Scourge of Wolves_Master of War

by David Gilman

  She waved a hand at the bailiff who opened a linen chest and hauled out a small sack of coin. ‘This is what he arrived with and I gave him more.’

  ‘Bitch!’ Cade hissed with disbelief.

  ‘William, you’re a fool. You are easily betrayed by your own kind. Once your men failed in their ambush and we were told that we might be attacked it wasn’t difficult to discover its hiding place. I paid the man who betrayed you well.’

  The bailiff dropped the sack at Blackstone’s feet.

  The Countess made a slight gesture towards the sack of gold and the bound prisoner. ‘Take the gold, and take him. He means nothing to me—’

  ‘Whore!’ Cade yelled and earned a cuff across the head from Killbere.

  ‘That’s no way to address a noble lady,’ said Killbere. He smiled at the Countess and dipped his head in respect.

  Countess Catherine barely took a breath after being interrupted by Cade’s insult. ‘King John and the Dauphin will hear of what you do here. Be it on your own head.’

  ‘This whore bitch—’ Killbere struck him again. Cade spat blood but he shook the blow away as if it were nothing more than a wasp sting. ‘She took me to her bed. She will take any man to her bed.’

  ‘Not any man. Only those I choose,’ she answered coolly and sat down, easing a crease from her dress.

  Killbere smiled and bowed slightly. ‘I am at your service, Countess. A decent bath and a clean linen shirt and I am no longer the ruffian you see before you.’

  Cade laughed derisively. ‘She’s a bitch on heat who goes for your throat. Watch it doesn’t get cut. She took your false monk to her bed. The young one. She fucked him into manhood.’

  Countess Catherine de Val showed no expression other than to stare expressionless at Blackstone and Killbere.

  ‘Where is he?’ said Blackstone to Cade as Killbere grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked back his head.

  Cade spat bloody phlegm at Blackstone, and laughed for a second before Killbere gave him more than a wasp sting blow. He fell back, barely conscious.

  ‘When you attacked us, Cade had him taken to the cellars,’ said the Countess.

  Blackstone grabbed Cade, hauling him to his feet. ‘You,’ he said, pointing at the bailiff. ‘You show the way.’

  The bailiff received a nod of consent from the Countess and then quickly moved to open the doors.

  ‘Sir Gilbert Killbere is a veteran knight who has long served Edward of England. He stays,’ said Blackstone. ‘Gilbert, if her guards make any move against you call for the men outside. And kill her.’

  The doors closed behind Blackstone.

  Killbere helped himself to more wine and this time took a glass for the seductive woman whose eyes smiled at him. ‘Would you?’ she asked.

  ‘Regretfully, yes,’ said Killbere.

  She took the glass. ‘You have killed many women?’

  ‘Hundreds,’ he said.

  ‘You are a liar, Sir Gilbert,’ she said, raising the glass to her lips.

  ‘Only about some things,’ he said. ‘Not about the beauty of women. Never that. But, as insurance against such an event as your early death, I drink to your health. And beauty.’

  ‘I accept,’ she said. She raised a hand and with the slightest of gestures commanded the two sworn men to step away across the room. ‘You have the temperament of a gentle man,’ she said softly: an intimate compliment whose tone of voice she did not wish her keepers to witness.

  ‘I am versed in love and war, madam.’

  ‘Well versed?’ she asked, glancing at him over the rim of her glass.

  ‘Experience hard won,’ he answered.

  ‘And my wellbeing might be in your hands?’

  ‘Should that occasion arise it is possible that I could persuade Thomas Blackstone not to cause any harm to befall you. He is a man of insolence and intemperate ways. A legend at war feared across the country. He even tried to kill the King of France once. Violence is not even second nature to him. It is his first.’

  ‘Then I am at your mercy,’ she said. ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Truthfully?’

  ‘I seldom lie, my lady. Better that a man be known by his words as well as his actions.’ Killbere stood in front of the fire, warming his back. It was a good enough reason to step closer to her. She smelled of flower fragrance and he imagined breathing it deeper were his face resting on her naked flesh.

