Cross of Fire

by David Gilman

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Lady Cateline Babeneaux eased back into the soft linen sheet lining the copper bath. It caressed her skin as she luxuriated in her first bath for weeks. She tilted her head back so that Melita could pour water over her hair. The servant pressed her hands into her mistress’s hair and squeezed free the excess water.

  ‘Did you see to the children?’

  ‘I did, my lady. They are asleep.’

  ‘It has been a difficult time, Melita. They are exhausted.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘You have served us well,’ she said kindly, placing a hand on the servant’s arm. ‘Will you fetch more water and see to my clothes?’

  The tireless woman took the wooden pail and bundled up an armful of stained clothing to be washed in the kitchens below. Cateline raised her arms and used a cloth to wash herself. Candlelight spluttered from the steam in the room. The stench of men’s blood and sweat had stubbornly refused to leave her but the rosemary in the water soothed away the odours. There was still a long road ahead, but she had a sense that her authority was returning. It had not been difficult to sway the Germans into joining the fight at Sarlat, and after those remaining did as she instructed so that the camp was ready to receive the wounded she’d felt that her status had been reasserted. She needed men for protection and if she could convince them to do her bidding, then her position strengthened further.

  Von Plauen stepped unseen into a side passage as the servant left her mistress’s chamber, arms full of stained clothing. He had intended to knock on her door and enquire about her wellbeing even though he expected to be dismissed when she saw through his feeble excuse to visit her. The Order strictly enforced his vows as a Teutonic Knight. He, like his brother knights, had sworn an oath of poverty, chastity and obedience. They owned no property. And their vows did not permit expressions of pride in fighting skills, their horses or in their weapons of war. The Order’s rules were written in clear, simple language so that there could be no misunderstanding. Knights wore clothes of a priestly hue and covered even that drabness with a white mantle bearing a black cross. And women were to be avoided. They were Satan’s gate. Warned against being drawn into the company of women, any knight who fell from grace was severely punished. They could not even embrace their mothers or sisters. The rigid discipline demanded of these men forged them into a fighting brotherhood. Von Plauen knew that to yield to temptation would strip him of his honour and vows and he would face expulsion from the Order.

  Melita shuffled past him and once out of sight he turned for the stairs and saw a piece of clothing she had dropped. He bent and felt the soft linen undershift crumple in his hand. Without thinking he raised it to his face and inhaled her scent. His hand shook. He turned guiltily in case he had been seen but the hall and stairs reflected nothing but silence and shadows and the thudding of his heart. His mind searched for a believable reason to be in her presence as his feet carried him to her bedroom door. It was ajar, left open by the encumbered servant. He could not comprehend what compelled him to enter the dimly lit room. Or why he trembled. He stepped towards the open door on the other side of the room and then faltered when he saw her bathing. He fought the desire that drew him to her but the scent of the bath and the sight of her naked aroused him. He cursed Blackstone for making him the woman’s guardian. It was a cruel punishment. His resentment was as deep as the desire he felt for this woman. Blackstone had humiliated him by placing him in the devil’s embrace. His chest tightened, forcing lust from his pounding heart into his throat and the spittle on his tongue, but he could not tear his gaze from her. He vowed to find the chapel and spend the night in prayer but such pious thoughts were swept away when she stood and half-turned, her breasts dripping with steam, the dark curled patch between her legs moistened with droplets of water. The room’s fire burned its heat into the chamber as did his desire into his groin. He gasped. Guilt and shame swept over him.

  Footfalls scuffed the stairway as the servant lifted the heavy pail of water. Her laboured step and breath warned him. There was nowhere to hide. He pressed himself into a doorwell. The exhausted servant, head down, went into the bedroom without seeing him. Careful not to be seen or heard, he strode to the end of the passage and stepped outside into the night’s chill. He gulped the winter air and vowed to erase his desire for the woman he was honour-bound to protect. The devil always tempted those who held God close in their hearts. He made his way towards the chapel.

