Shadow of the Hawk

by David Gilman

  PART FIVE

  THE PROPHECY: DEATH OF A LEGEND

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  In the hour before dawn Blackstone strapped on Wolf Sword and readied himself to brief his men before accompanying Álvaraz to draw away the approaching enemy. Velasquita lay beneath the covers watching him. He looked at her. ‘I live to fight another day,’ he said.

  She stretched and half turned, pressing her face into the pillow. The brazier had gone out in the night and the cold air made her tug the covers up to her neck. She was barely awake. ‘Take care, the King will betray you,’ she murmured drowsily.

  Blackstone barely caught the whisper. Was it a genuine slip from the woman close to the King? If so, it had value for him and the safety of his men. ‘How?’ he said, matching Velasquita’s low tone of voice. He stepped closer to her. Two empty bottles and spilled wine from overturned beakers were testament to the night’s drinking and intimacy. There was no answer, her breathing slowing. ‘How will he betray us?’ he asked again.

  ‘Seville,’ she said, hardly audible. Blackstone lowered his face to hers. ‘He abandons you... in Seville.’

  Blackstone waited a moment longer, listening to her slow regular breathing. He went to the entrance and pulled aside the cloth covering the entrance. When he stepped outside, he remained there watching Velasquita through a chink between cloth and wall. If her warning was a ploy, she would have feigned sleep and then raised herself to check he had gone. She did not move. He waited a moment longer and then returned to the men.

  As the door cover whispered back across the opening, she opened her eyes. Telling Blackstone of the King’s plan in Seville benefited her. It was necessary if the vision she had seen of Blackstone dying in her arms was to be fulfilled.

  *

  Killbere and the captains squatted around Blackstone, ignoring the cold of the morning. Their horses were saddled, bedrolls tied and fires doused.

  Blackstone repeated what the King had told him.

  ‘He needs to move faster if the skinners are closing in,’ said Killbere.

  ‘That’s what I told him,’ said Blackstone. ‘But while he rides harder there’s a need to create a diversion to the east.’

  ‘You mean a sacrifice,’ Killbere said.

  ‘And I’ll wager we’re it,’ said Will Longdon.

  ‘Don Pedro is sending Álvaraz and his twenty men.’

  ‘And you promised Álvaraz to ride with him,’ Killbere said.

  Blackstone nodded. ‘It’s more than helping Álvaraz. There are villagers being burnt out of their homes and they’re on the road north thinking they can get refuge and protection with the King.’

  ‘Then we go to give them safe passage?’ said Meulon. ‘That’s worth more than protecting this King.’

  ‘We can’t escort them, you fool,’ said Longdon. ‘Didn’t you hear? They’re going north, we’re going south and east. We would need the wisdom of Solomon to divide ourselves to do everything.’

  ‘I know the direction of the sun and the moon but if we get between them and the skinners then it gives them a chance. That’s what I was saying,’ Meulon answered.

  Blackstone raised a hand. ‘You’re not going, Meulon, nor you, Gilbert.’

  Killbere grimaced, wary of arguing with Blackstone in front of the men. ‘You wish us to coddle the King? He has his Moors to do that.’

  ‘Gilbert, I’m taking Renfred and John and Will Longdon. We halve the men. You and Meulon, with Ashford, Halfpenny and Beyard protect the King’s flank. His safety is the task set us by the Prince.’

  ‘And if we’re attacked?’ said Beyard. ‘What do I do about Lázaro?’

  ‘He stays with the baggage train and the other servants. He’s no different from them to anyone else’s eyes. We keep the boy alive and safe as long as we can. If when we finally deliver the King to the Prince he still hasn’t identified the killer then it’s likely he no longer poses a threat. We know it is not the King, the Lady Velasquita or anyone else at court who murdered the Queen. If it was hired killers then they will be long dead on the orders of those who arranged the Lady Blanche’s assassination. We will have done our duty by the boy.’

  ‘Aye, but the question is, who did the ordering?’ said Killbere.

  ‘We needed to identify the killer so we could extract a confession of who commissioned it. But we will have done all that can be done,’ Blackstone said.

