‘Everything is something to worry about,’ I said grimly.
‘What do you think we should do?’ asked Roger.
Alys shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, thinking quickly, ‘perhaps if we go out separately – maybe you two and Richard through the main door, Edward and I through the stables, as though we’re checking on the ponies. He’s only one man – he can’t follow all of us.’
Roger looked doubtful.
‘But if there are more watching outside?’
I shrugged.
Edward said, ‘I think we should try it. What if he’s the only one now? He may be keeping an eye on us in here while waiting for others to join him.’
‘That’s possible,’ said Roger. ‘Well, you’re the—’ I kicked him under the table; he smiled, ‘the one who’s used to giving orders.’
‘Not any more,’ Edward said, darting a look at me, but Roger forged on.
‘Are we to go, then? Shall I wake Richard?’
As Richard rubbed the sleep from his eyes, I reminded them all what had been arranged.
‘Captain Hans said his boat is the first tied up along the quay – it has a hawk as a figurehead. Also he said any of the alleyways opposite, back along the road we came along – he called them “scores” – they lead down to the harbour. You three head for one of them. We’ll wait two minutes after you’ve gone, then leave through the back door.’
Alys, Roger and Richard, his eyes more haunted than ever, took up their bundles and, with Roger making much of calling his farewells to Edward and me, made their exit through the front door, Shadow hugging close. A second later, a fair-haired young man in dark travel-stained riding gear set down his mug, cast a hurried glance at the two of us, then stood up, threw coins upon his table, and followed them out.
I cursed under my breath.
‘Richard and I have our swords,’ said Edward. He half-unsheathed his – I caught a glimpse of curlicued words inscribed darkly on the well-honed blade.
‘I hope it won’t come to that.’
We didn’t need to wait any longer. Without another word, we rose, gathered our things, and soon we were out on the main street, Murrey a silent shadow at our heels.
At first the place appeared deserted. The sea-fret was coiling everywhere, grey and ghostly in the darkness. It deadened our footsteps on the cobbles as we trailed first one way, then another, squinting to see where our three friends or the strange man had gone. From a few house-fronts lanterns were hung, but they shed pools of light that hardly penetrated the murk. There was no sign of anybody.
Edward opened his mouth as if to speak, but then the silence was shattered.
A shout, then another. A man’s voice, urgent.
Thirty, forty yards away, maybe more – it was hard to tell in the fog.
Edward and I exchanged glances, then began to run, he drawing his sword as he did.
In a moment, in the light of a single house lantern piercing the fog and the dark, we spotted who had called.
The man from the tavern.
His back against the house wall, his face turned away from us, he was cursing quietly now. Then he raised his voice again.
‘Put down your sword or I’ll cut his throat.’
A few yards in front of him stood Richard, his sword in his hand. He was panting heavily, staring wide-eyed at the man. Another sword was lying on the cobbles between them, three bundles abandoned nearby. Roger was crouching off to one side, his face glimmering white with terror in the swirling mist, his arms wrapped round a squirming, whimpering Shadow.
And then I saw who else was there.
The man held someone close against his body with one arm, while his other hand pressed the glittering blade of a dagger to their neck.
It was Alys.
She was rigid in his hold, her head forced back against him, fingers clutching his arm, eyelids fluttering, her throat curving back as though straining away from the sharp steel.
Edward darted to his brother’s side, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on the young man and his captive, and his sword at the ready.
‘What happened?’
The man twitched round a little at his movement. The point of the knife was dark now against Alys’s pale skin. Her hands tightened convulsively on his wrist.
My fist clenched Murrey’s collar, as Roger inched towards me, tugging the other wriggling hound with him.
‘He came at us with his sword,’ Richard said hoarsely, his eyes not leaving the man’s face for a second. ‘I disarmed him with that trick Father taught us – remember? But then he drew his knife and grabbed her.’
‘Her?’ the man cried in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Let her go!’ I yelled.
His head snapped towards me. Knowing Alys would hate me for it, I shouted again, ‘She’s a girl, not a boy!’
His grip must have faltered in his astonishment. Sensing the blade no longer so close to her neck, Alys took her chance to drive one elbow into his stomach while tearing his knife-hand from her throat, then stamped on his foot and flung herself away from his flailing grasp. Her stumbling strides cannoned her into Roger and Shadow, spilling all three into a sprawling mess at my feet.
But as the man buckled under her onslaught and himself staggered forward, his hand snatched at his sword and, rolling over to the side, he was back on his feet in an instant. There he faced Edward and Richard, standing now shoulder to shoulder, their swords upraised before them.
His eyes flicked sideways to where I was hauling Alys and Roger to their feet, the hounds milling about us, whining. He clearly saw that we were nothing to worry about and turned back to the two armed brothers.
‘Two against one,’ he said, a mirthless grin unfurling across his handsome face. ‘But two little ones. I’ve had worse odds.’
And he attacked, throwing himself towards the boys, both his sword and knife slicing and stabbing through the greyish eddies of mist.
Alys gasped, catching at my arm at the ferocity of the onslaught. But if the man had thought he’d have an easy time of it with boys, he was wrong.
