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

plate, jewellery, furniture, clothing, even tools and kitchen utensils. Every day, wagonloads of spoil rolled away towards the river and the nearby port of Ouistreham, where the goods were loaded aboard ships and sent to England.

‘Is there any sign of Slade?’ Merrivale asked.

‘No, señor. Perhaps he has returned to England.’

‘Very well. Warin, have you anything to report?’

‘I’ve been watching Matt and Pip as you asked, sir. It hasn’t been difficult, as they spend most of their time loitering around here. They’re definitely keeping watch, but whether they’re watching us, or keeping an eye out for someone else, it’s difficult to tell.’

‘Do they meet or speak to anyone?’

‘No one but members of their own company, sir. There’s a couple of others sometimes come and keep watch when they’re absent. Another archer, and a big fellow with a spear.’

That sounded like the man Sir John Grey had been talking to in Saint-Lô. ‘Very well, continue to keep an eye on them. Well done, both of you.’

Mauro and Warin bowed and departed. Merrivale sat for some time after they had gone, staring into space. Eventually Tiphaine walked across the tent and pulled up a wooden stool, sitting down opposite him.

‘You are pensive,’ she said. ‘What are you worrying about?’

‘I am no further ahead than I was the day Bray was murdered. I still do not know who killed him, or why.’

She shook her head. ‘You must know something, or at least have suspicions.’

‘I think Bray volunteered for the reconnaissance party at Quettehou because he believed Fierville was riding out to meet the enemy and wanted to catch him in the act. In his youth and pride, he decided to do this alone, not telling anyone else or asking for help. His pride cost him his life.’

‘That is a harsh judgement. Have you never done anything rash and stupid? Like ride unarmed into an enemy citadel with only an old monk for company?’

‘Brother Geoffrey is a canon, not a monk.’

Tiphaine rolled her eyes. ‘So. Those who employed Fierville realised Bray was suspicious. When he followed Fierville that day at Quettehou, they sent archers to shoot him. Yes?’

‘That is what I believe,’ Merrivale said.

‘You have tried to identify the archers who carried out the killing. But you have failed, I think.’

Merrivale studied his hands for a moment. ‘I was convinced Bate was the killer, but he denied it and I believe him. Men find it hard to lie when death is in their eyes.’

‘And the other two? The ones from the Red Company?’

‘By their own admission, they were near the scene when Bray was killed. On the other hand, they also chased away the man who tried to shoot me at Saint-Germain-d’Ectot and saved my life at Saint-Jean. I genuinely do not know whose side they are on.’

Tiphaine glanced at the patch on the canvas wall of the tent where the arrow had pierced the fabric. ‘They could be on both sides, of course. Taking money from more than one master.’

‘They could,’ the herald agreed. ‘Sir John Grey has assured me they can be trusted. But there is something about them that continues to rouse my suspicions.’

‘And the other man Mauro mentioned, Nicodemus. What about him?’

‘He seems interested in nothing but making money.’

‘Then perhaps someone paid him to kill Bray.’

‘Perhaps. But he is one of Tracey’s men, and Tracey’s company had only just come up from the beach and were still in Quettehou when Bray was killed. Nicodemus would have had no opportunity.’

‘Then why ask Mauro to follow him?’

‘Because I do think that Nicodemus was responsible for the death of Jake Madford, the archer who was killed at Pont-Hébert.’

Tiphaine’s eyebrows rose. ‘All this fuss for an archer?’

‘He was a man, with the same right to justice as any other,’ the herald said. ‘And these events did not happen at random.’

‘You think there may be a conspiracy,’ Tiphaine said.

Merrivale studied her face for a moment, searching her eyes. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘As I told you, when I was in prison in Carentan, I heard people talking. Perhaps they did not know I could overhear them. Or perhaps they thought that, being a woman, I was too stupid to understand.’

‘What did you hear?’ Merrivale asked quietly.

‘Fierville and Barbizan were involved in more than one plot. There is the one you know about, the betrayal of Harcourt’s revolt and the attempt to kill your king or your prince at Carentan. But there is another, against King Philippe of France. And both are guided by the same hand.’

Merrivale paused for a moment, thinking. ‘You mean the second Norman revolt,’ he said. ‘The one to be led by the Count of Eu and the Queen of Navarre.’

‘No,’ said Tiphaine. ‘The Normans are pawns, Barbizan said so himself. The real conspiracy is close to the French king, right at the heart of power.’

The herald thought for a moment. There are powerful forces at work, Thomas Holland had said, and he had spoken of a conspiracy engulfing both France and England. ‘Why did you not tell me this before?’

‘Because you did not ask. You confide in Mauro and Warin, even in Sir Nicholas Courcy, but not in me. I am no more than a piece of furniture,’ Tiphaine said bitterly.

Merrivale said nothing. Tiphaine rose to her feet. ‘I can help you, if you wish,’ she said.

Merrivale glanced at the patched hole in the canvas, and shook his head. ‘It is too dangerous.’

He saw the anger and disappointment in her face. ‘Why do you think danger matters to me?’ she demanded. ‘Why shut me out? What offence have I ever given you?’

‘None,’ the herald said quietly. ‘You have committed no offence. It is I who am at fault.’

Without another word, Tiphaine turned and walked out of the tent. Merrivale sat for a moment listening to her rapid footsteps fade away. Then he rose and picked up his herald’s tabard, his armour against all weapons and woes, pulled it over his head and walked out into the hot afternoon sun.

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