  ‘If routiers are in Álvaraz’s path then how will you slow them sufficiently to give the King extra time?’ said William Ashford.

  ‘You and the King must ride longer into the night and put distance between us,’ Blackstone said.

  ‘Then convince him to sleep rough and sleep little.’

  ‘That’s your task.’

  ‘While you have the pleasure of killing French lords and their skinner friends. You leave us with the short straw, Thomas.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Blackstone.

  The captains wished each other good fortune and went to organize their men. Killbere scratched an armpit. ‘I swear Spanish lice bite harder than French,’ he said as Blackstone tugged the bastard horse’s rein to stop it twisting and snapping at him as he mounted. ‘The witch wasn’t trying to keep you safe with the King instead of riding with Álvaraz, she wanted you in camp so you were available for rutting.’

  Blackstone looked down at him. ‘Gilbert, do you think I am selfish enough to take my pleasure whenever I please, without good reason?’

  ‘Reason, Thomas? You should keep that blade of yours sheathed when you are around a temptress.’

  ‘I do it for the good of the men,’ said Blackstone, but had the grace to smile.

  ‘And I believe you as much as I believe that virgins inhabit hell.’

  ‘If you reach Seville before me, stay alert. The King intends to betray us there.’

  ‘She told you that?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, I sacrifice my sleep for the good of the men.’ He spurred the bastard horse before Killbere could answer. But he heard the veteran knight curse and then laugh.

  *

  They had left Killbere and the King’s main group half a day’s ride back. Blackstone and John Jacob rode with their men behind Álvaraz’s column, letting them gain distance as they trailed the pack horses bearing the merchants’ goods. As they left the camp a detachment of ten Moors drew their lithe horses alongside. Seeing their approach, Álvaraz reined back and rode to Blackstone, who faced the fierce-looking horsemen. Their lances bore the King’s pennon.

  ‘The King and Sayyid al-Hakam send us,’ said their leader.

  ‘What is your name?’ said Blackstone.

  ‘There is no need for you to know it.’

  Blackstone and Álvaraz glanced at each other. The cavalryman’s aggressive tone suggested they were not there to support the English and Spanish. Blackstone shrugged. ‘They have not equipped you to fight a battle. You’re skirmishers. If we meet the routiers in force, you’ll be the first to die. Are you to be sacrificed for any particular reason?’

  ‘We are not here to fight; we ride with you to make sure you and the Spaniard do not steal the merchants’ wealth. It is the King’s wealth now and must be protected.’

  Álvaraz cursed, but Blackstone raised a hand to stop him reacting violently. ‘If it tempted us to steal we would have done so already,’ Blackstone said.

  ‘Get back to that savage bastard al-Hakam and tell him we will not be insulted,’ said Álvaraz.

  ‘You have no say in the matter,’ said the Moor.

  Álvaraz’s hand went to his sword but Blackstone reached out an arm and restrained him. ‘Let them ride with us. An insult is not worth fighting over.’

  ‘They dishonour us,’ Álvaraz said.

  ‘They are men following orders. The King commands al-Hakam: he instructs them. If we are to argue it will be with the King.’ Blackstone eased the bastard horse between the two antagonists. ‘And I don’t have the time.’

  Álvaraz had scouts riding ahead
and Blackstone had sent Renfred and his men in a wide looping search for routiers. The land opened before them as they descended from the contours of the foothills onto the valley’s plain.

  ‘A long day in the open,’ said John Jacob.

  ‘We’d be better on the higher ground,’ said Blackstone, ‘but the tracks twist and turn too much for all these pack horses.’

  ‘Look there,’ said John Jacob, pointing to the shadow in the sky. A hawk rode a thermal, tail fanned out, and then a dip of a wing let it drop lower over the woodland. Its keening call carried across the sky. Blackstone saw the look of concern on his squire’s face.

  ‘Remember when we fought de Hayle? A hawk warned us. It’s a good omen, John.’ But Blackstone also felt the unease. The memory of the hawk on the windowsill of Velasquita’s room was as firmly etched as the woman’s nakedness. Some images lodged as deeply as a bodkin-tipped arrow shaft.