  The chapel was a place of solemn coldness, dimly lit by a solitary candle. He hurried to the glimmering silver crucifix on the altar. Prostrating himself, he kissed the stone floor, begging forgiveness for his lewdness, and then raised his eyes to the symbol of a sacrificed Christ. Fear gripped him. In that moment the flickering shadows smothered the cross and took the form of a grinning horned Satan whose bloodshot eyes bored into him and whose snake tongue darted between sharpened teeth.

  And his heart, which had always been truthful, told him that he was lost and whatever the cost he must have the woman who tormented him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Lady Cateline stood by the brazier at the entrance to the stables as Henry Blackstone saddled Blackstone’s horse. It swung its head to snap its yellow teeth at Jocard, who stood too close, but Henry had secured the trailing rein to halt its desire to bite. The height of the horse’s back and loin made Henry stand on tiptoe. Jocard stepped further back.

  ‘Does your father abandon us now?’ he asked.

  ‘He has his duty,’ Henry told him. ‘We’ll ride on tomorrow for Avignon when the weather eases.’

  The rain had turned to hail during the night, sprinkling the valley below with a light dusting, but the wind had shifted slightly from the north and now added extra bite from the east.

  ‘My father has arranged additional escort from Lord Gisbert. No one will attempt to assault us now. He has sent word of our journey and we’ll have fresh horses along the way. The King’s sergeant-at-arms said he’ll set a hard pace.’ He glanced to where Cateline stood. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, perhaps you didn’t know?’

  ‘I knew. The sooner we are in Avignon the better. How soon?’

  ‘No more than a week, my lady. If we make good time, four days. Daylight is short and Master Ashford will be concerned to find safe places to rest.’

  ‘I’m certain your father has already advised him.’

  The bastard horse whinnied and shook its head, a front hoof pawing the ground.

  ‘It seems the beast is as eager to leave us as your father,’ said Jocard.

  Before Henry could answer Lady Cateline admonished her son. ‘You will not speak so harshly of Sir Thomas. You are an uncouth child. You owe your life to this boy and his father.’

  Jocard lowered his head in shame. ‘I apologize, Henry. Forgive me. I am unable to do my duty and protect my mother and sister. Such inability makes me say things I should not.’

  Henry steered clear of the horse’s hind legs. He placed a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. ‘Jocard, uncertainty causes fear. It is important to stop it before it spreads. Like putting a hot blade to a wound. Father taught me that knowledge dispels fear and if we know that he has arranged passage and fresh horses with extra men as escort then that should comfort us. We will reach Avignon safely.’

  He turned to Lady Cateline so he could assure her but she was no longer there. The look on Jocard’s face was enough to know her abrupt departure had added to his guilt. Henry slapped him on the back to cheer him. ‘Now, let’s saddle John Jacob’s horse. You can help. It’s not a belligerent beast like my father’s and you’ll leave the stable with all your fingers and no broken bones.’

  *

  Cateline Babeneaux walked across the open ground between the town’s walls. Blackstone’s men were still camped but after the first two days’ rest and hot food, she sensed they were keen to travel on. Now that several days had passed their resilience was becoming apparent – she knew why they were renowned for fightin
g through the winter months. She glanced over her shoulder. Von Plauen stood in plain sight watching her. He usually followed a few paces behind but when she had ordered him not to shadow her so closely, he meekly did as he was bid. His obedience made her feel powerful, but his respect for her stirred a tenderness within her that had long been buried: a tenderness that would ensure she would not hurt the German knight’s pride. She could not know that he was as much a servant to his desire for her as she was to her need for protection. And there was no doubt the accomplished fighter would champion her if she or her children were threatened.

