"More than one, as I heard it."
Edouard did not bother to correct him. "If I escape I will be tried, in my absence, and convicted. To stay would mean death." He did not say what else it would mean, de Lyon would understand. There was no doubt of the outcome, but Ferdinand would ensure the process of trial and punishment would be long drawn out and brutal. The King would also ensure that it was conducted in a manner certain to injure Prince Rupert and his family.
"You do not deny the charges then. No protestations of innocence?"
"Would it make a difference?" He managed to keep his voice even. The corsair tasted his wine without answering. His expression was unreadable, the King's men might be on their way already, or he might be open to an offer. Edouard played his only card. "I understand there is a risk. You will be recompensed commensurately." Profit, he believed, was the only thing that would catch this man's interest.
"You will accept a lifelong exile from your home and family?"
"What does it matter to you?" He might be forced to deal with the corsair, but he did not have to answer his questions.
"As I stated, it is a matter of risk, my lord."
"There is no point in denying anything. But in time perhaps there might be a pardon." Edouard looked away, unable to hide his anger, there were few men he would less relish being forced to confide in. He hoped it was enough to satisfy the bastard, but after a moment's silence de Lyon continued.
"Why would you hope for a pardon?"
Edouard took a breath. "Because I am not a murderer and the truth will be known. In time it will be seen that I have done my uncle a service."
"By killing his best general? And who, or what, will convince the King of this?
He had strayed into dangerous waters. "That is my business." He said and returned the corsair's stare.
Roslaire de Lyon did not press him. "Why Allesarion?"
He gathered his thoughts for this new question, though it was an effort he answered with blunt truth. "Queen Micia will offer me shelter. She has no love for my uncle."
"True enough." De Lyon's lip curled into something like a smile. "But Micia's shelter may not offer much security, and there will be a price."
"I don't have many options." It was true, there were few who would shelter him and risk Ferdinand's wrath.
"Maybe not, but you should think before you throw yourself on her dubious mercy. Do you have experience of the court in Allesarion?"
He shook his head.
"It is a dangerous place. In Allesarion the earth brings forth untold riches. Micia's court is wealthy and extravagant in its pleasures. It is a haven for alchemists, or wizards if you prefer; the gold draws them like rats to food. If you seek her help, be sure it will not be given for free."
"What would you have me do?" He snapped. "Ferdinand will not stop. I must put myself beyond his reach. If I stay here my family and anyone suspected of offering me shelter will be in danger. They will hunt me wherever I go. Only someone like Micia of Allesarion can offer protection."
"If she chooses to."
It was a risk he could not calculate. "Of course, there is no certainty she will accept me."
"And if she doesn't, what then?" De Lyon returned to the window. "Or to be more specific, what will you expect of my captain if the court in Allesarion refuses you shelter."
"Nothing. I have skills and can make my own way, if forced to it." He knew it was a poor answer. Even if he could manage to sneak into Allesarion and disappear, Ferdinand would not stop. Keeping ahead of his hounds, alone and without deep resources, would be difficult. They both knew he had little chance without Micia's protection.
Staring from the window to the harbor below, de Lyon laughed. "You really haven't thought this through, very well." He turned back. "You are asking me to take a risk, and my captain to take a greater one."
"It may surprise you, but I didn't plan this. There's been no time to prepare elaborate contingencies." Reluctantly, he took out the soft leather pouch. He flung it to land on the table. De Lyon did not move.
"Your worldly goods?" he asked.
Edouard took a breath, his shoulder was burning and the fire had spread down his arm. It was hard to turn his head. He knew that fighting his way out was not an option, but despite that knowledge his temper flared.
"Take a look. As blood money goes, it's more than you'll get from Ferdinand."
Still, De Lyon did not move. He was looking out of the window. "Perhaps it is not about money. Perhaps there was never any question but that it was a matter of duty. You are a fugitive and traitor. Maybe my men went to get the King's guard the moment they left us."
