Shadow of the Hawk

by David Gilman

  Don Pedro bristled. For a moment he held back his obvious anger at the small size of the English force sent to rescue him, but self-pity soon got the better of him. His finger tapped the map with increasing irritation. ‘You are a stranger here. You come uninvited and now you challenge me. If the Prince had sent an army instead of a handful of contemptuous men to aid the true King of Castile, I would not be obliged to retreat!’

  Blackstone ignored the insult. ‘The contempt comes from your enemies, your grace. I offer an escort to the Prince in Bordeaux where he can best serve the treaty between you. Once the French army joins the routiers then they have broken the treaty. Until now the French King and the Pope have only been employing brigands and men contracted to war. We need to get to Santiago and then the coast. Going south would be dangerous.’

  ‘You fear conflict? The King’s Master of War?’

  ‘I fear being unable to serve my Prince. His command was to escort you to safety.’

  Don Pedro stared down Blackstone, who returned his gaze without blinking. ‘You challenge me.’

  ‘I disagree with your decision.’

  ‘But you will do as I command.’

  ‘I will but with reservation and a suggestion.’

  ‘You are insolent.’

  ‘I am a soldier who knows a bad decision when I see one. I have a duty to serve you and take you to safety. If I did not voice my disagreement I would be doing you and my Prince a disservice.’

  Don Pedro turned to the commander. ‘Well?’

  The Spaniard eyed Blackstone. ‘Our men are stretched across our border, sire. Those who remain to protect you are few in number. Let this man draw the enemy away from your journey to Seville. Then we can reassess what we can achieve from there. It will take ten days to reach the city but we know the route and the river crossings; our enemy does not.’

  Don Pedro waited for Blackstone to answer.

  ‘Highness, you need as many of my men alive as possible so we can take you to France. We know the routes into Gascony that bypass Navarre’s men. If you squander my men, you will lose valuable support from my Prince. We are his best men, proven time and again.’

  ‘Your men are of no concern. If the enemy is four days away, then we have two days to prepare before evacuating Burgos. Sir Thomas, you will escort us halfway and then seek them out and engage them. You will buy me time. When I reach Portugal, there is no need for me to run to the Prince. I will regroup my army and seize back Castile. Discuss this and be ready.’

  The King tapped the table, a small gesture concluding business. He turned and left the room followed by the High Steward and Velasquita. The Moor followed. The Spaniard watched them leave and then offered his hand. Blackstone gripped the man’s fist: it was as hard and unyielding as his own. ‘I am Álvaraz and would rather sacrifice your men than what few I have. You understand?’

  ‘Of course. But you must convince him to keep half my force with you.’

  ‘I will. I need all the men I can get but I also had to convince him you and your men served him better by riding free of the column. I would not ask you to engage an overwhelming enemy but you might draw them away. We’re weak. Our troops are scattered. And I assure you we cannot hold Seville any more than here. Less so. I’ll show you the route and give you men to guide to you when the time comes.’

  ‘More trustworthy than Navarrese, I hope. I’ve already been betrayed by them.’

  ‘I’ll give you a handful of Moors. They’re savage bastards. The man who stood behind the King is Sayyid al-Hakam; he’s their commander. The King sent most of them to the border to kill man, woman and child. He wants to inflict terror.’

  ‘And that will give his half-brother the moral right to claim the throne.’

  ‘I’m a soldier. I do what I’m told. If I don’t, it will be my head on a pole.’

  Blackstone made no argument; his eyes followed the King, the High Steward and Velasquita as they walked along the colonnade, high above the open inner courtyard.

  Álvaraz noticed what drew his attention. ‘Do not even think about approaching the woman. She’s dangerous.’

  ‘His concubine?’

  ‘No one knows for certain. She has power and authority. Some say she’s a witch. He keeps her close in case his food is ever poisoned. That amulet she wears is supposed to hold the antidote to whatever poison assassins use.’

  ‘Then I’ll steer clear of her.’

