Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  That much was obvious. He tried again. "So why come at all?" It didn't come out quite as he meant it.

  "I wanted to be sure he was all right."

  Charles nodded and tried to refrain from making the obvious comment. He found that level of control was beyond him. "If you were so concerned, why didn't you go to him after it happened?"

  "I couldn't, I had an accident myself soon after." Edouard raised a hand to his bruised jaw. "I was knocked unconscious."

  "And when you came round, what stopped you then?"

  "The King." Edouard snapped, speaking faster as he went on the defensive. "He confined me to my rooms and ordered me not to trouble my father while he was recovering."

  "Oh, really. And you did what you were told?" From Edouard, this was laughable. "What was the real reason?"

  "I've told you the real reason."

  He stood up certain that Edouard was lying, or at least not telling him the whole story. "Fine. Is there a reason dragged me out here? If you wanted to offer excuses a letter would have done as well, perhaps better, you might have put more thought into it. Father does not seem to need an explanation but I..."

  "You're angry."

  "Saint's blood, Edouard, of course I'm angry. He might've been killed, and you didn't even make the effort to see him. Elle said he waited every day for you to come. When he heard you had been hurt, he was beside himself with worry." Charles took a breath. "Worse, he had to listen to all the rumors and fend off Ferdinand's spite. Through it all, he defended you, and still does. Have you any idea what they have been saying?"

  "Yes. I've some idea." Edouard said bitterly.

  "Don't take that tone. In case you've forgotten, you're not the injured party here."

  "Tell that to my jaw," Edouard said, but without rancor. He raised a hand in mock surrender. "Don't worry, I didn't come here for sympathy." Charles stared at him, he had been about to say it wasn't on offer.

  Edouard smiled, he actually seemed relieved. "Do you mind if we don't quarrel? I behaved badly, as usual, but perhaps with better reason than you know. I'm afraid that is not the worst of it, will you let me tell you what I can?"

  Charles nodded. Not trusting himself to speak.

  "I need your help. I don't want to bother him. You won't like it, but I really didn't mean for it to turn out like this," said Edouard.

  Something in the words struck a chord, reminding him again of how it used to be between them. He was certain this was not deliberate on Edouard's part; instead, he was afraid the appeal signified a worrying degree of trouble. He sat waiting. Edouard was pacing up and down and seemed uncertain how, or where, to begin. At last, he came to a halt. "I don't think the details matter."

  Charles forced himself to remain silent and after a moment, looking slightly surprised, Edouard continued. "What is important is that you know that the Marechal St Andre is not to be trusted. You must find a way to make sure father knows this too." Satisfied with this confession, he sat down on the log.

  Charles waited for him to continue, struggling not to shout at him. This sort of infuriating lack of detail was typical of confessions made by Edouard when he was younger.

  Eventually, when it was clear his brother would offer nothing more, Charles said, "You have come all this way to meet me, and gone to some trouble to do so in secret. I presume there is something more to your problem?"

  "In case you didn't notice, I have just told you the King's first and most trusted general is a traitor."

  "Yes, Edouard, I gathered that much. But you are not here out of concern for Ferdinand, so I can only suppose that your news is likely to have some direct consequence for Chamfort?"

  "Of course." Edouard spoke as if this was already obvious. He stood up again and prowled round the log. "I have followed St Andre's orders, undertaken tasks at his request." He hesitated. "This has placed me in a difficult position."

  Charles began to have a very bad feeling. "What exactly have you done?"

  "Little more than serve my commander," Edouard snapped and then, with a change of tone, added. "Unfortunately my commander's first duty is not to the King."

  A very bad feeling. "Whom does he serve?"

  "I have no knowledge of that or of his plans. And I have knowledge of his actions only in so far as I have been involved."

  "You have been involved in actions that are not in the King's interest." Charles stopped, appalled. His brother was speaking of treason. "How could you allow this to happen?"

  "At first I didn't realize, and when I did," Edouard shrugged. "St Andre is not an easy man to refuse."

