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

she repeated her request, pleading a little, he relented and came to find Merrivale.

‘Sir Herald? Sorry to intrude on your dinner, sir, but there is a girl who wishes to speak to you. Nell Driver, her name is.’

‘I will come at once.’ Dinner that night was a simple affair, salt cod with pickles, pease porridge and onions, and chunks of white Somerset cheese with bread; the men were still under arms, ready for an assault on Carentan as soon as the orders came through. Carrying his wine cup and a piece of cheese, Merrivale followed the guard to where Nell stood waiting.

‘He’s here, sir,’ she said. ‘The man with the red lion. I know where he is.’

‘Good lass.’ He reached for his purse, but saw that her eyes were fixed on the piece of cheese. Smiling, he gave it to her and watched it vanish into the pocket of her kirtle. He drained his wine cup and handed it to the guard. ‘Take me to him,’ he said.

The king had established his headquarters at the manor house in Saint-Côme-du-Mont, not far from the little church. The man with the red lion on his surcoat was standing outside the gatehouse, arguing with the guards in the descending dusk. He was a tall man in a mail hauberk with a cuirass and arm guards strapped over the top of it, all covered in dust. ‘I tell you, I have urgent business with the lord of Harcourt. I demand you admit me at once.’

‘And I am telling you, messire, the lord of Harcourt is not here,’ the captain of the guard said. ‘And you will not interrupt the king at his dinner. Move along.’

‘Do not give orders to me, villein! My lord is here, I tell you. He is the king’s close companion. Now open the gate and let me enter.’

‘The captain is telling the truth,’ Merrivale said. ‘My lord of Harcourt was dispatched with a flanking column this morning to cover the army’s advance.’

Fierville turned. ‘Then where is he now? I must see him. It is urgent.’

‘Favour me with a few moments of conversation first.’ Merrivale motioned with his hand and walked away from the gate, and after a moment, reluctantly, the knight followed him. Nell stood watching from a distance, taking a quick bite from the piece of cheese before putting it back in her pocket.

‘Messire de Fierville,’ the herald said. ‘I wish to ask you about the events of the day we arrived at Saint-Vaast. Where did you go once you had landed, and what did you do?’

The question was purposefully vague, and he could almost see the wheels of Fierville’s mind turning as he tried to work out what answer was required. ‘I was sent out to scout the Valognes road,’ he said.

‘Who gave the order?’

‘My lord of Harcourt, of course.’

‘Did you know Sir Edmund Bray?’

He saw Fierville consider several possible answers and finally settle on the truth. ‘Yes, I knew him.’

‘When did you first meet him?’

‘At Portchester, shortly after I joined the army. We met several times after that. I did not know him well.’

Merrivale paused for a moment, trying to decide how far he could go. Harcourt had directly forbidden him to question the Norman men-at-arms. Now he was breaking that order. He did not fear the consequences for himself, but there was always the concern that as a favour to Harcourt, the king would hand the inquisition over to someone else. ‘Sir Edmund was killed on the Valognes road, in the same sector where you were scouting. Did you see him?’

‘Yes,’ Fierville said. ‘That is to say, I saw his body.’

‘Tell me.’ His voice sounded more peremptory than he had intended, but Fierville seemed not to notice.

‘I had spotted the French advance, and was riding back to report to his lordship. I found Bray’s body lying in the road. He was already dead. There was nothing I could do for him. The French were coming on fast, and I had to fall back and leave him there.’

You are a bad liar, Merrivale thought. ‘You did not see who killed him?’

‘No.’

The herald nodded. ‘And when did all this happen, messire? Before or after your meeting with the French knight Macio Chauffin?’

Fierville said nothing, but Merrivale saw his eyes widen.

‘I have witnesses,’ the herald said. ‘They saw you talking to Chauffin just before Bertrand launched his attack.’

‘Of course I was talking to him,’ the Norman said. The impatience in his voice had a false ring to it, Merrivale thought. ‘I was trying to open negotiations with him on behalf of my lord of Harcourt. Chauffin is in the service of the Count of Eu, but he is also friendly with my lord’s brother, the Count of Harcourt. My lord is trying to persuade them both to defect to our cause.’

That was possible, Merrivale thought. Harcourt was desperate to bring the Norman lords to the English side. His own credibility, and the favour of the king, depended on his ability to do so. ‘You met Chauffin by prior arrangement? When did you contact him?’

‘That is none of your business.’ The Norman raised a threatening finger. ‘Keep quiet about this, herald. Not a word of this matter to anyone. Do you hear me?’

‘My profession depends on discretion,’ Merrivale said. ‘You may rely on me.’

‘Good. Now, I think we are finished here, no? Kindly tell me where my lord is, and I will be on my way.’

‘He is at Coigny, five miles to the west,’ Merrivale said. ‘If you ride hard, you can reach him before dark.’

Mauro walked up behind him as Fierville rode away. ‘Did you hear all that?’ the herald asked.

‘Yes, señor.’ One of the things that made Mauro valuable as a herald’s servant was his extraordinary hearing. Warin claimed he could hear a bat squeak at a hundred paces. ‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’

‘About some of it, perhaps. But he was lying when he said he found Bray already dead, and he lied again