A Flight of Arrows A.J. MacKenzie (black authors fiction TXT) 📖

The sun had set and twilight was drifting in when the Bohemians arrived at Crécy. ‘I smell blood,’ said the blind king. ‘Tell me what you see, Rožmberk.’

‘It is over,’ Rožmberk said. ‘How, I do not know, but we are defeated. The French army has been wrecked. I can see no sign of King Philippe.’

‘And our plan? Wrecked too, I imagine. Edward wins the victory. He is unassailable now. And our friends have lost.’

‘I fear so,’ said Rožmberk. ‘France will have to rally behind its king if it is to survive. Civil war now would be equivalent to handing the country over to the English.’

‘And so it ends,’ Jean of Bohemia said. ‘All my life, I dreamed of empire. Twice before I have been thwarted. This time, I thought it was within my grasp.’ He shook his head, staring towards the enemy with unseeing eyes. ‘It was the last gamble,’ he said. ‘And now, it is time.’

Two of his knights looped their reins through the king’s, so that his horse should not stray. Slowly, for the rain-wet ground had been churned to mud and the bodies in places were piled high as breastworks, the Bohemians rode up the hill. In the final few minutes of his life, Rožmberk wondered what had gone wrong. Nanteuil and Hainault were inclined to blame Tracey, but that was wrong; Tracey was only the money man. It was the other Englishman, the arrogant bastard who treated them all, even Alençon, as if they were pieces on a gaming table; he was the one who had overreached himself, and it was his blunders that had sent them to their deaths.

In the falling shadows they heard the twang of hundreds of bowstrings and saw the flashes of light as the cannon fired, and then the steel rain began, arrows sweeping through the Bohemian ranks and scything men and horses down. King Jean and the men who guided him went down at once, horses and men all riddled with arrows. Rožmberk saw them fall, just before two arrows hit him in the neck. He tugged at them, seeing his hands covered in blood, feeling his strength draining away, and then the world went dark.

The Bohemian attack failed in blood and wreckage, and its survivors retreated into the gathering shadows. Night fell on Crécy-en-Ponthieu.

27

Crécy-en-Ponthieu, 26th of August, 1346

Night

As darkness fell, the English army lit torches and set them around the perimeter of their position, in part in case the French should mount a night attack, but mostly, Merrivale thought, to ward off the ghosts of the thousands who lay dead on the slopes below. He found Tiphaine near the windmill, staring into the darkness with enormous eyes. ‘You are unhurt,’ she said. ‘Thank God.’

‘Give thanks instead to Thomas Holland,’ the herald said. ‘You are shivering.’

‘I watched him die. Rollond. He went down, and the others rode over him.’

The herald watched her for a moment. ‘Are you sorry?’

‘No. The world is better without him.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘But all the same, it was hard to watch a lover die.’

Someone came out of the shadows, the big spearman from the Red Company, the one called Jacques. ‘Sir Herald? We apprehended a man just now, a Franciscan friar. He says he has a message for you.’

Raimon Vidal was waiting by the wagon train, guarded by two more spearmen from the Red Company. ‘Simon, my friend! I am glad to see you alive.’

‘And you also,’ said Merrivale.

‘Ah, I was nowhere near the battlefield. Cardinal Aubert believes that men of God should also be men of peace and stay as far from the fighting as possible. Do you wish to know where Sir Edward de Tracey is?’

Merrivale paused. ‘Where?’

‘He has taken refuge with the Knights of Saint John, and has joined their order. He is with them now, at their camp near Saint-Riquier, between here and Abbeville.’

‘Should I believe this?’

‘My dear friend, I have absolutely no reason to lie. You have won. The conspiracy is smashed. Alençon is dead, Rožmberk is dead, Doria is gravely wounded, Grimaldi and Louis of Vaud have withdrawn and Tracey has been exposed and forced to flee. Hainault must abandon his plan, or at least postpone it. The day is yours.’

‘But why betray Tracey to me?’

‘So that you will owe me a favour. I may wish to call it in one day. And also, my master will appreciate the service you are about to do for him.’

Merrivale raised his eyebrows. ‘Service?’

‘Think about it,’ said Vidal.

Merrivale thought. ‘One game has ended, another begins. Cardinal Aubert wishes to attack the Knights.’

Vidal smiled. ‘The destruction of their sister order, the Knights Templar, was a great success. The confiscated lands of the Templars added greatly to the wealth of the papacy, and of many kingdoms including France. Seizing the lands of the Knights of Saint John in France would add greatly to his Eminence’s power, and he would be one step closer to the throne of Saint Peter.’

‘There is little loyalty amongst your confederates,’ Merrivale said.

‘None whatever. If you expose the Grand Prior of France for accepting a convicted traitor into his ranks, you will be assisting Cardinal Aubert’s cause. He will thank you for it.’

‘I am sure he will,’ Merrivale said. ‘Tracey was not the only Englishman involved in the conspiracy. Who was the other?’

‘Cardinal Aubert prefers I do not tell you. He might have need of this man in future.’

‘And if I discover who it is anyway?’

Vidal shrugged. ‘Then it is in God’s hands.’

Merrivale bowed his head. ‘So it is. Thank you, Raimon. Journey safely.’

‘You too, my friend.’

‘We faced less than a quarter of the French army today,’ Northampton said. ‘There are thirty thousand men at least still in the field. We must assume that in the morning they will resume their attack.’

Skeins of mist swirled around the ridge, hiding the corpses from view. ‘But they have been decapitated,’ Warwick said. ‘The adversary left the field wounded. Alençon and Bohemia are dead, and so are Blois and