  "We are talking of treason, Edouard, not an invitation to go hunting."

  "I know what we are talking about, damn it. But I didn't have a choice. He showed me that I was already compromised, and more likely to be held accountable for the acts of treason than he was. He threatened to involve Chamfort."

  "But," said Charles, trying very hard to be patient, "I still don't understand. What exactly did you do, and why?"

  Edouard shrugged again as if to say he did not understand it either. "If your commander tells you to burn villages because they are sheltering enemy soldiers, or outlaws, you may not like it but you follow orders."

  "Where were these villages?"

  "On the border at Etrives." Edouard paused. "And here, at Chamfort."

  "Holy mother." Charles remembered the aldermen's questions and felt sick. "Why didn't you say something?"

  "By the time I found out it was too late. I wanted to keep father, and you, out of this. The orders were St Andre's, the actions mine. Chamfort had no involvement in what happened."

  "Even you can't imagine it's that simple. You led St Andre's men." Charles felt as if someone had dumped ice down his spine. "The town council is already asking questions. I've asked them to bring witnesses to help clear up the matter."

  "They are highly unlikely to find any," Edouard said bleakly. He came to a halt facing Charles. "There's more. If he wishes to, St Andre can implicate me in Mayor Arno's death."

  "How?" he asked quietly. It took some effort not to rant and shout at his brother.

  "St Andre had him killed. The details will not help." Edouard turned away and began pacing around the log in a way that made Charles dizzy.

  He took a long breath, waiting until Edouard faced him again, then reaching up to catch his arm, but his brother would not meet his gaze. He let the breath go. "Tell me all of it."

  Edouard pulled a face. "Mayor Arno was writing to the King, making accusations against Chamfort. St Andre had him summoned to a meeting in my name." He stopped.

  "And?"

  "The meeting was in the Chamfort crypt. I was there." Edouard sat down. "St Andre commands a fell creature, a thing of shadow. It killed the Mayor." He glanced at Charles and away and continued, speaking quickly. "I know this is bad, and that I have been stupid. But the guilt is mine. I have done what I can to distance myself from Chamfort. That's why..." He ground to a halt. "I will find a way to make it right."

  "This is not something you just make right, Edouard." Charles shook his head, overwhelmed. "But you must already know that?"

  "What's done cannot be changed." Edouard agreed, with frightening calm. "I will face what I must, but I took an oath. I will make sure you, father and Chamfort are not harmed. I will go along with St Andre until I can be sure of that. In the meantime, you must keep your distance. It is important that everyone believes there is a rift between us."

  Charles searched for something he could understand, but his thoughts floundered beneath an avalanche of implications. "How can you be so sure St Andre will not move against Chamfort?"

  "I can't, that is the other reason I came, to warn you to be on guard." Edouard began to pace again. "He will be at Etrives for the rest of the season, busy with the army. It will give me a chance to find out more. If I can bring some proof to the King, then there is a possibility I may clear my name."

  This seemed more hopeful than likely, but Charles said
nothing. He was unnerved by his brother's fervor. When he set his mind to something Edouard was as determined as he was reckless. Putting that thought aside, Charles struggled to track a dozen terrifying probabilities. He tried, and failed, to fix on one and said desperately, " St Andre will not be alone in this."

  Edouard shook his head, dismissing his concern. "If I am to prove my innocence it's St Andre I must expose. If there are other traitors Ferdinand can find them."

  "But if we don't even know who these men are, or what they plan." Charles stopped, overwhelmed by a new set of implications.

  "Don't think about it." Edouard came to a halt. "You must concentrate on keeping Chamfort clear of this mess."

  "I will have to tell father."

  For a moment, Edouard did not answer. Then he said, "I would ask you to think hard about that. Think about what will happen when he knows. St Andre has a hold over me, that can't be changed. When I get the evidence I need to expose him, I will place it before the King and take my chances. But if St Andre gets some sort of hold over Chamfort there will be no hope."