  She saw Blackstone with his captains beneath a canvas pavilion. They had returned Gisbert de Dome to preside over his stronghold and his authority had quickly been reaffirmed. Gisbert was tireless, overseeing the needs of Thomas Blackstone and his men as his steward arranged supplies and armaments for the escort. She admitted to herself that Gisbert had charm and that if the circumstances had been less fraught, she would have considered him suitable material as protector and lover. But the town of Dome was too close to the Count d’Armagnac’s domain, lying as it did south of the River Dordogne. And d’Armagnac served the French monarch, which meant he would have an eye to her own domains in Brittany, which would be useful in the Breton war. Men like d’Armagnac and de Dome would usurp her right and authority. What influence she had lay in her land and all men were hungry for title and estates: what she would not do was to let another man control her life as Mael Babeneaux had done. She would decide whom to take to her bed and, when the opportunity presented itself, choose the man who could best look after her family. The cold-hearted decision added to her strength. There was no emotion involved, only the stark reality of a woman alone. Self-preservation and that of her family drove her. The wind stung her face but her tears were not from grief. The thought of Lord Mael Babeneaux de Pontivy’s slain body left her as cold as the chill that seeped through her cloak. In a few more days a more befitting refuge at Avignon would be welcome. Her son would be safe, his education secure, and she would have men of importance and wealth around her who would help her achieve a future for her son and daughter. Once Sir William Felton confirmed her right to rule her domain, then her influence would increase. She walked across Blackstone’s field of vision but he barely glanced at her. She moved away, found a tree stump and sat with her back to the wind. It was time to wait and be patient. Her way ahead was as certain as the river that curved through the valley below.

  *

  Blackstone pointed at the map Gisbert de Dome had laid out. His captains studied the route he wanted them to take. ‘John Jacob, Sir Gilbert and I will ride east and meet up with Beyard. He has raised men here, here and here,’ said Blackstone, pointing out the three places of muster for the troops needed to commit to the Count de Foix, the Pyrenean prince they were to persuade to offer his support to the Prince of Wales.

  ‘And if Beyard hasn’t raised enough men?’ said Renfred.

  ‘He’s a Gascon; this is his land. His sworn lord de Grailly provokes great respect. He’ll convince men to reinforce us but Renfred is right, we cannot leave much to chance. Will, you ride with us and test the archers Beyard has recruited. Jack, you’ll command our own until we meet up with him.’

  ‘How much do we tell the Italian and his escort?’ said Meulon.

  ‘And Gisbert,’ added Jack Halfpenny.

  ‘Nothing. Father Torellini is my confidant but we disclose nothing. If anything goes wrong, if someone attacks their column, then we need them to be ignorant. Our Prince needs the Count of Foix and it is our task to draw him to us.’

  ‘Sir Thomas,’ said Renfred, ‘the Germans are still talking about finding Gruffydd ap Madoc.’

  Blackstone rolled the map. ‘They will look for him until either he or they are dead but for now they are chained to us by their honour. I’ll find ap Madoc. I need his men to fight with us. And if he stands at our side then we will stand against von Plauen and the brethren.’

  No more was said. Blackstone and John Jacob bade farewell to the captains.

  ‘Don’t insult any Welsh archers you find,’ said Meulon to Will Longdon as they left the tent. ‘You’ll test their patience and your arse will be a target.’

  ‘Unlike your lumbering hulk I can move quickly,’ he answered. ‘The moment you ride above a hilltop skyline you’re a gift to any bowman worth his salt. Bend low in the saddle, Meulon, in case they mistake you for an ogre.’ He walked off with Jack Halfpenny.

  ‘Better a man of stature than a dwarf past his best years.’ Meulon called out his final insult with a grin.

  *

  Henry waited with the tethered bastard horse as Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny walked across to him. The horse suddenly lashed out with its hind leg.

  ‘Merciful Christ, Henry, the damned beast is possessed,’ said Will Longdon, who’d narrowly escaped the belligerent strike. ‘I thought you had him tied. He must have eyes in his arse.’

  Henry smiled. ‘He’s not a creature of this world. He sees and hears things that we cannot.’

  ‘The devil spawned him. We all know that.’ Will Longdon embraced the boy. ‘You and the others go your own way tomorrow, so it’s unlikely we will have time to see you again. Came to say goodbye and wish you well. Me and the lads. One and all.’

  ‘Our thoughts and prayers ride with you. We’ll miss you,’ said Halfpenny.

