A Flight of Arrows

by A. J. MacKenzie

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  Chauffin shook his head. ‘I was a lowly esquire. Maltravers did not confide in me. Matthew’s father knew, I think.’

  ‘He did, but he did not tell me,’ Gurney said. ‘I suspect he felt that confiding in me might have put me at risk also. Then when the tensions with France began, the king and his advisers decided to sweep the whole affair away, pretend it never happened, so everyone could forget about the past. Old sins were forgiven. Edward II had died of heart failure, it was suggested, or there was even a rumour that he was still alive, living in exile.’

  He turned back from the door. ‘So it never happened. All the king’s knights now live in amity and brotherhood, united by their desire to slaughter Frenchmen. You see, Macio, you could have come home after all.’

  Chauffin shook his head again. ‘The herald is right, I had made a new life. The past was over for me. Until now.’

  ‘There is one more thing,’ Merrivale said. ‘You are positive Sir Thomas Holland is not a traitor. What makes you so certain?’

  ‘Because I know the content of the messages he sent the Count of Eu. He betrayed no secrets and he sent no word of your plans.’

  ‘Then what message did he send?’

  ‘He wanted to borrow money,’ Chauffin said.

  * * *

  In the silence that followed, Gurney poured wine into another cup and drank it down in a single draught, slamming the cup back onto the table.

  ‘What happens to me now?’ Chauffin asked.

  ‘That depends on Sir Matthew,’ the herald said. ‘You are his prisoner. Presumably he will ask for a ransom, and if you agree terms and continue to honour your parole, you can go free.’

  ‘I don’t want your money,’ Gurney said abruptly. He motioned towards the door. ‘Get out of here. Go.’

  Chauffin stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t want your money,’ Gurney repeated. ‘I wish to God you had died, along with my father and Robert Holland. I wish we had all died, so none of us would have to live with this stain. Go on, Macio. Go back to your Norman wife and your other life.’ He picked up Chauffin’s sword and scabbard, standing in a corner, corner and tossed them to him. ‘Live out the rest of your life, and stay away from me.’

  Chauffin rose to his feet, holding the scabbard in one hand. ‘I have not told you anything about Edmund Bray,’ he said to the herald.

  Merrivale shook his head. ‘You have told me something important, I think. But I am not yet certain what it means. Journey safely, messire.’

  After Chauffin had gone, Gurney poured another full cup of wine and drained it. He offered the flask to Merrivale, who shook his head. ‘During the time we were camped at Portchester, did you see much of Bray?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We were cousins, but not especially close. In part because of the history you have just heard.’

  ‘What about Jean de Fierville? Were you friendly with him?’

  ‘No. He joined the prince’s games of hazard sometimes, that was all. He usually won.’

  ‘And Bray? Were he and Fierville friendly?’

  ‘They talked together, but I don’t know how close they were. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I have a hypothesis,’ Merrivale said. ‘But I shall need to test it.’ He rose, laying a hand on Gurney’s shoulder. ‘The sins of the father are not always visited on the son, you know.’

  ‘Try telling that to Hugh Despenser,’ Gurney said wryly. ‘The guilt remains, herald. I feel sometimes like the blood is on my hands, as well as my father’s.’

  ‘We all carry the burdens of the past,’ Merrivale said. ‘The fact that I could not save my mother or my sisters from the famine burns like hot iron in my soul. Nothing will ever erase those memories.’

  Gurney turned to face him. ‘Why, herald? Why does God allow us to be so tormented? Is this the act of a kind God, a loving God?’

  Merrivale smiled a little. ‘I do not know,’ he said. ‘I am a herald, not a theologian. Good night, Sir Matthew.’

  13

  Caen, 26th of July, 1346

  Evening

  Merrivale found Holland in front of the west door of the Abbaye aux Dames. ‘I wish to speak to you in private, Sir Thomas,’ he said without preamble. ‘Shall we go into the cloister?’

  The colonnades of the cloister were silent and shadowy, lit only by a few lamps in the falling dusk. ‘You are attempting to raise a large sum of money,’ Merrivale said. ‘And you are using some rather unusual means to do so.’

  ‘What of it?’ Holland asked sharply.

  ‘I wasn’t sure of your purpose at first, but then I realised the answer is obvious. You 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 pa
inted 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 collateral for his loan. You claim you are not a traitor. Would you swear an oath that this is true? Would you stake your immortal soul on it?’

  The silence that followed seemed to last for a very long time. Finally Holland looked away. ‘I swear on the blood of Christ that I have never betrayed my country. But… the offer was there.’

  ‘Who made this offer?’

  ‘Fierville. He said something was in the wind, something much bigger than the Norman revolt or our war with France. He said there were powerful forces at work, not just in England and France, but all over Europe. He didn’t say what these forces were or who was behind them. But he told me there was a place for me if I wished to join them.’

  ‘What did you reply?’

  ‘I said I needed time to think it over.’

  ‘And have you thought it over?’

  ‘All I want is my wife. Once I have her, I will be the king’s loyal servant unto death. I will swear to that, too.’

  The herald nodded. ‘Then I wish you good fortune with your court case,’ he said. ‘Good night, Sir Thomas.’

  * * *

  Inquisition into the death of Edmund Bray, knight, near the village of Quettehou in Normandy on the XIIth day of July, in the nineteenth year of the reign of King Edward III. This report was composed on the XXVIth day of that month, at the city of Caen.