  "But surely he will believe that a hold over you is a hold over Chamfort? Father must know."

  "No. St Andre knows that threatening Chamfort will keep me in line. I have already given him that much power, but it only works because he has hard evidence against me. To my knowledge, he has nothing on Chamfort. The very public rift between us will make it harder for him."

  Charles did not want to agree with what seemed insane reasoning, and a typically rash sort of plan. But what Edouard said made some sense. For a while, he sat in silence trying to map out the problem from each angle and work through the implications, but each time he approached it a new set of possibilities emerged. He did not have enough information, and even if Edouard had told him all he knew, it was not enough. And he was not sure his brother had told him everything.

  He looked up to find Edouard was over by the black horse, checking its girth and making preparations to leave. Charles stood up. "What are you doing?"

  "I have to get back before St Andre notices my absence."

  "You can't go. You have to come home and talk to him, your plan is..." He stopped himself from calling his brother an idiot. It would serve no purpose and most likely start an argument. They did not have time to trade insults. "We don't know enough to judge whether it is safe."

  "I can't stay. There is one thing we both know for a fact. The King, and St Andre, have spies at Chamfort. I can't be seen here." He had finished checking the tack and had untied the horse, ready to mount.

  Charles watched his brother, wondering what he should do. Edouard led the horse towards the log. He came to a halt beside Charles. He smiled. "I hope you don't think you can stop me leaving."

  "I have men close by."

  Edouard laughed out loud and then sobered. "Charles, I have tried to explain, this is my problem and must remain so. I rely on you to protect Chamfort; tell him if you must, but as long as he is warned about St Andre I don't think it will help him to know the rest." He shook his head. "Don't look at me like that. You know what will happen if he becomes involved," Edouard stopped. "A confrontation between father and Ferdinand would threaten Chamfort and much more. Anything is preferable. Promise me, Charles."

  "Promise you what?" Charles took a breath, caught somewhere between anger and fear. "If this goes badly for you do you think there is any way he will stand aside?"

  Edouard shrugged. "There is a difference in defending a wayward son and being involved in treason, Charles. Promise me you will keep him the right side of that line."

  "You're asking me to lie, to deny him a choice, to keep him in the dark about things that may threaten our whole family. The twins are at Etrives for god's sake."

  "Don't worry I will stay away from them." Edouard turned to mount his horse. "I won't ask for your promise. I will trust you to do what is best."

  Charles took a pace forward and caught his brother's arm. For a moment, Edouard stiffened; then his shoulders sagged. He turned back slowly. "Why won't you trust me?"

  "You will have my promise, on one condition. You will take care of yourself." He saw the change in his brother's face and said gruffly. "Here you will need this unless you plan on disowning us completely." Letting go of Edouard's arm he opened his hand. The silver signet with the crest of Chamfort glinted in his palm.

  Taking it Edouard mumbled, "Never." Suddenly Charles found himself gripped in a clumsy hug. It lasted no more than a moment, but before he recovered his composure, Edouard was spurring the black into the woods.

  Chapter 53

  A storm was coming: heavy clouds rolled across the sky, and the air held the promise of thunder. Reluctantly, Rupert turned from the window to face the papers spread across his desk. With a sigh, he moved towards the desk and sat down. He did so slowly, carefully, even so, pain stabbed along his side. He gritted his teeth and settled in the high backed chair. It took a few moments for the pain to subside.

  It was a long time since he had last suffered broken ribs. He could not remember they had ever taken this long to heal, something to do with age he supposed. He pushed the thought aside and turned to work. A large map was spread across the desk, weighted at each corner to keep it flat. Slips of paper, marked with names of villages and dates, were laid out across the map. Rupert traced a line, a trail of devastation and death. In his mind, the words of a dozen reports repeated the same grim detail. Outlaws were hunting in the woods of Chamfort again.

  A soft knock at the door startled him. The slight uncontrolled movement was enough to bring a stabbing pain. He slid the books anchoring the map away from one edge, watching as it rolled closed. Then, taking a breath, he called permission to enter.