  ‘A sound policy if you value your life. That way it will not be forfeit to the King’s wrath or her bewitching.’ He bent over the map. ‘Now, let me show you the route we will take.’

  Blackstone looked across him to where Velasquita had disappeared from view along one of the many other corridors. Was it his imagination or had she turned at the last moment to glance in his direction?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The stables were built along the outer curtain wall with enough stalls to stable more than twice those needed by Blackstone. Killbere had billeted the men in the extra space so that man and horse remained close. The yard outside provided an area large enough for the men to bathe and cook and ready themselves for the coming journey and fight.

  ‘The grain stores are full. There’s oats and barley and fodder. The horses are better fed than the men,’ said Killbere.

  ‘They need their strength; we must fill our grain sacks, Gilbert, and have the captains draw supplies from the King’s stewards. We have the right. They won’t be denied. There are hard days ahead.’

  Killbere pointed to where the captains had organized their own men.

  ‘Meulon and Renfred’s men guard each end; Will and Jack with the archers are in the middle. William Ashford will rotate the men through the night. These are strong walls, Thomas, but there is violence in our midst and I’m not so sure this King would weep into his wine if some of our throats were cut in the night.’

  Blackstone looked along the length of the stables. Men rested in the stalls opposite their mounts. Beyard was cleaning his weapons as Lázaro bent and lifted his horse’s hoof to clean out the accumulated mud. Blackstone caught Beyard’s eye and beckoned him. A glance towards Lázaro was the only question that needed to be answered.

  ‘Now we are in Castile and close to the King, he’s frightened,’ said Beyard. ‘I’ve talked to him and settled his fear as much as I can. He’s never been in this castle so no one serving here would ever recognize him.’

  ‘And may not wherever we go,’ said Blackstone. ‘Henry grew so much over the same length of time that I barely recognized him and he’s my son. And Seville?’

  ‘Never been there either. The only place he knows is Medina Sidonia and we’re nowhere near the place.’

  Killbere scuffed the straw-covered cobbles. ‘Do we concern ourselves too much? The assassins killed everyone there. They probably didn’t even know what he looked like back then let alone now.’

  ‘That’s a good point, Sir Thomas,’ said Beyard. ‘He could easily just be a page like any other.’

  ‘Except we have no other page riding with us and if Ranulph de Hayle believes Lázaro is still protected by us then the danger remains.’ Blackstone looked around at the stables. Every thirty paces gaps in the walls gave access to the outside yard. If there was trouble it was unlikely they could catch his men unawares. ‘We do not know if de Hayle still serves this King. What we do know is that, before he captured Lázaro after Cocherel, he had previously been here and then he sought the boy. The only witness to that murder is Lázaro.’

  Killbere lowered his voice. ‘And if Don Pedro seeks the Prince’s help then he cannot afford to have a witness speak out. If the killer is identified and confesses that the Queen’s death was ordered by this King, then the Prince would no longer support him. Rumours are one thing, the truth another. The boy stands between him and the treaty being fulfilled should the French invade.’

  ‘We should have left the boy in Bordeaux or Pamplona where he could be a servant unnoticed by anyone,’ said Beyard. />
  ‘A Navarrese boy in the wrong place,’ said Blackstone. ‘How easy would it be to unearth the truth under threat or investigation? There was no choice. Beyard, you cannot have eyes everywhere. Always keep at least two men with you and the boy at all times. When we ride keep him in the midst of your men.’

  ‘And when do we leave this place?’ said Killbere.

  ‘Two days, no more. Calveley and others will be at our heels. I’ll speak to the captains later.’

  Beyard returned to Lázaro.

  ‘Thomas, let’s look around,’ said Killbere. ‘I like to know whose company I keep when I’m sleeping with my horse in a stable surrounded by walls guarded by men. If the cruel bastard decides he doesn’t need us after all we could be caught like rats in a trap.’

  Blackstone nodded. Don Pedro was not a king to be trusted. ‘Have Ashford and Renfred go one way, you and Meulon the other. I’ll take Will with me.’