Edouard stood up and moved a hand towards his sword hilt. Roslaire de Lyon watched, but showed no obvious anxiety. It gave Edouard an unwelcome insight, clearly he looked as bad as he felt. But now was not the moment to falter. "And you have been amusing yourself while you were waiting for them?" He did not attempt to retrieve the pouch.
The other man did not answer. He stood, relaxed, a tall man, powerful and sure of himself. You could see the physical strength that had won him success in the most dangerous of enterprises. The shrewd gaze hinted at the other key to his success. He had gained a place among the favored cadre of merchants the King consulted and commissioned. Few men won Ferdinand's respect and favor to such a degree. And of course, Ferdinand's was not the only favor Roslaire de Lyon had won, and held.
Edouard drew his sword, expending some effort to make the action smooth and deadly fast. De Lyon did not react as the blade speared the pouch from the table flipping it up. The corsair watched as it arced through the air, and then reached a casual hand to claim it. He opened it, ignoring the drawn blade, and studied the contents.
"A King's ransom," he said at last. "I wonder what Ferdinand is offering."
"It won't matter." Edouard raised the blade. "You won't live to see your blood money." It was bluster, an empty threat, and he waited for the other man to laugh. Light shimmered along the blade as his arm trembled.
Roslaire de Lyon did not laugh or smile. His gaze was hooded as he said. "Put the blade down. Don't you have enemies enough?"
"Perhaps it will give me more pleasure to kill you than the King's men."
Amazingly, de Lyon smiled. "It is of course your choice." He lounged back; his earring glinted. Still he made no move to arm himself.
Edouard was finding it difficult to remain convincingly upright. He had the impression de Lyon found the scene amusing. He concentrated on his blade. The other man moved and it jerked, involuntarily, in response. De Lyon made an impatient noise.
"Put up, you young fool. And sit down before you fall down." He dropped the pouch onto the table. "I have not sent for the guards." He did not touch his sword.
"I don't believe you." Edouard did not lower the blade. De Lyon could be lying to gain more time, but thinking was becoming as difficult as standing. It occurred to him that it did not matter if de Lyon was lying. The only thing he knew was that he did not want to end up in Ferdinand's hands, better for everyone if it ended here. He faced Mariette's lover and, gritting his teeth, raised the blade. "Arm yourself."
"I would rather conclude our business more profitably," De Lyon said, watching the blade. "I won't find you a place on one of my vessels, the risk is too great. But there is a caravel bound for Allesarion, whose captain might be persuaded. For the right price and certain other inducements."
It was all too complicated. The man was a liar, and a thief. He was Mariette's lover. Edouard wanted to fight. The blade wavered. He sat down.
He did not resist when De Lyon moved from the window and took his sword. He sat shivering and wretched, humiliated before a rival. He watched as the other man laid the blade on the table. De Lyon turned back.
"Where are you hurt?" he asked.
Within minutes his jacket and shirt were removed, the wound was exposed. De Lyon studied it, frowning, and then sent for the medical chest, water and bandages. Edouard looked down, blearil
y, there was not much to see, the same narrow cut.
"What weapon caused this?" De Lyon asked.
"Dagger." Edouard lied.
"Was the blade poisoned?"
"Maybe."
"How long ago."
With an effort, Edouard focused. "Last night." He saw the suspicion on De Lyon's face and tried to think. "Maybe it's infected."
"It doesn't look infected. But I'll poultice it in case." Saying nothing more he cleaned and dressed the wound efficiently. Afterwards he returned to the table. Sitting down he opened the pouch spreading the contents onto the table. The jewels rattled onto the wood and lay sparkling, the huge ruby glowed dull red. De Lyon sorted them into five piles. He worked briskly and in silence.
Watching him, Edouard knew something had changed, but he could not work it out. The throbbing pain in his shoulder distracted him. It showed no sign of easing now the wound had been tended, and seemed to be spreading through his arm and neck with renewed vigor. He made an effort to stop shivering and concentrate.