For all his superior height and weight, he was matched against brothers who, as sons of a King, must once have had the finest weapons masters available. Perhaps they had never fought in earnest before, but an onlooker could not have guessed. Had my fellow pages at Middleham displayed such footwork, Master Fleete would have burst with pride, and their anticipation and skill in attack and counterattack was as good as I’d ever seen.
Stroke for stroke they began to get the better of their adversary. The sea-fret muffled the clang of swords on sword and dagger as, between them, step by gruelling step, they battled him back to the wall again.
But still they could not overmaster him.
Tiredness and despair were creeping on to young Richard’s face, and Edward’s frustration was likewise written in his eyes. Though on the defensive, did the man also see it – or feel a waning of their attack? Or was he simply desperate, like an animal forced into a corner, with nowhere to go? Whichever was the case, he both redoubled his efforts and sought for a way out.
And found it.
In a moment of respite from Richard’s attack, the man flung his dagger at him. Though Richard parried it with his blade, knocking it away, the man, with his free hand, caught up Alys’s pack from where it lay abandoned on the ground and swung it at both boys. Richard took the brunt of the impact, his sword spinning out of his hand, but the move also took Edward by surprise.
His opponent saw his advantage and leapt at him, landing a blow that the boy could barely parry. His sword glanced off Edward’s blade and struck the boy deep in his shoulder. Edward staggered back, blood spurting from the wound, while the man, also tipped off balance by the force of his deflected blow, fought to keep his footing.
As, twisting about, he regained it and started to raise his sword for the killing thrust, Roger and I threw a terrified glance at one another. The
n, he drawing his knife and I my sword, we rushed forward yelling, Murrey and Shadow bounding barking at our side.
We caught the man unawares, so focused was he on Edward. And, with Richard also recovering his sword and his balance, somehow, between us – three boys and two hounds – we charged him to the floor, Roger and I toppling upon him in our onrush.
He fell beneath us like a sack of grain tossed from a wagon, heavy and awkward. With a sickening thud, his head hit the timbers of the house-front, knocking him cold. His eyes were sightless as Richard’s sword point swung down to his throat and his own sword fell from his unconscious hand. It lay on the ground, dark blood seeping from it into the dust.
Roger and I dragged one another to our feet and while he scurried to catch hold of the gambolling hounds, I hurried across to Alys. Crouched down beside Edward, she was busy tearing her cloak into strips.
‘How is he?’
‘Not good,’ she said, starting to bind his wound. ‘It’s deep. I may be able to stem the bleeding for a while, but he’ll need a surgeon.’
Richard shoved the fallen man with his toe and when his head lolled to one side, he sheathed his sword and ran over to his elder brother.
‘Ned? Can you walk?’
Edward’s face was pale with shock and pain, but he nodded.
‘I think so, Dickon. Once I’ve caught my breath.’
Alys finished tying her makeshift bandage, then relinquished her place to Richard. He knelt down and, propping Edward against himself, stroked his head, murmuring to him all the time in gentle tones.
Alys came over to where I now stood, my sword pointing at the unconscious man’s chest – just in case.
She said quietly, ‘Matt, I – I think he’s Ralph Soulsby.’
‘What?’
‘I thought I recognized him in the tavern, but it’s been so long since I saw him. He was just thirteen or fourteen then. It was only when he grabbed me and called out that I realized.’
‘You knew his voice?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘No. The name he called. It was Hugh.’
All my insides turned to ice.
The shining blade, the cowardly stab.
The jeers.
The horror. The shame I’d felt at doing nothing.
The anger. The desire for revenge. Now more than ever.
But not for me. For my King.
And the ice melted to fire.
Alys caught at my hand as my sword tip wavered closer to the prone man’s chest.
‘Matt, we have to get out of here. If Hugh is in the town somewhere, there may be others too. We can’t afford another fight. Now is not the time.’
She was right, of course. I knew it. I could no more hope to fight Hugh and gain my revenge now than at any time when we had met before. Even with Roger or young Richard alongside me.
And I had my duty still to do. And perhaps all of this could have been avoided if I had done that on the day of the battle...
My betrayal of my master vivid in my mind, the flames died down.
Roger was hovering close by, a hound grasped in each hand. The expression on his face told me that he had heard Alys’s whispered words.
‘What should we do?’ he asked. Alys only stared at me.
Not for the first time since the evening at Master Ashley’s, they were looking to me to decide.
I resheathed my sword.
‘You three take Edward to the boat. I’ll tie this one up so he can’t make more trouble and then I’ll join you once I’m done. Go carefully. If Hugh is out there...’
Alys hissed through her teeth.
‘I’ll stay with you, Matt. Shadow and I can —’
‘No,’ I said, firm, though my stomach was churning now at the thought of Hugh perhaps nearby. ‘Go with the others.
‘Then Roger —’
‘Richard will need his help with Edward. And Captain Hans knows him.’
Relief flooded across Roger’s face, though he tried to hide it, turning away towards Richard and Edward.
‘Take a couple of the bundles if you are able, Alys. And tell Richard to carry his sword ready if he can.’
