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

for the temper of the army,’ the king said. ‘Holland and Despenser are well liked by their men, and Gurney is popular too. If we punish them, the men of their retinues may become disaffected and start to desert, and that rot could spread quickly.’

‘I made no mention of arresting anyone,’ Rowton said sharply. ‘But we must consider the safety of the prince. And indeed, sire, your safety as well.’

‘You may trust me to look after my own safety, Eustace,’ the king said. ‘Is my son well guarded?’

‘Yes, sire,’ said Merrivale.

‘Good.’ The king turned away from the window. ‘I summoned you, herald, because I have another task for you.’

‘I await your command, sire.’

‘Your lady friend, the Demoiselle de Tesson. She said that Eu and the Queen of Navarre are contemplating a rebellion of their own. How reliable is she?’

‘She has spoken nothing but truth so far,’ Merrivale said.

‘Good,’ said the king. ‘It seems we have been presented with a new opportunity. We have written before to the queen and received no reply, but we wish to try again. And we shall approach Eu as well. We will guarantee Norman independence from France, in exchange for armed support against Philippe de Valois. Harcourt’s scheme may have failed, gentlemen, but this is a second chance.’

He looked at the herald again. ‘I am sending Geoffrey of Maldon to Caen as my emissary. He will carry a formal letter to the authorities, there demanding the surrender of the city. I want you to go with him.’

Merrivale paused. Macio Chauffin was in Caen, and it was quite possible that he had witnessed the murder of Edmund Bray. There might be a chance to identify Bray’s killers. On the other hand, there was bound to be more to this mission than met the eye. There always was, with kings.

‘Brother Geoffrey is an experienced and highly skilled ambassador, sire. What role am I meant to play?’

‘Once the letter is delivered, your task is to seek out the Count of Eu and negotiate with him. Persuade him to hand the city over to us, and to join our cause.’

‘Easier said than done, sire,’ Rowton said drily. ‘And if Robert Bertrand finds out about these secret negotiations, he may accuse Brother Geoffrey and Master Merrivale of spying. In which case, I do not give much for their chances.’

‘Brother Geoffrey is a priest and Merrivale is a herald. Their status protects them. Well, Merrivale? Can you do this?’

Merrivale bowed. ‘As you wish, sire.’

‘Then make it so. Once we are within striking distance of Caen, Northburgh will send word to you.’

10

Cormolain, 24th of July, 1346

Morning

The roof of the barn was roaring with flame by the time the first rescuers reached it. The door had been blocked by a heavy wagon pushed up against it; Courcy and Matthew Gurney rolled the wagon away and pulled the door open, but the interior of the barn was full of acrid smoke. Covering their faces, they plunged inside and began dragging out the bodies.

‘How many?’ asked the herald, arriving on the scene.

‘Seven,’ said Courcy. ‘For some, a lucky number. Not for these fellows, though.’

He coughed, his face and hands blackened with soot. Gurney stood bent over with his hands on his knees, gagging as he tried to clear the smoke from his lungs. Donnchad, the big Irish gallowglass, knelt on the ground beside them, vomiting onto the grass.

‘Any survivors?’ asked Merrivale.

The roof of the barn collapsed with a crash, a shower of sparks, flames and smoke belching skyward and staining the dawn sky. ‘No,’ said Gurney.

The herald looked at the row of corpses. The clothes of some were still smouldering. ‘Did anyone see what happened?’

‘Donnchad spotted men dressed like local peasants running away,’ Courcy said. ‘I saw the barn was on fire and knew some of our lads were inside. We called for help, and Matthew arrived with some of his men. But we were too late.’

‘And so the resistance begins,’ Merrivale said slowly. ‘People will have heard about Montebourg and Carentan and all the other places we destroyed. They are turning against us.’

Courcy looked at him. ‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘Somewhere private.’

They walked away from the burning barn, leaving Gurney and Donnchad and the others to watch the flames. ‘The men who died in that barn were Lankies,’ Courcy said when they were out of earshot. ‘They were Bate’s men. And it wasn’t locals who killed them.’

‘I am listening,’ Merrivale said.

‘I did as you asked and started looking around for clues about what happened to Bray. Like you, I thought of Bate and his men. As a fellow plunderer, I was able to get close to them, and I learned something of interest. Bate and his fellows don’t carry their booty around with them. They sell it on quickly, and then go out and hunt for more.’

‘Who buys it?’

‘Nicodemus. Now there’s an interesting fellow. A defrocked priest, he is. No one knows why, but it must have been something serious, like pissing on a bishop. Anything less, he’d have bought his way out of it.’

It was true, Merrivale thought. Absolution could always be had, at a price. ‘And so he became an archer for hire.’

‘Not at first. He worked as clerk to a banker in Southampton, but then when the French attacked in ’38, the banker was killed and Nicodemus absconded with the banker’s gold and the banker’s wife. He popped up in Tracey’s retinue in Flanders in ’40, and has been in his service ever since.’

The fire in the barn was dying down. ‘It’s a smart enterprise,’ Courcy said. ‘I wish I had thought of it myself. He must have learned a lot from that banker, or his wife. Nicodemus buys stolen goods at a discount; the pillagers are happy to sell cheaply to get ready money. That way they don’t have to haul the goods around with them. Nicodemus sends the booty back to England and sells it on for a profit. He works with at least a dozen