Finished, de Lyon selected the ruby, easily the most valuable single jewel. "My fee." He set it aside and scooped the smallest of the piles up tipping them into the pouch. "This will secure Captain Grimandi's interest." He produced another purse and put the next pile of jewels into it. "His end payment to be given when you reach Allesarion. But it will be wise to suggest he might also expect some show of gratitude from Queen Micia." He pushed two more other piles to one side. "Bribes and other expenses."
There was one small pile left. Edouard wondered, vaguely, whom it was intended for. It seemed that De Lyon's help, if he truly meant to help, came at a high price. But he did not have the strength to protest. It hardly mattered that he would arrive at Micia's court penniless as well as disgraced. He realized De Lyon was speaking. He looked up.
"I will send word to Grimandi, if he agrees you can join the Maria when it is dark. In the meantime you should rest. There is a bed in the back room."
Edouard was beyond caring. Standing up was difficult, but he managed it and followed de Lyon. The back room was a narrow windowless cell. Edouard made no objection. He sat down on the bed and was immediately overcome by a longing to lie down.
"I'll send food," De Lyon said, watching him.
"Thank you." He could not believe this man meant to help him. It didn't make sense, but for now he hadn't the strength to think about it. Maybe after he had slept he would feel stronger. As the door closed, Edouard laid back and closed his eyes.
He woke, and remembered instantly where he was. The door to the small room was open, and the long room beyond was dark but for the glimmer of one candle. He moved and his shoulder and arm flared to pain instantly. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself upright. Warned, as light spread across the floor, he looked up. Roslaire de Lyon stood by the door watching, in his hand a naked blade glimmered in the candlelight. Edouard froze.
"Here, you'll need this," de Lyon said and offered the blade, hilt first.
It was his own blade, the Chamfort crest uncovered. The shock passed leaving him breathless. He took the blade sheathing it and straightening his clothes carefully. Every movement sent a blaze of agony through his shoulder and left side. He felt de Lyon's gaze and looked up, beyond the candle flame the corsair was a towering figure.
"It's time. Are you fit?"
"Yes." He took a step forward.
De Lyon did not move from the doorway. "Grimandi has agreed to take you, but he'll renege if he thinks you're too great a liability. You've a walk a boat ride and a climb, are you up to it?"
"Yes." He snapped.
"Come on then." De Lyon's earring glinted as turned; behind him the room was a vast cavern of shadow. He moved to the table and busied himself with a flask. Joining him Edouard smelled the strong spirits and hesitated as de Lyon offered them.
"Here, take some, it will help and the smell with keep Grimandi from guessing there is a greater problem."
Edouard tossed back the first measure, and choked. Afterwards the warmth was pleasant and he took two more shots without protest. De Lyon did not offer any more, but handed him a small pack. Inside he found a flask of spirits, a fine shirt, a jar of salve, a purse holding the remainder of Captain Grimandi's fee, and a small purse containing the remaining jewels. He returned them to the pack. De Lyon handed him a heavy cloak.
"Thank you." He studied the corsair, wondering why. What possible gain could Roslaire de Lyon envisage that matched the risk he was taking? He hesitated on the verge of asking.
"It's time, the Maria will be waiting." De Lyon's face was shadowed. "There will be soldiers; they are everywhere tonight, but it is taken care of."
"How?"
"Let me worry about that."
Downstairs a door slammed, Edouard turned his head to listen. The candle flame fluttered and the shadows leaped. In the silence he searched the corsair's face; he had no reason to trust this man but de Lyon had had chance enough to betray him. If he meant him harm, why would he wait? For a long moment they stood facing each other. At last Edouard picked up the cloak with his good arm and tossed it awkwardly around his shoulders. De Lyon would not be helping him unless there was some sort of profit to be made. He could only hope that the corsair's interests were best served by his survival and escape.
"You are risking a great deal," he said, lifting the pack.
"Profit usually involves risk."