  ‘Sir Gilbert, would a woman who fell under your charm allow you the freedom to wander, like a travelling minstrel?’ she probed. ‘Would such a man as yourself not have a family? Children perhaps?’

  ‘No woman has yet caged my heart, Countess. And as for children, well, there are none that I know of.’

  ‘Perhaps you do not possess the passion or the… ability to do what is necessary when holding a naked mistress in your arms,’ she taunted him. ‘Your beard is slight: perhaps the state of the hay suggests whether the pitchfork is any good. There seems little more than the fuzz that ladies have in certain places.’

  ‘Given that we play the game of truth or dare, Countess, perhaps you have more hair between your legs than I have on my face.’

  ‘I have none,’ she said.

  Killbere dared to lean forward and take her hand to his lips. ‘As they say, my lady, grass does not grow on a well-beaten path.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The bailiff scurried ahead of Blackstone as he forced Cade down the stairs. The bailiff led him past the kitchen where the apothecary was tending to Perinne’s wound. Blackstone pushed Cade outside where survivors of the attack were being held in the courtyard by Blackstone’s men. He beckoned John Jacob to accompany him.

  ‘If your friend beds the whore tell him to make sure there is no knife close to hand,’ said Cade. ‘She held a blade at my throat because I accused her of sleeping with the King or his sour-faced son. She’s probably been had by everyone at court.’

  ‘Keep moving and spare me your thoughts on the Countess. She is of no interest to me.’

  Cade grunted derisively. ‘What kind of eunuch are you, Blackstone? Are you telling me you didn’t feel the urge to rape her?’

  Blackstone ignored the crude taunt as Cade led him down into the dank and musty cellars. ‘Where’s the Frenchman?’

  Cade sniggered. ‘Your attack saved him. I was going to geld him. He’s there.’

  Blackstone gripped Cade’s collar and moved deeper into the darkness. He reached out and touched the metal frets of a cage. It might have been dog pens or the château’s cage for holding prisoners; whatever its purpose it stank of soiled straw and fetid air. Water ran down the walls, further chilling the atmosphere.

  ‘Alain,’ Blackstone called, but there was no reply. ‘Where is the key?’ he asked Cade with a shake of his collar.

  Cade looked up at a hook in the wall behind Blackstone. John Jacob took it, opened the cage door and stepped out of sight into the darkness at the far side of the cage.

  ‘I have him,’ said John Jacob. ‘He’s more dead than alive.’ He grabbed the unconscious young Frenchman beneath his arms.

  ‘Get him outside,’ said Blackstone. And as Jacob pulled him free Blackstone pushed Cade into the cage and locked the door. ‘You’ll stay there until I decide when I’m going to kill you.’

  Cade pushed himself against the bars. ‘Blackstone, you are hunted. The French want you dead. You’re a plague on the House of Valois. I was paid to ride with Chandos so that I might kill you but I decided to take your gold instead. If the Welshman hadn’t arrived I would have found a way to cut your throat in the night. But I decided my chances were better served running with ap Madoc. I know where he is. And he has the rest of your money. Let me live and I will tell you where. Let me live and I will ride away. I don’t care what you do with my men. There are always others, but I will stay well away. You have my word. What do you say, Blackstone? Come on, killing the Welshman will give you more pleasure than killing
me.’

  ‘Killing both of you would please me more,’ said Blackstone and then followed John Jacob.

  Once they had dragged Alain into the daylight they saw that he was badly hurt. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle and pieces of broken bone pierced the skin. It was matted with dirt and excrement from the foul cage. His face was caked with blood and one eye was swollen and closed.

  ‘He took a hard blow, Sir Thomas. I can’t rouse him. And that leg…’ John Jacob let the words hang.

  Blackstone nodded. He knew as well as his squire how badly injured the leg was. He saw Perinne being helped from the kitchen. He was weak but would survive. He shrugged off the helping hands of the men who supported him, cursing at them and getting the usual rough response from his comrades, but the coarse exchange was all in good humour. Blackstone called up to them. ‘Perinne? Don’t tear open the wound. That’s an order. You rest. There’s enough brandy to give you sleep.’

