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

moving. Progress from Caen to Lisieux had been leisurely, but now Edward gathered his army and, with furious energy, flung it forward fifteen miles across the rolling plain, leaving Lisieux burning behind them. Evening brought them to a dry camp outside the village of Duranville, the sky behind them orange with dust and smoke. Baggage wagons were still rolling in, the tired troops of the rearguard marching up after them, when the king sent for Merrivale.

‘I know what you did at Caen, by the way. Using my son against me to try to force me to free Brother Geoffrey.’ He held up a hand. ‘No, don’t bother. The boy showed he had backbone. He stood up for what he thought was right. Good for him.’

‘That was not my intention, sire.’

‘I know it wasn’t. But your action had some positive benefits all the same. You said you thought Étienne Aubert is playing some game of his own. What is it?’

‘I don’t know, sire. But I am told there is a conspiracy against the adversary, and I believe that he and the Queen of Navarre are both involved. That could explain why the queen has not responded to your messages.’

‘Perhaps she is playing more than one game at a time,’ the king said.

‘Perhaps, sire. I would venture a small wager that the Count of Alençon is involved. And I would guess that the Count of Eu was as well, before he came over to us.’

‘Yes.’ The king stroked his chin, and Merrivale could almost see the wheels of calculation turning in his mind. ‘This wants some careful thought,’ he said. ‘Do you know, Merrivale, I doubted the wisdom of advancing east from Caen. We are taking a risk, there is no doubt about it. But if Philip’s enemies really do attempt to remove him from power, there will be bloody chaos. And if we’re camped on his doorstep when it happens, I reckon we are well placed to profit from that chaos.’

The king paused, deep in thought. He was so preoccupied that he did not even notice he had called his adversary by name, something his own court was forbidden to do. ‘We’ll bring the Count of Eu back into play,’ he said. ‘By God, that’s it. Start a civil war in Normandy and it will spread through all of France. Then we’ll seize our chance.’

‘Yes, sire. Ideally, though, we need to know more about the conspiracy. At the moment, I only have word from two sources, neither of whom are wholly reliable.’

Thomas Holland had told the truth, but had he told all of it? And Tiphaine’s disappearance meant that doubt was growing in the herald’s mind. ‘Jean de Fierville was involved in both Norman conspiracies,’ Merrivale continued. ‘And I believe that Edmund Bray knew something about this. If I can discover who killed Bray, then the trail will lead us to the conspirators.’

‘For Christ’s sake. You’re not still harping on about Bray, are you?’

‘Yes, sire, I am. Bray’s killers, Fierville’s partners in treason, the men who planted the gunpowder in the gatehouse at Carentan and tried to poison some of your son’s knights; they are one and the same. There is a third conspiracy, sire, directed by the same people, and this one is aimed at England.’

After a moment the king said, ‘Who are these people? And for Christ’s sake don’t say “I don’t know”.’

‘Allow me to continue my inquisition into Bray’s death,’ the herald said, ‘and I will find them.’

‘By God, Merrivale, you are stubborn as a cross-grained mule.’

‘Yes, sire. Permit me to say that I have also observed the same trait in your Grace.’

‘Damn your impertinence. Do whatever it takes, herald, but find these traitors.’

Neubourg, 5th of August, 1346

Evening

There was a new urgency in the air now, a sense of bristling alertness as the troops swung off the road and made camp in the fields around the little town of Neubourg. Today’s march had been a punishing one, twenty miles in blistering heat, and now they were nearing Rouen, capital of Normandy and the place where the adversary was gathering his army.

‘Behold the hand of brotherly love,’ said Sir John Sully wryly, staring at the western sky. Columns of smoke rose towards the sun, burning towns and villages set alight by the army as it passed. They had marched that day through the lands of the Count of Harcourt, Godefroi’s elder brother and the leader of the Norman party loyal to King Philip, and the lord Godefroi had taken special pleasure in destroying his brother’s lands.

Despite the failure of his plans, Harcourt remained with the army and in high favour. Whatever else one might say of him, King Edward was loyal to his friends.

‘And the king has made no objection,’ Merrivale said. ‘They burned the abbey of Le Bec, too. So much for protection for houses of religion.’

‘All wars begin with the best of intentions,’ Sully said. ‘A clean fight between adversaries, with the innocents protected. It never lasts for long. In the end, it is the innocents who suffer most.’

‘And brotherhood amounts to nothing,’ Merrivale said. ‘What we see here is simply an act of revenge. Burning his towns will not compel the Count of Harcourt to change sides, and Godefroi knows it. This is pure spite.’

They stood in silence for a while, watching the smoke and ignoring the bustle of the camp around them. ‘May I speak to you privately, Sir John?’ Merrivale asked.

‘Of course.’ They walked away from the camp, Sully’s dog at his heels and Matt and Pip trailing them at a discreet distance. Matt and Pip; even now, Merrivale found he could not think of them as Matilda and Philippa. He wondered how Nicholas Courcy was faring. He had seen Courcy and his wife together on the march, laughing with the gallowglasses, apparently inseparable. Human nature is a strange and peculiar thing, he thought.

For the hundredth time, he wondered where Tiphaine was, and whether she was safe.

‘What troubles you, boy?’ Sully asked.

‘History,’