  ‘And I you, Will, Jack. And the others.’

  ‘Aye, well, I dare say your father knows what he’s doing. You’re a lad destined for greater things. Education is better than a bag of gold florins,’ said Longdon.

  ‘I wanted to stay and fight.’

  ‘Course you did. We all know that. What you did back at that castle took courage but it will take even more courage to be surrounded by scholars and crow-backed priests and peacock cardinals.’

  ‘I like learning, Will, and I know I have to prove myself.’

  Will Longdon saw the boy’s uncertainty. ‘Henry, for someone who has brains you’re being very stupid. You have no need to prove yourself to your father or us. Think back on everything you have done. John Jacob, me, the others: we all know what you can do. Not one man here, not even that numbskull Meulon, needs any proof of anything. You’re one of us. Don’t you see that?’

  ‘Then why does he send me away?’

  ‘Because he gifts you the chance to live a while longer and be more use than a scab-arsed fighter standing in a pool of his own piss as the battle rages. You learn, you come back, you bring words and knowledge that can be more deadly than my trusted bow.’ He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘That is why he sends you away. He needs you to come back so we can all benefit. When a man can persuade a town to surrender and an army to follow him because he has the right words then we don’t spill our blood.’

  Henry face flushed from the veteran archer’s praise. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Merciful Christ, here comes Meulon to tell you how to scratch your arse. God be with you, Master Henry.’

  ‘And you.’

  The archers walked back towards their men. Meulon, Renfred and John Jacob were all making their way over to Henry to wish him well. Will knew that would cheer the boy, but he also knew Blackstone was risking much in sending the lad into Avignon. He lifted his own medallion of the Silver Wheel Goddess to his lips. Keep the lad safe, he asked silently.

  ‘He doesn’t need any advice from you,’ he said as Meulon passed him. ‘I’ve set the lad straight.’

  Meulon never broke stride. ‘Then he’s more fucked than I thought.’

  *

  Blackstone glanced towards Cateline and ignored her, instead walking to where Torellini stood waiting by the stables with Henry.

  ‘Father?’ said Blackstone. ‘You’ll travel on with Ashford. I have some ground to cover if I’m to do what you have asked.’

  Torellini glanced at Henry.

  ‘Henry, you and John Jacob take the horses to Sir Gilbert,’ said Blackstone.

  ‘Yes, Fa
ther.’

  The moment Henry obeyed his order Torellini took Blackstone’s arm and guided him away from the buildings. ‘Time is getting short, Thomas. The business at Sarlat has slowed us down. Are your men sufficiently rested?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. I thank God for their resilience and Gisbert de Dome’s help. If Armagnac has started moving his army, then they could defeat Gaston Phoebus quickly. That would create a threat for the Prince.’

  ‘It’s a damned pity he’s not here if it’s that important, instead of settling his arse on silk cushions in London.’

  ‘Plymouth.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He settles his arse on silk cushions at his castle in Restormel in Plymouth.’

  Blackstone’s irritation melted. He grinned. He had never heard the Italian utter any kind of crude remark. ‘I’m riding to my Gascon captain, Beyard. He has been recruiting men, and he had scouts following Armagnac’s progress. Gaston Phoebus might be young but he’s an arrogant nobleman of the old order. He may ignore my offer of help.’

  Father Torellini gazed across the broad valley to the cliffs and mountains beyond. The clouds scuttled across the high ground; low clouds would soon smother the heights of Dome. Even the threatening weather seemed to insist Blackstone ride on. ‘Thomas, there is nothing more I can say. Find the men you need and convince the Count of Foix he needs your help.’

  ‘And then defeat Armagnac’s army.

  Torellini smiled and shrugged. ‘That too.’

  ‘Do what you can for my son in Avignon,’ said Blackstone and strode to where Killbere and the others waited.

  Lady Cateline walked across his path. Blackstone could not avoid her. ‘You leave us to fight for your Prince?’

  ‘He is not yet here.’

  She studied him a moment. ‘When does he accept the fealty of those who fought for him and the land your men gave their lives for?’