  ‘Aye, Sir Thomas, and the apothecary has given me a tincture for the pain and bandaged me. I’ll sleep for a week.’

  Blackstone beckoned Renfred over from where he stood with his men guarding the captives. The German captain ran to his sworn lord. ‘How many of their men do we hold?’

  ‘Near enough seventy.’

  ‘Find a stretcher and have four of them carry this lad to the apothecary’s house. I want it done gently, Renfred. We must give him every chance we can. Then use a dozen or more of the garrison men to get rid of those corpses that are hanging in the square. Keep the rest of the prisoners bound and guarded until I know what we’re doing next. Where’s Meulon?’

  ‘At the town square.’

  Renfred needed no further orders and ran back, shouting his own commands. The elderly apothecary stepped carefully down the steps to the courtyard.

  ‘I am told you are Sir Thomas Blackstone,’ said the old man. ‘I have done all I can for the monk’s wound.’

  ‘He’s no monk. And you will be paid for your skills.’

  The old man could not hide his surprise. ‘I am grateful, my lord. I thought it likely that I would be put to the knife once I had fulfilled my duties.’

  ‘Not by me or by my men. Can you help this lad?’ he said. The old healer was gazing down at the unconscious Alain.

  ‘He’s alive?’

  ‘Barely.’

  ‘Not for much longer.’

  ‘Can you save him?’

  ‘That leg is poisoned; those bones cannot be mended.’ He extended his arm for Blackstone’s support, which was given, and he knelt next to Alain. After a cursory examination, he took Blackstone’s arm again and stood. ‘I might help the head wound, and the swelling on the eye. But the leg. No. Impossible, Sir Thomas. You need a barber surgeon.’

  Renfred appeared with a stretcher and four garrison prisoners.

  ‘I don’t have a barber surgeon. I have you,’ said Blackstone.

  * * *

  The bailiff was dismissed to arrange food from the kitchens for Blackstone’s men while the injured Frenchman was taken to the apothecary’s house. There were no facilities for surgical operations so Blackstone swept aside the foodstuff and plates on the kitchen table and had the lad laid on it.

  ‘Old man, you will save this boy. I made a promise to his father that I would cause him no harm and that means I offered him my protection. Attend to his wounds.’

  The old man’s watery eyes gazed at the broken body that lay unconscious in his kitchen. His hands trembled slightly. These hard-looking men who crowded the small room frightened him, and the towering figure of Thomas Blackstone, taller than the door frame and who looked to have the strength of a bull, could snap his neck in a moment’s anger should he change his mind and decide that his healing skills were of little use.

  ‘I will try,’ he said. ‘Cut free his clothing and fetch me hot water from the fire. Go into that room there’ – he pointed without looking at the adjoining chamber – ‘find me a linen sheet and tear it into strips this wide.’ He spread the palm of his hand. Renfred went in search of the material. The old man looked up at Blackstone. ‘You are a scarred man, Sir Thomas, and to my eyes you have been so for many years. Were you grievously wounded?’

  ‘I was. After Crécy. I was a boy.’

  ‘And the physician who cared for you, he was a man of great experience?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘Then I beg you do not compare me to him. I am a humble apothecary. Send one of your men to the corpses that hang in the town square and bring me maggots. They will be feasting on the dead flesh and I will use them to feast on this stench in his leg. Trust me in this matter.’

  ‘I have used maggots before in wounds,’ said Blackstone. ‘John, go down to the square. Take one of those pots. Do as he asks.’

  ‘And these men?’ John Jacob asked, meaning the four prisoners.

  ‘They stay here. We’ll need them to hold the boy down.’

  ‘We will help you, Sir Thomas,’ said one of the men, grateful to have been spared.

  Alain stirred. The air raised gooseflesh on his torso. He started to regain consciousness.

  ‘Lift his head gently. Let him sip this,’ said the apothecary, passing Blackstone a small dark glass bottle. ‘Do it, my son. It will ease his pain and cast a shadow over his mind. If we are obliged to take his leg, let us spare him the pain and anguish of it.’

  Blackstone moved to the awakening young man and gently lifted his head. ‘Easy, boy.’