  The forest’s edge blurred. People swarmed out and along the ridge that ran high above the valley. They were villeins bearing what few possessions they had on their backs. Blackstone saw Álvaraz spur his horse towards them. By the time the column had travelled a half-mile the Spanish captain galloped back.

  ‘Roving bands of mercenaries burned their homes. What few possessions they have they carry. Their numbers have increased during the day. They hid in the forest when they saw us approach but once they saw Don Pedro’s flag they knew they were in no danger from us.’

  Blackstone watched as the slow procession of villagers edged their way along the narrow track.

  ‘Let’s give them food. A few sacks of flour at least.’

  ‘Yes, the poor wretches have nothing,’ said Álvaraz.

  Blackstone turned to Will Longdon behind him. ‘Will, have your lads take some bags of flour to them. See what else we can spare.’

  ‘We could ask them Moors if they have anything. Don’t see why they can’t contribute.’

  ‘You’ll have a spear in your arse for your trouble,’ said Blackstone. ‘And Meulon isn’t here to pull it free for you.’

  Will Longdon’s grin was as wide as Blackstone’s. ‘He’d probably hurl me like an apple from a knife point. At least we know he has some use.’ He tugged his horse’s reins and rode back to his archers.

  The wind on the hilltop was more bitter than below in the valley. The fighting men tugged their cloaks higher as the wind veered down from the heights onto their backs, sending cold waves of snow-chilled air from the distant high peaks.

  ‘I don’t envy those villagers’ chances, Sir Thomas, and if they’re running from routiers ahead, then I’m not so certain about ours either. We could spill out the merchants’ wealth and leave a trail for any skinners. Like seed to a bird trap,’ said John Jacob. ‘Rather than be caught in the open like this, I’d prefer to choose where we fight.’

  Blackstone pointed to the distance and the horsemen galloping towards them. ‘That decision might be made for us, John.’

  Renfred reined in. ‘No more than two hours away. Three or four hundred. It’s the French.’

  ‘And we have a hundred,’ said Álvaraz. He looked at Blackstone. ‘Very well. We will die with honour. We will attack them and show how a Spaniard dies.’

  ‘It would be better to show how a Spaniard lives,’ said Blackstone. He knew they were trapped. No escape to their rear and no means of defeating the heavy odds soon to arrive in force. ‘Renfred, ride out again. Let them see you. We must make certain they do not stumble on Sir Gilbert and the King.’

  Renfred patted his mount’s neck; then wheeled the horse and set off, followed by his men.

  Blackstone looked at the villagers making their way along the contour track on the hill behind them. ‘They’ll be massacred. Álvaraz, we must defend this place.’

  ‘Stop here?’ the Spaniard said, looking around the open ground. ‘The hills at our back and open ground on all sides? They will outflank us whenever they wish. No, Sir Thomas. At least we should die with glory. We strike them and if any of us survive they ride hard for the King.’

  Blackstone grabbed his arm before Álvaraz could issue the command. ‘We can buy time for these people.’

  The Spaniard yanked free. ‘With so few men? How?’

  ‘With those villagers’ help. We make the skinners think we are stronger and that if they attack, we can overcome them.’

  Álvaraz squinted in the biting wind. ‘Did the witch drug you? Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Listen to me. Let me explain.’

  ‘No, Sir Thomas, there is no time. There’s nothing we can do. Those peasants are on the run. They will die just as we will die if we stay here. Let them return to the forest where they might have a chance.’

  Blackstone let him walk away and then called after him. ‘You’re a man of courage who serves his King. These people look to the King for protection and so they look to you. It’s your name that will be reviled throughout Castile if you abandon them and praised if you stay. Not his.’

  Álvaraz glared at the Englishman, but the words made him pause. Blackstone had had no reason to accompany him. He had relinquished his place riding with Don Pedro. He had given his word that the Spaniards would not fight alone. He looked up at the wretched creatures fleeing the approaching horde of routiers. There would be no mercy given to anyone who stood in their way.

