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

intend to ask the pope to adjudicate on your marriage to Countess Joan. But bringing cases to the papal court is expensive. His Holiness and his lawyers are… acquisitive.’

‘Rapacious would be a better word,’ said Holland. ‘You know the old saying. “Verily, verily, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven until you have paid unto the last farthing.”’

‘And so you embarked on various ventures,’ Merrivale said. ‘One of these was looting. Your vintenar Bate was highly skilled at finding plunder, and you took your share of the spoils. When he told you about Nicodemus and Tracey and their scheme, you decided to do the same.’

‘And why not? Tracey has already made enough to cover his campaign expenses, and more besides.’

‘But you reckoned you would need even more. Prosecuting a case before the curia in Avignon will require thousands of pounds. So before the campaign began, you resolved on another, rather more risky stratagem. You decided to approach your old friend the Count of Eu, whom you knew to be one of the wealthiest men in France, and ask if he would lend you the money.’

Holland was quiet for a moment. ‘You have worked it out,’ he said finally. ‘How very clever of you.’

‘As a matter of interest, why go to the count? Why not approach one of the English bankers, like Tracey’s brother Sir Gilbert, or Sir John Pulteney? Surely that would have been much easier, and safer.’

‘Need you ask? These men lend money to the Crown. If the king found out they had given me a loan so I could claim his cousin as my wife, they would suffer for it. But if I borrowed the money from Raoul, no one would know. Or so I thought.’

‘I see. As an Englishman, you had no qualms about taking money from the Constable of France? When England and France are at war?’

‘So what? This was a private transaction. It had nothing to do with the war, or the king’s claims to the French throne, or anything else that is anyone’s business.’

There was sweat on Holland’s forehead now; he knew he was walking a tightrope. He must be truly desperate, the herald thought. How much does Joan of Kent really mean to him?

‘You knew direct contact with the count could be dangerous, so you decided to use Jean de Fierville as an intermediary. Why did you choose him?’

‘I knew he was one of the couriers Godefroi d’Harcourt used to contact his friends in Normandy. He agreed to carry a personal message for me and deliver it to Macio Chauffin, who would pass it on to Raoul. I tell you, herald, I did nothing wrong! Even in wartime, one can still send a message to a friend.’

‘Did it never occur to you that Fierville was also spying for the French? Did you know that he betrayed Harcourt’s entire scheme to Robert Bertrand?’

‘No. And you have no proof that I did.’

‘You quarrelled with Edmund Bray at Portchester. You said he made a slighting reference to your wife. But there was more to the quarrel than that, wasn’t there?’

Holland said nothing.

‘Bray knew Fierville,’ the herald continued. ‘Back in Portchester, they were seen talking together several times. Somehow Bray found out about your arrangement. He accused you of treasonable correspondence with the enemy. I shall take your silence as assent.’

Holland stared at him. A gust of wind fluttered the lamps, shadows dancing off the columns and the painted acanthus leaves on their capitals.

‘Fearful that Bray might denounce you as a traitor, you explained your real purpose,’ Merrivale said. ‘He expressed his disgust, and that was when he made his comments about Countess Joan.’ He paused. ‘But, of course, that was not the beginning. Bray already disliked you. He knew what had happened on the twenty-first of September 1327.’

Holland looked around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. ‘My father killed no one,’ he said, low-voiced. ‘Bray knows that.’

‘No. But he was one of those who carried the message to Berkeley Castle, and he persuaded Maltravers to order the old king’s death. He shared the guilt. Did Bray imply that you do also?’

‘Yes. That was when I hit him. For God’s sake, herald, I was just a boy when the king was killed!’

‘In some people’s minds, that doesn’t matter,’ the herald said, thinking of Matthew Gurney. ‘Bray accused your father of being a regicide, and you of being a traitor. You had plenty of reasons to kill him, or have him killed.’

‘But I didn’t,’ Holland said. ‘I told you at Valognes. I disliked Bray, but I would never have soiled my hands by killing him. Or asked my men to do so either.’

‘Perhaps. When we landed at Saint-Vaast, Fierville went to meet Macio Chauffin. Did you send some of your archers to follow him? Bate, perhaps?’

‘No. He and his men went out plundering, just before Bertrand attacked us at Quettehou. When they came back, they told me they had seen Chauffin meeting another man-at-arms, but they didn’t know who it was. I knew it was Fierville, of course, and told them to forget what they had seen and keep quiet. That was all.’

‘Bray accused you of being a traitor. Are you?’

‘No.’

The answer was blunt, unequivocal, almost challenging. Merrivale watched the other man for a while, studying his face. ‘And so all your problems are now solved,’ he said. ‘You can ransom the Count of Eu for a fortune, enough to pay for your case at the papal court. Eu knew that, of course. That was why, when all was lost and surrender or death were the only choices, he decided to hand himself over to you. He told me it was the least he could do for you.’

‘Raoul is loyal to his friends,’ Holland said quietly.

‘And he was right. Fortune smiled on you today, but you could just as easily have ended up with your head on a spike.’

‘I told you. I have done nothing wrong.’

‘No? I have not asked what you promised the Count of Eu as