  Item, I have now interviewed the French miles Macio Chauffin, who confirms that Sir Edmund Bray was shot by two English or Welsh archers. Chauffin was unable to identify the archers, who bore no distinguishing badges.

  Item, evidence has emerged that suggests Bray may have grown suspicious of Fierville, and his appearance at this meeting was no accident. He had volunteered for the reconnaissance at Quettehou in hopes of finding Fierville.

  Item, it also remains to be seen who gave the archers their orders. It is possible that they were employed directly by Fierville and accompanied him as guards, but I feel this is unlikely. Someone else therefore must have had an interest in this meeting between Fierville and Chauffin.

  Item, Sir Thomas Holland has given me a full account of his relations with Bray. I also spoke to Holland’s vintenar, shortly before the latter’s death in Caen. I am satisfied that this man had no part in Bray’s death, and that Sir Thomas himself can be exonerated from any involvement.

  Item, several of the people involved in this case have connections to the foul and unnatural death of his Grace the king’s late father. This includes Bray, whose father Sir John Bray of Huxley was present at Berkeley Castle at the time. I do not know whether this has any connection with Bray’s murder, but I feel the matter warrants further investigation.

  Simon Merrivale, heraldus

  * * *

  At the Logis du Roi, Merrivale waited while Michael Northburgh read the report. ‘Sir Thomas is cleared,’ the clerk commented. ‘The king will be pleased.’

  The herald raised his eyebrows. ‘Have you heard?’ asked Northburgh. ‘He has bought the Count of Eu from Holland for eighty thousand florins.’

  ‘Thirteen thousand pounds. More than enough to allow Sir Thomas to fight his court case,’ Merrivale said. ‘But what does the king get for his money?’

  ‘Two things. Control of the Count of Eu with a chance to renew the Norman rebellion, and Holland’s loyalty. A bargain, I would say.’

  ‘I see. The king has changed his mind about Sir Thomas?’

  Northburgh smiled. ‘Don’t underestimate his Grace. He is cleverer than he sometimes seems. He understands the minds of men quite well.’

  ‘And the Earl of Salisbury? What will he think of this news?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. The deal is done. Salisbury will be compensated in other ways. For example, he might find a new wife, one who actually likes him.’ Northburgh laid the report on his desk. ‘Speaking of which, how is your little demoiselle?’

  Caen, 26th of July, 1346

  Night

  ‘Well that didn’t exactly go to plan,’ the man from the north said drily.

  ‘Eu played us false,’ said the West Country man. ‘He was supposed to hold Caen until Philip’s army arrived. And now we have lost Holland as well.’

  ‘We don’t need him. Let him go.’

  ‘This is the herald’s doing. We must get rid of him.’

  ‘You’ve already tried, and failed. Let me deal with him. I know how it can be done without attracting notice.’

  The West Country man grunted. ‘Eu let himself get taken deliberately. Why?’

  ‘Oh, it was cleverly done,’ said the man from the north. ‘He can hold up his hands and protest his innocence; he tried loyally to defend the city, and surrendered only when all was lost. In reality, of course, he has changed sides and gone over to King Edward.’

  ‘He will regret it. All we have to do is inform Philip’s court, and Eu will be attainted as a traitor.’

  The man from the north shook his head. ‘Not yet. Let’s keep our options open. Once Edward is finished, the Count of Eu will need a new sponsor. Meanwhile, you must send word to the Queen of Navarre, and the cardinals. Tell them we need to meet, urgently.’

  ‘Clearly you have some new scheme in mind,’ the man from the West Country said.

  ‘It’s the same scheme as the old one, with some new twists.’ The northern man paused. ‘I have a copy of Philip’s plans for an invasion of England back in ’38. It makes interesting reading.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The raid on Southampton in October that year wa
s meant to be just the beginning. The plan was for a thousand ships and forty thousand men to descend on England, landing all along the south coast. Edward would be deposed and Philip’s son would sit on the throne of England. The English barons would be dispossessed and their lands distributed among the French nobles.’

  ‘Christ,’ said the man from the West Country. ‘How did you come to learn of these plans? I’ve never heard of them before.’

  ‘That’s because the document is a forgery. I wrote it myself, and sealed it with a copy of the French royal seal.’

  ‘God’s teeth! Where did you get that?’

  ‘Never you mind. The document is hidden in the Logis du Roi, and I will ensure Edward’s clerks discover it tomorrow morning. By midday, the whole army will know about it. Edward will go up in flames, and even if he doesn’t, the barons and knights will. And then they will march straight out to confront Philip.’

  ‘Fifteen thousand men against the entire French royal army? They won’t have a prayer.’

  ‘That’s not how they see it. After the fall of Caen, the hot-brains think they are invincible. And, of course, we shall continue to stir up trouble between the knights.’

  ‘And King Philip? What do we do about him?’

  ‘Nothing, for the moment. But once he has won his victory, we will undermine him in turn. That is where the Queen of Navarre and the cardinals come in. Especially Aubert. He is the key man.’

  ‘What about the others?’

  ‘Not yet. We will bring them in when the time is right. For the moment, we still have work to do.’

  Caen, 27th of July, 1346

  Midday

  ‘The king is busy,’ Lord Rowton said, a little abruptly. ‘What did you want?’

  ‘It was his Grace who summoned me, my lord.’ The message had come that morning, a single line in Northburgh’s writing and sealed with the privy seal.

  Rowton made an impatient gesture. ‘Yes, I had forgotten. He wanted to discuss your latest report, the one you sent to Northburgh last night. But I’m afraid he won’t be able to see you now.’