  Alain de la Grave’s uninjured eye opened and stared at the scar-faced knight who bent over him. ‘Sir Thomas…’

  ‘You’re safe,’ said Blackstone, dribbling the potion into the injured man’s lips.

  Alain gripped his wrist. ‘Cade is here. He beat me.’

  ‘I know. We have him. He’ll pay.’

  ‘And… Perinne?’

  ‘Wounded but alive.’

  Alain sighed as the potion began its work, and loosened his grip on Blackstone’s arm.

  ‘Forgive me, Sir Thomas… I… I failed you. I could… not escape in time… and warn you that Cade was here.’

  ‘You played your part well,’ said Blackstone. ‘Your father would be proud of you.’

  The young man smiled gratefully and Blackstone saw that he was drifting away under the effect of the drug. Blackstone made a silent promise that should the boy live he would tell him the truth about his father, who was the wellspring of his courage.

  ‘Cade beat me… but… she… betrayed me to him… She… gave me… to him,’ Alain said almost in a whisper, so gentle that Blackstone had to put his ear close to the boy’s lips.

  ‘Who?’ asked Blackstone, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from the young man.

  ‘My beautiful Countess…’ said Alain, a tear easing down his cheek; and then he fell into his drug-induced sleep.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Renfred stayed with the garrison soldiers at the apothecary’s house awaiting John Jacob’s return. As Blackstone strode across the courtyard Meulon came from the opposite direction.

  ‘We are giving William Cade a chance to be fed and have any injury he has attended to. Go into the cellars and cut his hands free and have him secured to the cage bars. Give him a blanket, food and water. No brandy or wine. I want him rested and sober for the morning.’

  ‘It would be less trouble if I just cut his throat,’ said the big Norman.

  ‘No, Meulon, I want him to fight for his life. I promised him a painful death and he shall have one but I won’t kill a man who is without his strength. See to it.’

  ‘Aye, Sir Thomas.’

  ‘Have you checked the stables?’

  ‘Warm and dry and plenty of fodder. Only Cade’s men had mounts stabled here. These garrison troops had no need.’

  ‘Good. Pick men to go and bring in our horses. I will have John Jacob fetch my horse. Is everything here secure?’ said Blackstone, scanning the walls, rooftops and streets.

  ‘We hold the town and the
château. Will and Jack still have their archers on the walls. The gates have been opened long enough for the villagers to return to their homes. The last of the livestock is going out now and then the gates will be barred.’

  ‘No man is to go anywhere alone. Two men together, no matter how mundane the task, Meulon. We are not welcome here; let’s not gift them a lone target should anyone seek revenge.’

  ‘What are we to do about the prisoners?’

  ‘Once I have the Countess’s word that they will not raise their weapons against us I’ll release them, so keep them guarded until then. The bailiff will organize food from the kitchen but it will take too long to feed us all. Find women in their households to cook. Feed our men and then the prisoners. Pay the women for their effort and food. We don’t want them pissing in it.’

  Meulon gave him a quizzical look. ‘There are seventy garrison solders, enough to cause trouble if they take it into their heads to try to take back the town. They’ll know every street and alleyway so we would be hard pressed.’

  ‘The Countess was using Cade to draw in mercenaries and then kill them. The French King has two armies searching out and killing routiers, Chandos clears towns of these skinners and our own King has promised they would not be used to hinder the treaty. What crime has she committed? She has a cruel heart and an appetite for men, but I cannot take this town from her – and even if I desired to we don’t have enough men to stay here and command it. So we will let them go when I have secured her word,’ said Blackstone, and then as an afterthought: ‘For what it’s worth.’

  ‘Then I will arrange a double guard on the night watch and have the men stay vigilant. There is little sense in trusting a woman who entraps men and then inflicts a bad death on them.’ He spat into the dirt. ‘Even if they are skinners.’

  * * *

  Blackstone made his way up to the Countess’s rooms. He heard laughter behind the closed doors. The three men who guarded the entrance had been joined by four more. They smiled as Blackstone approached. One of them was the hobelar Tait.

  ‘What are you doing here, Tait?’