Descending the stairs at the corsair's heels, it occurred to him that de Lyon had already secured his profit. He shrugged the thought aside, settling the cloak around his shoulders as they stepped into the chaos of the dockside night. There were men at arms in the royal livery on the dockside. He would have turned back but de Lyon caught his arm.
"Keep walking, a distraction has been arranged."
A moment later there was a scuffle near one of the taverns, a crowd developed. Noise from the brawl increased. The guard captain turned and signaled to his men. As they reached the disturbance, a man bolted off into an alley. A group of guards gave chase; others began to break up the crowd. The scene passed out of his view as they reached the waterfront. De Lyon gave a signal. Close by there was a soft whistle and a boat eased towards them.
He scrambled from the steps to the boat his pack and injured shoulder making him awkward. Behind him Roslaire de Lyon stepped nimbly over. Surprised that the corsair would accompany them, he put aside a nagging doubt and settled in the prow. No one spoke as the boat drew swiftly clear. The row to the caravel was over too soon and the boat's steep sides rose before them. He stared up to the lights on deck, wondering how he would manage the climb. De Lyon was standing, reaching for the ropes. He turned back.
"I'll go ahead and complete my business with Grimandi. It will give you a few moments, but make sure you are ready when he comes back on deck." Finished he did not wait for an answer, gripping the ropes and shimming aboard with swift efficiency.
Preparing to follow him, Edouard stared up and took a deep breath. He had to make the climb, and as neatly as possible. He started slowly, testing his shoulder and grip. Nearly halfway, he thought he would manage it, but the moment's relief made him careless and he missed his footing, jarring his shoulder against the planks. He clung one handed. Above someone called down. He cursed back.
"Bloody fool ropes." He started to climb again. The caravel rose and fell gently with the tide; beneath him the sea heaved closer and fell back. He closed his eyes for a moment. It did not help. He forced himself to move, lifting his foot and searching for the next rung. The effort made his head swim but he was climbing again, slowly. He looked up, high above the ship's mast swung lazily and closer a hand appeared over the rail holding a lantern. It dazzled him. He cursed again and it withdrew.
He made it aboard, throwing his pack up and clambering gracelessly after, cursing the man who offered help and jarred his injured shoulder. He stood hunched against the pain, as the sailor cursed him back. Footsteps approached.
"The idiot's drunk." De Lyon sai
d, materializing at his shoulder.
"I can smell it." Another voice, none too amused. "Well as long as he causes no trouble, it won't matter to me."
Braced against the rail, Edouard met the Captain's raking stare, and in turn studied the man whose greed and skill would save his life. Captain Grimandi was not an impressive figure. Short and rotund, dressed in the same grubby cotton as his sailors, he was nearly bald. His creased stare was set in a chubby, stubbled face. He did not look particularly friendly.
Edouard was not feeling particularly friendly either, but good sense won out. Remembering that he was supposed to be drunk, he stepped forward and made an unsteady bow. It was important to make an impression, one that would buy him the indulgence he would most certainly need. He straightened and smiled.
"Captain Grimandi, forgive me, I have indulged too freely of Monsieur's brandy. It has been a trying day." He felt de Lyon's gaze and turned to face him, swaying. "You have concluded your business, successfully, Monsieur?"
De Lyon nodded briskly. "And the Captain is eager to catch the tide."
After a moment's pause, Grimandi turned away shouting orders to his crew. Left facing Roslaire de Lyon, Edouard stopped smiling. He looked towards the Captain's busy round figure and asked with unconcealed irony. "Can I trust him?"
De Lyon grinned. "Of course not. And remember, he's nobody's fool." He moved towards the rail, below the waiting boat bobbed softly with the swell. He paused and turned back. "Keep your wits and your valuables about you, boy. Expect no favors." He laughed again. "The same goes for Micia's court, if you reach it." He swung neatly overboard and down to the waiting boat.
As Grimandi's men made ready, Edouard watched the corsair's boat until it disappeared. Soon the Maria slipped gently from her moorings and turned towards the open sea. Shivering, he remained at the rail until the lights of Fourges faded and the horizon grew dark.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 68