  *

  A mile away from the city the bell of the monastery Santa María la Real de las Huegas clanged dully across the hills. Peasants in the field would halt their day’s labour and make their way home, merchants and burghers in the city would cross themselves, put aside the counting of the day’s profit and attend vespers as the murderous King knelt piously in his private chapel.

  The castle’s servants, denied the comfort of evening prayer, criss-crossed the yard diligently attending to their labours. Will Longdon had left his war bow in Halfpenny’s care. He carried his archer’s knife and sword. Blackstone took his time. ‘Will, we need to see who is where and whether we need concern ourselves about being trapped in these yards if trouble flares.’

  ‘Be damned rare if it didn’t. We draw violence to us like a moth to a flame.’ Will nodded towards the upper colonnades that skirted the main rooms of the castle. ‘Palace guards.’

  Blackstone watched two Moors standing at a double door of thick planks studded with ironwork and heavy hinges. ‘I think the King uses them as his personal bodyguard. This way.’ He turned into a doorway at yard level and immediately stepped into half-darkness. It was a storage area. The passage followed the length of the outer walls, broken by archways and bays built to accommodate materials. A waft of cold air brushed their faces.

  ‘Smell that?’ said Longdon. ‘Damp air. There must be a stairwell leading down.’ Blackstone’s centenar lifted the nearest oil lamp down from the wall and held it in front of him. He handed Blackstone a tarred reed torch, tipped the lantern and let the flame catch. Lantern and torch illuminated the way ahead. As they drew closer to the fresh air, the flames flickered. They saw a spiral staircase cut into the rock that would have passed unnoticed without light. Its narrow entrance was barely wide enough for a man’s shoulders. It was most likely used by child servants who could bend and twist their bodies up and down the steep spiral steps. Will Longdon tested the width. ‘I don’t think you’ll fit, Thomas. It’s too narrow. I would have to go down sideways.’

  ‘Use this,’ Blackstone said, offering the burning torch, exchanging it for the lamp. ‘Can you see anything?’

  Longdon raised the lamp. ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s try it.’

  Longdon followed Blackstone’s example and unbuckled his sword, which would have wedged against the walls if remained belted to his waist. It was a torturous descent, slowly moving sideways to accommodate the width of their shoulders, pressing the side of each foot into the risers. No light penetrated the funnel and the exertion soon had them sweating. They emerged into a small square room. The remains of dead birds littered the floor.

  ‘There has to be another way into here,’ said Longdon.

  Blackstone barely fitted through the final turn. ‘Will,’ he called, extending Wolf Sword’s wrapped scabbard. The archer took it, allowing Blackstone to use both hands to pull and push himself free of the stair’s coils.

  ‘Here’s the passage, Thomas.’

  Longdon bent low under an arch, torch extended, and then straightened to his full height. His voice echoed. ‘Big enough for you as well.’

  Blackstone crept underneath and then stood upright. The limestone walls reflected more light and the hewn tunnel bore the scars of men’s efforts with pick and chisel. They felt the breath of cold air more keenly. Longdon led the way. Blackstone tried to gauge which direction the passage was taking them but after two hundred yards the floor dropped by several feet in a gentle slope and came to a dead end. Ahead was the rock face. They moved closer and then saw a gaping black pit to one side, unnoticeable at first because of a stone half-wall. They peered into the abyss.

  ‘It’s a well,’ said Blackstone.

  The cool air stroked their faces as they leaned over. There was no glimmer of water at the bottom. The well looked to be as wide as a war bow was long. ‘Six feet wide but no telling how deep. How did they ever dig this deep through this bedrock?’ said the archer.

  Blackstone raised the lantern and studied the egg-shaped tunnels. ‘If it’s as old as the castle then it was dug a hundred years or more ago. Our forefathers were tougher men than us, Will. Drop the torch.’

  The flame plumed into the darkness. It showed the cut, stone-clad walls, bounced and ricocheted; sparks flew but still the burning torch did not reach the bottom. Will Longdon shook his head. ‘Thomas, perhaps we’ve found the entrance to the devil’s lair?’

