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

‘Ah,’ said the woman in the hood, thoughtfully. ‘I begin to see.’

‘I do not,’ said Ceccano. ‘Explain.’

‘If Edward cannot cross at Rouen, he will advance upriver looking for a bridge. Within a few days he will arrive at Paris. Philip can cross the river himself, trap Edward against the walls of Paris and destroy his army. The king and the prince will be killed or captured, and England’s power will be broken.’

‘And Philippe?’ asked the woman.

‘He will not enjoy his triumph for long. The damage the English will do as they advance on Paris will be laid at his door. Also, letters will be published in the city bearing the king’s personal seal. They will make it clear that Philip’s failure to give battle was due to the treachery of his councillors and his own vacillation and cowardice. His reputation will suffer and the people will begin to murmur against him. That is where you come in, your Eminences, and your Grace.’

Queen Jeanne of Navarre threw back her hood. Candlelight gleamed off fair hair and a long Norman nose. ‘These letters will be forgeries, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘And the royal seal? How did you get it?’

The man from the north hesitated.

‘Do you desire that we trust you?’ the queen asked. ‘Then you will need to demonstrate that you trust us also. The seal, I assume, is a copy. Who procured it for you?’

‘John of Hainault, Lord of Beaumont, was my father’s faithful friend for many years,’ said the man from the north. ‘Now he is mine.’

The other three looked at each other, and Ceccano snorted with sudden laughter. ‘The treachery of his own councillors,’ he said. ‘Well. It appears at least one of Philippe’s councillors really is a traitor. I am impressed.’

‘You see now how far our power extends,’ said the man from the West Country.

‘Indeed,’ said the Queen of Navarre. ‘And so, what do you offer me?’

‘Normandy, as a free and independent principality,’ said the West Country man. ‘Normandy allied with Navarre will be a force to be reckoned with, especially with England and France laid low. The balance of power will shift towards you.’

Jeanne said nothing.

‘And what do I stand to gain?’ asked Aubert.

‘A great deal of money,’ said the West Country man. ‘Which you will need, I am sure, to launch your campaign for the papacy when Pope Clement finally departs this life. How are the Holy Father’s kidney stones?’

‘Somewhat improved, I am sorry to say.’

‘It need not be kidney stones that kill him,’ the man from the north said. ‘And of course, when you do sit on the throne of Saint Peter, our friend Cardinal Ceccano will be at your right hand.’

‘Of course,’ said Ceccano. He rubbed his hands. ‘What do you want us to do?’

‘Her Grace should gather her forces quietly, in Navarre and here in Normandy. Monsignor Aubert, your task is to make sure Philippe adheres to our plan. Monsignor Ceccano, you control the Genoese mercenary captains in French service, Grimaldi and Doria.’

Ceccano shook his head. ‘Grimaldi, yes. Doria, I am not so sure. He takes his loyalties seriously.’

‘Then offer him more money,’ said the man from the West Country. ‘As much as he wants. But make sure he does our bidding. When the time comes, we want the Genoese on our side.’

Ceccano shrugged.

‘What about you?’ Queen Jeanne asked the two Englishmen. ‘What do you stand to gain from this?’

‘What everyone wants,’ said the man from the north. ‘Power, influence and wealth. We shall show the rest of Europe that we can bend events to our will. A new game is beginning, and we are its masters. Kings and emperors will see our power and respect it. And we shall grow very, very rich.’

There was a pause. ‘I spoke earlier of trust,’ the queen said. ‘Can we trust you?’

‘You have no choice,’ said the man from the north. ‘We can make you powerful, your Grace. But if you turn against us, we will break you.’

Bernay, 3rd of August, 1346

Early morning

Riding east, the Queen of Navarre and her escort reached the Benedictine abbey at Bernay just before dawn. ‘We will rest here for a few hours,’ she told her captain. ‘Then we will return to Évreux.’

Jeanne had inherited the mountain kingdom of Navarre from her father, but she rarely visited it. Her power and wealth came from her wide lands in eastern Normandy, including Bernay. She climbed the steps to the guest lodgings wearily, thinking about the conversation the previous evening and pondering its implications. The Englishmen had been right: the power of Normandy and Navarre combined would be formidable. And she knew Étienne Aubert well. She could work with him.

The sleepy monk who guided her stopped before the door of the chamber, fumbling with his keys. It is, after all, a family quarrel, Jeanne thought. Edward of England, Philippe of France and myself; cousins, grandchildren of Philippe le Bel. Perhaps instead of fighting each other, we should band together, unite in the face of the enemies that conspire against us. But that will never happen. We are united only by our hatred of each other.

Well; that is not quite true. Edward and I agree that Philippe is a usurper. Both of us have better claims to the throne, Edward through his mother, I through my father. But the law in France says that a woman cannot inherit the throne. The law is nonsense, of course, but men use it to protect their power.

The door opened and the monk stepped back, bowing. Jeanne walked into the room, followed by her tirewoman. A single candle burned in a bronze candlestick on the table. Beyond it stood a figure in ragged tunic and hose, with rough-shorn red hair. Just for a moment Jeanne knew fear, but then she saw the figure was alone and carried no weapon. Despite its garb, it was also unmistakably a woman. She set her lips in a thin line and snapped, ‘Who