  A pageboy appeared, leading a guest. The man who followed was wearing a well cut coat in plain gray, his hair tied neatly back from his pock marked face. His bow lacked grace, but showed at least a measure of respect. Without rising, Rupert nodded in return and dismissed the pageboy. The boy hesitated. Rupert smiled, "That will be all, Anton, thank you." He understood the boy's anxiety, though unarmed and apparently relaxed, there was something menacing about his guest.

  When the boy was gone, Rupert studied the man for a moment and then waved him to a seat. Shedding the attempt at humility Daniel sat down and lounged back in the chair. His expression betrayed nothing, but Rupert caught the flicker, the internal calculation. It was hard to keep annoyance from showing. "Daniel, you have news?"

  "Yes, my lord." Daniel hesitated.

  "Well?"

  "It is not good news."

  "I hardly look to you for good news, Daniel." Rupert took a shallow breath. "First, tell me what you have found out about Mayor Arno's murder?"

  "About the murder, very little." Daniel spoke softly. "But I have learned something of the Mayor's movements that afternoon."

  "Well?"

  "He came to the chateau." Daniel's gaze was sharp. "You didn't tell me that."

  "I didn't know." Rupert admitted. He studied the papers on his desk, unwilling to reveal a reaction. "Charles had a meeting planned with him, but I think it was for the next day. I will ask. Is there anything more?"

  "No, but I have not been able to learn anything further of his movements that day." Daniel paused. "No one in the town saw him again, at least not alive." There was a question in his tone and speculation in his eyes.

  "Are you suggesting something happened to the Mayor whilst he was here?"

  "I am not suggesting anything. I simply bring you facts. The Mayor was seen leaving the town and heading up towards the chateau."

  "Heading towards?" Rupert weighed the words carefully. "Do you know he definitely came here?"

  "No. I cannot say that for certain, not having had the chance to question anyone at the chateau."

  Rupert looked up. "Nor will you," he said. Daniel returned his stare. It was a long moment before he looked away.

  Rupert considered this new information. Mayor Arno had visited the chateau o
n the day of his death. It might be nothing, but a tightness in the muscles of his back renewed the pain. He reminded himself that the Mayor's body had been found in the town, no suspicion touched the chateau, yet. "What else?"

  "I've discovered nothing more about the Mayor. His murder was brutal; the body near unrecognizable. He was not a popular man, but a death like that needs explanation, else it breeds fear and suspicion."

  The words were softly spoken, in a tone Rupert did not like. He eased his shoulders against the chair. "The truth behind any unnatural death must be discovered. The Mayor's is no different." He waited a moment, but Daniel said nothing. "Continue with your investigations, and be discreet." He reached to unfurl the map. "We have other problems. It seems the raiders have returned."

  Daniel came to his feet and moved to stand beside the desk. Shoulders hunched forward, his gaze flicked across the map following the trail of destroyed villages. "Three more villages, all within the domain of Debrauche." His finger described a line between the three, and then stabbed lower touching four more villages unmarked by paper. "And these villages, I heard there was trouble?"

  Rupert glanced up. "Those are villages that sheltered the outlaws, likely the very men who raided and destroyed other villages. On the King's orders, Edouard and St Andre's men cleared them this winter. But you know this."

  Daniel hesitated, clearly choosing his words. "From what I have learned of those villages, I do not believe outlaws found shelter in any of them. All the villages were too poor, the people too honest." His gaze remained on the map. "We are not looking for a few ill-kempt outlaws, my lord, but skilled men, well mounted and provisioned." He hesitated, again choosing his words. "Raiders who look like and fight like knights. These villages could not supply such a force; even under duress, they would not have the means."

  "So, these men have armor, perhaps some of them have trained as knights. But they are renegades and outlaws." This was an argument they had had before. "They take shelter as outlaws do, buying supplies from those unscrupulous enough to provide them for gold or protection. The Marechal said there was proof against all the villages."