  The dim glow grew fainter and then finally disappeared. Blackstone raised the lantern. The well’s curved wall had another turn on the far side, as if they had built a second well alongside. ‘Will, look there.’

  The two men edged around the half-wall.

  ‘God’s tears, Thomas, were these miners goblins?’

  Blackstone stepped down onto the spiral staircase. ‘We’ll see where it leads.’

  Will Longdon groaned. ‘That means we have to come all the way back up.’

  The deep spiral stairs followed the curve of the well, wide enough for both men to cautiously edge down. Blackstone held the lantern with one hand and used his other to feel the way. His stonemason’s eye marvelled at the precision of the ashlar stone that had been so meticulously laid. It took highly skilled masons to cut dressing stone. Every so often a window slit was cut into the well’s wall, allowing light to penetrate the darkness. Blackstone mentally calculated their descent and after thirty feet the spiral staircase became a corridor that curved around to the other side of the well to meet the next staircase that wound down in the opposite direction, no longer right to left.

  ‘They must have changed the way down because the goblins got dizzy digging this,’ said Longdon. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Blackstone and carried on his descent. The same change of direction occurred every thirty feet as stairs became a corridor around the well and then reversed direction again.

  ‘The muscles in my legs feel as though they are being torn from the bone,’ said the stocky archer as they turned again at the next level.

  ‘Can’t be much further, Will. This is the fourth change so we are about a hundred and twenty feet deep.’

  The lower they descended the clearer they heard the soft echo of flowing water. Blackstone halted. Will Longdon nearly bumped into him, his mind numb from the tedious descent.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You hear that?’ said Blackstone.

  ‘The water?’

  ‘Listen.’

  They half cocked their heads as the stairs funnelled the sound from below. At first there was only the whisper of splashing water. Then, another sound was caught between the splash of water against rock. A sharper sound. Indistinct. Voices.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The shallow river flowed beneath the rock’s curved roof and led out through a low opening to an area beyond the castle walls. The breeze had strengthened, sweeping the smell of the damp earth and the voices of those in the tunnel’s entrance. Ranulph de Hayle stood with Velasquita, her cloak wrapped tightly against the wind’s bite.

  ‘We have
found the boy you seek,’ said de Hayle after explaining how they had been caught in Blackstone’s trap. It had been his voice that Blackstone had heard; its strength had carried into the tunnels, but not the words.

  Velasquita showed no sign of relief or surprise that the witness to the Queen’s murder had been found. Her cold demeanour offered the mercenary no room to ingratiate himself. ‘I do not see him among your men,’ she said, glancing at the several men on horseback, obscured from being seen from high above by the rock face.

  De Hayle wiped a hand on his greasy jerkin. He was nervous of this woman. ‘He died trying to escape. We had no choice.’

  ‘You killed him?’

  De Hayle winced. The woman’s dark eyes bored into him. He had faced men in battle, he knew the grip of fear when facing a vicious enemy, but she made his heart squeeze tight in his chest. ‘I brought his head.’

  He beckoned one of the men, who offered the rundlet, prised open the lid and reached into the brine. He hauled out Andrés’s head. The setting sun’s rays bled across the boy’s sallow features. Velasquita stared at the face, the gaping mouth exposing the discoloured tongue. Was this the boy? She had seen him once when they banished the queen to Medina Sidonia. A glance only. Years before. She remembered the room into which the Queen had been ushered by the ballesteros. The frightened women who served her and who would later go under the knife. A boy, a peasant child, serving her loyally, skulking in a corner, head down as the High Steward instructed the guard commander how she was to be treated, how she could not leave the grounds, how she was to be kept under surveillance. There had been too many people in the room for her to remember one nine-year-old boy.

  De Hayle grimaced when she reached out. Her fingers lifted the dead boy’s eyelids. The glazed opaque eyes stared sightlessly at her. After a moment she sighed.

  ‘This is not him.’