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

strange and nebulous commodity truth is… all of it, you say. Very well, let us start with myself. I am, or was, an Englishman. My family name is Chaffin, and I was born and bred in Dorset. My father was a gentleman, though not a knight; my mother was the daughter of a Portuguese ship’s captain. At a young age I entered the service of one of our neighbours, Sir John Maltravers.’

The herald sat still, watching the other man.

‘I see I have your full attention now,’ Chauffin said wryly. ‘Maltravers was a loyal servitor of Roger Mortimer, the Earl of March. When the old king was imprisoned at Berkeley Castle in 1327, Maltravers was appointed his keeper.’

‘And you were still in his service?’ asked Merrivale.

‘I was, along with Matthew’s father, Sir Thomas Gurney, and Edmund Bray’s father, Sir John Bray of Huxley in Cheshire. He too was a strong supporter of Mortimer.’

‘You were there at Berkeley when the old king died,’ Merrivale said.

Chauffin looked down at his hands. Merrivale glanced at Gurney, who nodded. ‘Nothing you will say will go beyond this tent,’ the herald said. ‘You have our word of honour on that. But, messire, I must know what happened to Bray.’

‘I will tell you what I know. Whether that will help you in your quest, I cannot say.’

‘Go on,’ Merrivale said.

‘I was on duty at Berkeley Castle on the night of the twenty-first of September. Sir Thomas Gurney was in command of the night watch, and I was his deputy. It was late, nearly midnight. I remember how cold it was…’ Chauffin shivered a little with memories. ‘I heard the couriers come in. I looked out into the courtyard and saw them in the torchlight, three of them. A few minutes later, two came upstairs with Maltravers. I didn’t recognise one of the men, but I knew the other. It was Sir Robert Holland of Upholland, Thomas Holland’s father.’

He swallowed suddenly. ‘Holland and Maltravers were arguing. Christ, Maltravers said, we can’t do this! Holland just shook his head. Those are the Earl of March’s orders, he said, and the queen has given her assent. Maltravers was still objecting, and the other man grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Damn you, he said, do you not understand? Mortimer has ordered this! Obey orders, or you will be executed… God, I’m parched. Is there any wine?’

Gurney poured wine into a wooden cup and added water. Chauffin wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a quick sip. ‘They sent the other guards away, and then Maltravers turned to Thomas Gurney and me. Do it, he said. Make it quick. So we went into the cell. The king was sleeping, lying on his back, snoring a little. Sir Thomas picked up a cushion. Hold his feet, he said to me. So I held his ankles while Sir Thomas put the cushion over his face and pressed down. The king started to kick and struggle, and it was all I could do to hold him. I remember the noise he made in his throat, struggling for breath… then he went still.’

Matthew Gurney turned his back and walked to the door of the tent, staring out over the city.

‘Why did you obey the order?’ the herald asked.

‘What the other man had said was no idle threat. Old Mortimer was a bitter and vengeful enemy, and he did not take kindly to being crossed. From the moment that order was given, it was the king’s life or ours.’ Chauffin paused, staring into space. ‘Except, of course, that our lives were forfeit anyway.’

‘What happened next?’

‘Just as we were coming out of the room, John Bray came upstairs. He had heard of Holland’s arrival and was looking for him. He looked into the cell and saw what had happened. He raged at us, calling us murderers and regicides, which of course we were. Holland explained Mortimer’s orders, and instructed him to keep silent on pain of death. Sir John was still furious. I will keep silent, he said finally, but I will consort with you no longer. Late though the hour was, he packed his bags and rode away with his esquire and groom.’

‘What did the rest of you do?’

‘It was obvious we had been lined up as scapegoats. As soon as the king’s body was found next day, we would be accused of murdering him. Mortimer would kill us, to deflect attention from himself and eliminate witnesses. And it would be no easy death, either. Remember the Despensers? They took the old man down from the gallows and then cut his body into pieces and fed it to the dogs, and they dragged his son naked through the streets and castrated him before they drew and quartered him. We didn’t fancy the same fate.’

Sometimes, the herald reflected, one forgot why Sir Hugh Despenser was so angry with the world. ‘So you fled.’

Chauffin nodded. ‘Robert Holland decided to stay in the country, trusting to his influence at court to keep him safe, but he was murdered the following year. John Maltravers, Thomas Gurney and I were all attainted and fled the country, each of us going our separate way. I ended up in Normandy.’

‘Where you made a new life for yourself,’ Merrivale said.

‘Yes, Our Lady smiled upon me. Only she knows why, given the crime I helped to commit. I married well, and my wife inherited some land. I became a gentilhomme. The Count of Eu took me into his service and I prospered. Until now.’

‘You could have gone back,’ Merrivale said. ‘Maltravers made his peace with the king and returned home, his lands and positions restored.’

‘Maltravers is rich and powerful. Gurney and I were small fry, no use to anyone. If I returned, I would have got a knife in my ribs, like Holland. Or Thomas Gurney. That’s what happened, isn’t it, Matthew? They say he died of illness in Spain. But that’s not true, is it?’

‘No,’ Gurney said. ‘My father was killed