I peered back the way Edward and I had come, through the confusion of mist, darkness and glimmers of occasional lanterns.
‘I think the third score back was the widest and best paved. There was a lantern at its entrance and I think I saw another further down. That may be the safest way to go.’
She nodded, then glanced up at the lantern flaring in the seething mist above our heads.
‘Lady Tyrell was right about local people not wanting to become involved. You’d think that with all this racket going on in the street...’ She shook her head. ‘Come after us quickly, Matt – and take care.’
I watched as Roger and Richard helped Edward to his feet, then half-supported, half-carried him as they walked slowly away. Alys hefted two of our packs and followed after with Shadow. They all soon disappeared into the mist like wraiths at the tail end of a dream, leaving me alone with Murrey – and the man lying senseless before me on the ground.
Pushing to one side my thoughts of him and his cousin, I set about my task, gathering the rest of the strips Alys had torn from her cloak and tying his wrists and ankles with them. He groaned as I wrenched one binding tight and his eyelids flickered. Duly warned, I wound the final strips of cloth into a thick gag and somehow forced it between his teeth.
Sticky blood darkened my hands as I drew them from beneath his head. Gulping back a retch, I wiped them clean on his doublet, then stood, keen to escape from the scene and the memory of what had happened here.
Picking up the remaining bundles, I whistled to Murrey, who was sniffing about among the shadows of the still-empty street, and together we headed off back into the veil of mist, clammy and chill against my skin.
Had I miscounted the alleys as I passed them, or had Alys? Or, despite Edward’s injury, had my friends travelled faster than I thought possible?
Whatever the reason, when I reached the entrance of the wide, paved score, I could see and hear no one ahead of me in the darkness.
True, the lantern at its mouth threw little light into its black throat, and the sea-fret gathered closer here. It was seeping and creeping all around, spectres crowding close upon me from the shadowy depths of the passage. Even the familiar clicking of Murrey’s claws upon the cobbles sounded damp and heavy under its weight.
I paused a moment. But I had to go on, I knew. Time was passing and soon we had to be aboard the ship. The tide and captain would not wait. And I had promised to help the others find their way.
I patted Murrey’s head and said, ‘Good girl.’ The words were more to comfort me than her and their sound was deadened by the fog. She gazed up at me, letting out the slightest whine, her eyes small sparks in the gloom. Then, side by side, we plunged into the alley.
In the instant it took to cross the pool of lantern light, strange details imprinted on my mind.
Our shadows stretching thin before us.
Crumbling brick walls curving in and out before my eyes.
Pebbles of every colour pressed into pale bands of mortar.
Cut faces of flint gleaming, glassy dark.
Tiny blooms of purple toadflax clinging on for grim death.
Then we passed into darkness and the grey swirl of the mist.
Black branches of trees, overhanging, looming out of the fog.
Beyond the wavy walls, the mewing of a cat, the rattle of a chain and whine of a tethered dog.
The sweet smell of rotting vegetables wafting. Woodsmoke from a high chimney.
I glanced back. The glow of the lantern still shone, reassuring, through the tendrils of sea-fret, through the murk.
We walked on.
A plaintive hooting. A swoosh of air as the owl swooped over and was gone.
The dull clump of my boots on the ground.
The walls – rippling spans of brick – closing in on us. The alley was narrowing. Ahead, veer
ing to the right.
And there through the drifting strands of mist was the faintest glimmer. That second lantern I had seen? At the corner of the alley?
But something warned me to stop, forced my hand to my sword hilt. What was it?
The light.
It was moving. Moving towards the corner. Towards us.
A grumble deep in Murrey’s throat.
The scrape of boots on cobbles.
The swish of my blade being drawn. The thud of three bundles being dropped.
The reek of sweat – and of fear. Was it mine?
Around the corner came the lantern, held high in someone’s hand. A tall, broad figure. A burnished open helmet above a familiar face.
Hugh.
26 The Score
The lantern crashed to the ground as Hugh reached for his sword.
Glass shattered, oil spilt. Flames flashed across its surface.
Flaring, they lit up the narrow alleyway, casting demonic shadows across my old adversary’s face and up the high brick walls. The sharp blade of his sword glittered only inches from mine.
My heart hammered against my ribs, echoed by the fast rise and fall of his chest. But he recovered more swiftly.
‘I should have known it would be you,’ he spat.
Yet he hadn’t attacked.
Relief swept through me. For all that I had grown and filled out in recent months, he would always overmatch me in size. But I was also bemused at his words. Playing for time, I said, ‘What do you mean?’
A sneer spread across his broad face.
‘When we called for Alys and found she’d gone to that man’s house. That merchant. I remember Roger telling us when he became your master.’
‘What of it?’
‘He thought you’d done so well for yourself,’ he scoffed. ‘Going to London, becoming an apprentice.’
‘Better than you have,’ I shot back. ‘Son of a traitor, riding with a traitor.’
His smirk slipped, twisting into a darker expression.
‘What do you know of my father? And my uncle is no traitor!’
The King's Man (The Order of the White Boar Book 2) Page 24
