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

‘Of course.’ Tracey paused again. ‘It’s certain, is it? Bray was killed by one of our folk?’

‘Yes,’ Merrivale said.

Tracey nodded. ‘Then I hope you find him.’

Returning to his own tent, Merrivale removed his tabard and called for his writing case. Mauro set the box on his folding desk, laying out pen and ink, parchment and shaving knife in an orderly fashion just as he knew his master liked it. Sitting down on a wooden stool, Merrivale stared at the smooth sheet of parchment for a moment, marshalling his thoughts. Then he picked up the pen, dipped it in the inkwell and began to write.

Inquisition into the death of Edmund Bray, knight, near the village of Quettehou in Normandy on the XIIth day of July, in the nineteenth year of the reign of King Edward III.

Following an action against the French, Sir Edmund’s body was found by the miles Sir Nicholas Courcy of Kingsale and his men and returned to the camp. Sir Edmund had been shot in the back at close range by two arrows. It can be assumed that the first arrow did not kill him immediately, so he was shot a second time to administer a coup de grâce.

Item, as to whether Sir Edmund was killed by enemy action. This can be discounted, as there were no archers with the enemy force.

Item, as to whether he was killed by accident. His decision to go scouting alone seems to have been a spontaneous action. He was shot at close range, and two arrows, as indicated above, is consistent with hostile action.

Item, as to whether he was killed as a result of a feud or quarrel. This cannot be discounted entirely, but it seems unlikely. Apart from a public quarrel with the miles Sir Thomas Holland at Portchester, there is nothing to suggest that Bray had any enemies.

Item, as to whether he was killed by troops whom he encountered looting. Bray’s body had not been robbed. The corpse was discovered by men of the retinue of Sir Nicholas Courcy of Kingsale, who had no archers of his own.

The herald paused, thinking about Courcy’s final words. That tabard won’t keep out a longbow arrow. A warning? Or a threat?

Item, a Norman miles, Jean de Fierville, was allegedly spotted near the scene where Bray was killed. I am told he is in the retinue of the lord of Harcourt.

He paused again, thinking. Two archers had been sent after Bray; two longbow arrows had killed him. That in itself was not evidence. But there was something false about Matt and Pip, he was quite certain of it. To tell the truth, until Tracey had identified Fierville, he had wondered whether that entire scene on the road might have been their invention.

And indeed, it still might be. Jean de Fierville was with the army, but that did not mean he had been on that road that afternoon.

He dipped his pen in the ink and wrote Item, but then stopped. Sir John Grey and Sir Richard Percy would not take kindly to an accusation against their men unless there was very strong evidence, and this the herald did not have.

No, he thought. Better to find Fierville and get his version of events first. He picked up the little shaving knife and sliced away the top layer of parchment to erase the word, then dipped the pen in the inkwell again and signed his name: Simon Merrivale, heraldus.

The king had taken over the manor house at Morsalines for his personal use. His secretary, Michael Northburgh, had set up his office in the great hall, and even though the hour was late he was still hard at work. ‘I thought it wise to provide a written report,’ Merrivale said, handing over the parchment. ‘However, the fewer eyes that see this, other than yours and the king’s, the better.’

‘Of course.’ The secretary scanned the report quickly. ‘Jean de Fierville? The name does not spring immediately to mind, but let me check the muster rolls.’

He turned to a wooden pigeonhole beside the desk and began pulling out rolls of parchment. ‘Here we are, the retinue of the lord of Harcourt.’ Untying the red tape that bound it, he spread the parchment out flat. ‘Fierville, Fierville… ah, there it is. Miles Ioannes de Fierville, joined the army at Portchester, fifteenth of June. Indenture signed by said Ioannes de Fierville and Godefroi d’Harcourt, vicecomes de Saint-Sauveur. Yes, that’s your man all right. He joined the army late, hence me not recognising the name.’

‘So he is not one of the original exiles who came over with Harcourt last year.’

‘It doesn’t look like it, no.’

The herald rubbed his chin. ‘I must talk to this man.’

‘You will need to ask Harcourt’s permission first,’ Northburgh warned. ‘And you know how touchy he can be.’

‘Yes,’ said Merrivale. ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

‘He is closeted with the king now, but they won’t be long. They are discussing how to persuade the Norman lords to join us.’ Northburgh held up a sheet of parchment. ‘Have you heard the latest? Letters are going out to all the important barons and knights, urging them to pledge fealty to the king. Harcourt’s men are carrying the letters under flags of truce.’

Merrivale looked doubtful. ‘Will this work?’

‘Unlikely, I’d say. Harcourt’s own brother has already pledged his fealty to France. Do you really think the rest of Normandy will rise up and proclaim his Grace as their king? I reckon we’ll see the king’s herd of pigs sprouting wings and flying off over the Bay of Saint-Vaast before that happens.’

Northburgh gathered his papers and rose. ‘I’m off. Wait here if you like. His lordship will be down soon.’

The herald waited, listening to the sound of voices coming from the solar above the hall. After a while, the door opened and Godefroi d’Harcourt came down the broad stone stair, followed by several of his men. Merrivale bowed.

‘My