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

to the ground. The arrow whirred over his head and punched through the canvas wall of the tent. ‘Stay down, señor!’ Mauro hissed, and rolled over with his knife in his hand, holding it by the blade ready to throw as he searched for the hidden archer.

‘There he is,’ a voice said. ‘In the shadows. Take him.’

‘A pox on it, he’s seen us. He’s running.’

‘After him, then.’ Two men raced past, longbows in hand, running hard in pursuit of a third man fleeing through the firelight and shadows. The herald sat up and watched them for a moment, and then slammed his hand on the ground in anger. ‘Damn the man,’ he said quietly. ‘Why can’t he mind his own business?’

The light was poor, but he had no difficulty in recognising the two archers from the Red Company, Matt and Pip.

Saint-Germain-d’Ectot, 24th of July, 1346

Night

‘Splendid,’ said the man from the north. ‘The knights are quarrelling among themselves. This is going very well, my friend.’

‘I still don’t see how it profits us,’ said the man from the West Country.

‘Isn’t it obvious? The more they fight each other, the less will and energy they will have for fighting the French. And their mood will spread to their retinues and supporters. Soon the army will begin to fall apart.’

‘If you say so, but it’s taking too damned long. I wish that scheme at Carentan had worked. If the king was dead, all this would be over and we could move on with the rest of the plan.’

‘Well it didn’t work, and neither did the attempt at Quettehou. Never mind. Be patient, my friend. We have plenty more schemes in hand. We can afford to fail, many times, because we only need to succeed once.’

‘Very well. What next?’

‘The king still cherishes hopes of starting a Norman revolt, and he has learned about the Count of Eu and the Queen of Navarre and what they are plotting. Geoffrey of Maldon and Merrivale are going to Caen to persuade Eu to surrender the city and join the English cause.’

‘Then we must stop them. There will be a Norman revolt, yes, but guided by us, not the king. We have already poured enough money into supporting Eu and the queen, and buying their loyalty. If the king steps in and takes over now, all our effort will be wasted.’

‘Never fear. Eu has personally assured me of his loyalty. And Brother Geoffrey and Merrivale’s mission will fail. They will be executed as soon as they reach Caen.’

‘Good. That damned herald is starting to annoy me.’

‘After that, Eu will hold the castle at Caen, which is impregnable. He has four thousand men, he says, and the storerooms are full; he can withstand a siege indefinitely. King Edward will suffer a humiliating defeat and be forced to withdraw.’

‘Giving us a chance to lay another snare for him,’ said the West Country man.

‘Exactly. And then, my friend, our time will come.’

Saint-Germain-d’Ectot, 25th of July 1346

Morning

‘Where are you going?’ Tiphaine asked.

‘Caen,’ Merrivale said. He pulled his embroidered tabard over his head and shook out the folds. ‘King’s orders.’

Northburgh’s letter was on the table beside him. Crumbs of red wax from the broken seal lay dark on the wood, like little drops of blood in the dawn light.

She watched him steadily. ‘You are walking into a trap.’

‘I know. I have done this before. If you need help, seek out Sir John Sully.’

Tiphaine continued to watch him. ‘Are you not afraid?’

He considered the matter for a moment. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘Not yet. But I am sure there will be plenty of time for that later.’

Outside the Prince of Wales’s pavilion, a lone figure stood waiting for him. ‘Stay a moment, herald,’ the prince said. ‘I wish to speak with you.’

Merrivale reined in, bowing from the saddle. ‘How may I serve you, Highness?’

‘Lord Rowton told me about your mission to Caen. It is dangerous, is it not?’

‘Do not fear, Highness.’ Merrivale touched his tabard. ‘As your father said, I am protected by my station. The French are honourable men. They will do no violence against a herald.’

‘All the same, I wish my father would send someone else. Why can’t Clarenceux go instead of you?’

‘Andrew Clarenceux is a fine man, Highness, and a master of all things to do with armorial bearings and coats. But I have experience and skills he does not possess.’

‘But what if you don’t come back? Herald, I depend on you.’

‘You have many fine servants, Highness.’

‘But they cannot do what you do. I watched you last night, bringing my knights to heel, and… I envied you. I wish I could do that.’

‘You will learn in time, Highness.’

‘Will I? I know they think I am still a child. I know what they say about me behind my back. I took them into my service, even knighted some of them. I let them win my money at hazard. What else must I do to win their respect? I look at my father, and how easy he makes it look, how he barely has to lift a finger to command the loyalty of men like Warwick and Northampton and Rowton. What must I do to do that?’

‘Be yourself, Highness,’ Merrivale said. ‘Do not put on a pretence for them, and do not try to be your father. Be your own man, and in time they will respect your fine qualities and look up to you. It will come.’

‘I hope you are right.’ The prince raised his hand. ‘God go with you,’ he said. ‘Return safely.’ Then he turned abruptly and walked away.

Geoffrey of Maldon waited for him at the edge of camp, his angular frame wrapped in a long black cassock. Behind them, the vanguard was forming up. The village of Saint-Germain had been saved from burning last night because some of the men were sheltering there, but now it too was on fire, smoke boiling up to join the dark skeins already staining the sky. The sunrise