The man had the predatory instincts of a tiger.

  He was also clever and vicious. His boast that he did not need to spar was supported by a twisted penchant for duels, street fighting and the infamous wrestling and bare-knuckle competitions that the city adored. De Nortial honed his skills and reflexes on the flesh and bone of any man foolish enough to cross him, or willing to meet him in these unregulated contests. His reputation was fearsome. Edouard had witnessed him go far beyond the bounds of what was acceptable. Only his ties to St Andre and his value to the King saved de Nortial from censure. He was not a companion Edouard would have chosen, even in his current mood, and manipulated by St Andre and humiliated by the King, he was in the mood for trouble.

  Edouard sucked down another mouthful of wine and threw aside a useless hand of cards. He had sought this wild release, and now he was caught by his own game. Flexing his shoulders, he stretched, glancing round. The card table was made up of de Nortial, two knights and four city men, a couple of them merchants by the size of their purses, the others professional gamblers. A dozen other knights sampled the various pleasures the tavern offered. He sighed. There would be more wine and spirits. It would be hours before the night was done. Likely, there would be a brawl or a visit to one of the brutal fighting houses de Nortial favored. Edouard had no taste for what would follow.

  It would be sensible to leave, but it was hard to escape de Nortial, and if he returned to the palace, there was a chance he might see her and the golden haired corsair. The thought brought a flush of humiliation and anger. He reached for the wine. Watching him, de Nortial smiled.

  "Your luck will change," he promised.

  He was as good as his word. An hour later Edouard had a tidy pile of winnings, and a hazy grasp on his senses. He watched the cards fly and wondered idly how de Nortial cheated. There was no doubt he did, and he did not care if he was caught. More often than not, it was such a denouement that led to the end of night brawl or duel. Edouard saw that the older of the two gamblers was also watching de Nortial closely. As the cards settled the man flipped his over and scowled, his hand slipped to his sword. A moment later he was on his feet facing de Nortial.

  "Enough, you think us green fools to be gulled like this?"

  Before de Nortial could answer, Edouard spoke. "Are you accusing us?" He was not so far gone in drink that he would do nothing as de Nortial played out this cat and mouse game. He had watched it too often and had no taste to see another man beaten and bleeding, or cut to ribbons for sport.

  The man hesitated. He glanced to de Nortial, and then turned to face Edouard. The gambler had a fancy beard and a jewel in his ear, but beneath slicked back brown hair his gray eyes were sharp. "My lord." He bowed and smiled. His mouth had an arrogant twist. "No one's luck changes so completely as yours, and you surely do not claim success through clear headed skill."

  Gaspard laughed. "He has you there."

  After a moment's consideration, Edouard decided he liked neither the gambler's wit, nor de Nortial's laughter. But that could wait. He stood up. It was not the most controlled movement he had ever made. A half step sideways and he found his balance. The gambler raised an eyebrow.

  "Perhaps you should sit down and have another drink?"

  The merchants joined the laughter this time. But Edouard noted their anxiety. He grinned, reaching lazily for his sword. As steel hissed clear of the scabbard, a hand gripped his arm.

  Reflex kicked in. He spun with a predator's speed, all trace of spoiled balance gone. His fingers tightened on the sword's hilt, and the blade slid clear. In less than a heartbeat, he faced the impostor over the length of his drawn steel. The tavern stilled to silence. Edouard stared at the man who had dared lay hands on him. Then he laughed and lowered the blade.

  "Angel, what are you doing here?" He stepped forward to offer an embrace of welcome and cover his discomfort. Despite his pleasure, he wondered how long Angelo had been in Fourges, and what the hell he might have heard.

  "Don't call me that." Angelo's smile lost the last trace of good humor. His gaze was razor sharp. "I am in Fourges on an errand for your father. What are you doing?"

  Before Edouard could say anything, de Nortial answered, "Drinking, gambling, whoring and soon fighting. Won't you join us?"