  ‘Very well. Tell me what it is you wish us to do.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Blackstone spurred the bastard horse uphill with Álvaraz at his side. The village men pushed back their women as the sturdy war horses loomed over the contour track. Some turned and ran in fear but Álvaraz called to them. Once they saw that the two men and those with them posed no threat they stood obediently, vassals of a King they dared not to disobey.

  ‘Tell them this,’ said Blackstone and recounted that hundreds of routiers would soon attack but if they stayed together and did as the Spanish captain told them then they would live through the day and find sanctuary in a town further west. The men listened to the plan and Álvaraz tried to quell their fears and persuade them they could run and die, scattered across the hills, or stay and have a chance to make the enemy turn away.

  The villagers looked down to where John Jacob and Will Longdon were helping the archers empty the pack horses’ loads, stripping away yards of different coloured cloth and silk.

  ‘You cannot do this!’ said the Moor.

  ‘I do it to save lives,’ said Blackstone.

  ‘By destroying the King’s treasures?’

  ‘We take cloth and silk. There’s no coin or plate here. If you wish to return alive to al-Hakam then help the Spanish at the forest or my men cut silk.’

  Álvaraz’s men were already hacking down saplings in the forest the fleeing villeins had used for concealment during their escape. The Moor scowled and said something neither Blackstone or Álvaraz understood, but took to be a curse. He turned his mount away. Blackstone and Álvaraz watched as the Moor shouted unintelligible commands to his men. There was an argument of sorts but the men dismounted and started slashing the valuable cloth.

  ‘I wish their wits were as sharp as their swords,’ said Álvaraz. He grinned. ‘Who would sacrifice their life for a bolt of cloth, no matter whose it is?’

  Blackstone gestured to the villagers. ‘Tell them again what it is I ask of them.’

  Doubt still creased the villagers’ faces; some voiced dismay at what was being proposed. Blackstone raised himself in the stirrups so they could all hear the strength of his voice and then Álvaraz’s echoing translation became an appeal and not a command. Slowly, as their leaders quelled contradictory voices, agreement took hold. Those with influence over the villeins took knives and axes and ran into the forest to assist the soldiers in cutting down as many tall saplings as they could before the killers arrived.

  ‘And now, Sir Thomas?’ said Álvaraz.

  ‘We ready ourselves. What does the lie of the land dictate if we are to have a chance of success?’
>
  Álvaraz knew Blackstone already had the answer, but replied anyway. ‘I would put your archers a hundred feet behind an extended line of our men. The height and the wind behind them will give their arrows longer flight.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. Unfurl every banner and pennon. Have your commanders prepare your men and I will attend to the bowmen.’

  They urged their horses down the incline. Time was short and if Blackstone’s gamble didn’t pay off, they would all be dead before nightfall.

  *

  Renfred and his scouts returned from their reconnaissance, galloping back to where Blackstone and Álvaraz defended the valley. The French and the routiers were minutes away. They saw their comrades waiting in extended line and, a hundred paces behind them, Will Longdon’s archers spread out on the slopes, split into three groups: an archer in the gap behind each horseman. Twenty angled on the left, twenty on the right and Will Longdon with the remaining ten in the centre. It was a tried and tested formation that created a withering flight of arrows into any advancing troops attacking into the killing zone. Behind them, on the crest of the hill, hundreds of men stood, indistinct at a distance, but everyone held aloft a flag, the fluttering cloth whipped forward by the wind at their backs. It looked to be a formidable array of men waiting in a strong defensive position.

  Renfred drew up his horse. ‘They’re right behind us, Sir Thomas.’

  ‘How do we look to the enemy from a distance?’

  Renfred smiled. ‘With the cold wind in their faces and the low sun in their eyes, they’ll be uncertain about the banner men on the hillside. As we were at first.’

  ‘Good, then let’s hope it dissuades them from attacking.’

  Renfred heeled his horse and took his place in the line with his men as the Moor cantered from the flank. ‘You will fight?’

  ‘Go back to your men and do nothing stupid.’

  ‘I will take the pack horses.’

  ‘You will keep your arse in your saddle and your mouth shut. If you move, I will have my bowmen cut you down. Go back and do not move. Sayyidd al-Hakam chose you for a reason. Perhaps you are a man who has a brain and can see how things are. They outnumber us.’