  Angelo favored the giant with an exquisite smile. "Thank you, no." He looked to Edouard. "We need to talk."

  Again, de Nortial was quicker. "It is not the time for talk, Sieur Angelo." He rose with a mock bow and turned to face the gambler. "This gentleman has impugned our honor. There must be recompense for the slur."

  "What slur, you cheated." The gambler took a step back, and his hand moved to his sword.

  "You repeat the slander, and so the recompense will be double." De Nortial had not yet touched his weapon.

  It was impossible to ignore Angelo's disapproval, Edouard sighed. He went to the table and scooped up his winnings. He pushed them towards the gambler. "Here, take this and your whole skin, and be satisfied your luck has seen you through." For a heartbeat, he thought the fool would refuse, but at last, the man reached for the coin. With fast hands, he pocketed it and backed away. Edouard heard de Nortial curse and turned to meet the giant's furious gaze.

  "You will let him slander us and walk away, denying me my sport?" The knight slammed a fist against the table and turned to Angelo. "I think you have spoiled our evening and made fools of us all."

  Edouard moved between them. "My evening is over," he said to de Nortial. "But you may take your pleasure as you please. I will return to the palace with Sieur Angelo."

  "Then we will come too."

  He shrugged, accepting the decision, despite Angelo's scowl. Outside the chill night air made him gasp. As five of his companions followed, he turned east following the river through streets lit by flickering torches. The crowds were thick, at every tavern door light and noise spilled out. A spray of ill plucked notes and snatches of coarse song mingled with curses and screams from the dark streets. With each step, the clamor from the next tavern eclipsed the last. Ragged children followed them, begging, and in the gutter, dogs fought over scraps. A scantily clad girl clung to the arm of a drunken man, her eyes sharp beneath lowered lashes. Seeing them, she smiled.

  Edouard looked away. Beside him, Angelo walked in disapproving silence, one hand on his sword. "What are you doing haunting a dive like that?" he asked.

  "Having fun."

  "There are plenty of other places to have fun." Angelo turned away as another girl approached them. "You know yo
ur father would not approve."

  "Bollocks to that." Who else but his contrary father was to blame for this? "He sent me here."

  "What is the matter with you?"

  He glanced sideways at Angelo, trying to gauge his mood, wondering again how long he had been in Fourges and who he had spoken to. He shrugged. "You turn up here and lecture me, what did you expect?"

  "A greeting that did not involve drawn steel would've been nice."

  "That was not about you." He lengthened his stride, aware de Nortial was close behind. Angelo kept pace.

  "You draw a blade only if you intend to use it."

  "Are you deaf? I said I don't want to hear your lectures."

  "I can see you're too drunk to heed sense."

  "Will you shut up?" He glanced back to find de Nortial had moved closer.

  "What's wrong?" Despite the provocation, there was more concern than anger in Angelo's voice.

  Edouard wavered, dangerously in need of a friend, but before he could answer, de Nortial was at his side. His eyes flicked over Angelo. He sneered.

  "Is a little fun too much for you, Sieur Angelo? Are all Chamfort knights such pussies?"

  Angelo came to a halt and turned slowly. Gaspard de Nortial pushed forward in anticipation, his size a grim menace. Quickly, Edouard moved between them, cursing himself for a fool. Thwarted of his sport once tonight, it was clear that Gaspard de Nortial had chosen a new victim.

  "Enough, Angelo is a friend." He faced de Nortial down, knowing better than to trust his temper. The giant ignored him, staring over his shoulder at Angelo. At his back, Edouard sensed Angelo's contempt. His urgent gesture for him to remain silent was ignored.

  "Edouard, I have heard the tales about this creature. I cannot believe you choose to consort with such as this."

  He turned to silence Angelo, exposing his back to de Nortial. The risk raised a shiver as the giant laughed.

  "You're too good for us, Edouard." He laughed again. "Sieur Angelo cannot be up to date with the latest news?"