Knight Quests

by C. C. Wiley

  She began to pull away from his arms. The thought of more deaths upon her soul made her ache to her bones. “They know who helped your king’s cause.”

  “Our king,” he corrected. “Henry has claimed Normandy. He must have promise of fealty. Those who do not bend the knee must leave the safety of the town.”

  He tried to draw her back, but she refused. This was too much to understand. She had betrayed the people.

  “The women and children. They are caught in the battle of men. They should not have to pay anything more.” Her muscles wavered in holding her up. She grasped the bedpost to steady her legs. A swarm of bees began to buzz inside her head.

  “You’re right.” Drem picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Then he slowly lay her down on the soft bed. He smoothed her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “But there is little I can do until the soldiers leave on their march.”

  She looked up at his downturned face. “You’re not marching alongside your king?”

  “Soon. Harfleur is our garrison. Some of us are staying behind to rebuild. Darrick requires my help until he has healed enough to lead the men.”

  Brigitte’s spirits lifted at the news.

  “’Tis good to see your smile,” Drem said. “Mayhap my delayed departure pleases you?”

  “Oui.” Her smile deepened. There was still a way for her to make amends. And find her way to Calais. But there were several who could still stand in her way.

  “Master Alexandre . . . Is he in your custody?”

  Drem’s eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. “He slipped away. Left Raoul de Gaucourt to deal with the king’s men.”

  Chapter 18

  Drem paced the room he had been called to in the middle of the night. The few men who joined him sat at the table. Ale filled their cups to the brim.

  Now that the ships could bring provisions into the harbor, everyone’s living conditions had improved. But many of their men had died from sickness and exposure. Those who were too ill to make the march to Calais were being readied to board a ship to return to England.

  Darrick’s gray pallor had improved over the last days. Nathan was ever the hale and hearty knight. Drem thought the man was too stubborn to fall ill. And too fierce to let anyone injure him on the battlefield.

  “Darrick, you can’t mean to send the boy with the rest of the invalids.”

  “I do and I will.” His fist landed on the table as he let the swan coin roll over his fingers, weaving in and out.

  “He’s a thief. Not as clever as some, but nonetheless a thief. One of Master Alexandre’s fledglings.”

  “I’m sending Piers to your sister’s holdings. Sir James needs to speak with him. You know his skill with drawing out what anyone has seen.”

  “Brigitte will fight this.”

  “We know.” Nathan leaned forward on his arms and grinned. “’Tis for you to tell her.”

  “You knew of this?” Drem’s stomach clenched. He had yet to retrieve his purse from the little pickpocket.

  “’Tis not safe for the lad,” Darrick said. “He doesn’t belong here.”

  “Since when does Henry care whether a lad is under his command?” Drem bit back the bitterness he had thought long buried.

  “We believe Master Alexandre has a considerable interest in Piers for a reason.”

  “Ransom?”

  Darrick tipped his head forward. “The boy gave me this.” The swan coin stilled. It rolled out of his hand and spun on the table before stopping.

  Drem’s stomach clenched again. He gnawed the inside of his cheek. ’Twas like the one he had found in the chapel, before it, too, had disappeared. Like the one the noble had given him after the skirmish. Was this one of the brotherhood’s tricks to test his loyalty? He uncurled his fingers from the fist that had formed of its own volition.

  Nathan sat back, his arms folded over his chest. “’Tis a call for our help. Is it not?”

  “Did the boy tell you where he got it?” Drem asked.

  “Said his father gave it to him before leaving for battle.”

  “You believe him?”

  “I do.” Nathan traced the moisture on the outside of his cup.

  “Has de Gaucourt revealed what he knows?”

  “Though in custody, he is now under the king’s protection until a ransom is paid.” Darrick shook his head. “He has sealed his lips and refuses to cooperate. Even now, we wait for him to deliver a message to King Charles.”

  “You’re putting Piers on the same ship with the sick and dying?” Drem dreaded Brigitte’s reaction when he delivered this next turd pile of information.

  Darrick lifted his gray eyes to search Drem’s face and then Nathan’s. “As I said, Piers doesn’t belong here. Have you not noticed how well his manners are for a street urchin? His respect for others’ property? And he has an eye and ear for detail.”

  Drem could not help himself and snorted. “He is still a thief.”

  “And what have you done to rectify it?”

  “What?” Drem smelled another trap. Had he waited too long to tell him about the chapel? Did it have something to do with the boy? Or with Brigitte?

  Darrick leaned back to dig under his belt. His stare glittered like that of a wolf hiding in the bushes, waiting to pounce on his prey. He pulled out a leather purse and dropped it next to the swan coin. “Well, my brother, I suggest you start at the beginning of what you know.”

  * * *

  Alexandre slipped out of the tunnel leading to the harbor gate. Now that the English were in control of the town they forgot to keep their eyes open. He wrapped his cloak around his chest and lifted it to cover his face as he walked past the reeking flesh of the dead and dying. Would that the bitch Brigitte was among the bodies. The woman Claudette had told him what he needed to know. Before she fell off the parapet. He shrugged. Just one more body on the piles of the dead.

  Plans began to unfold, filling his mind like little birds made of parchment. Brigitte had cost him dearly. His Nest was gone. But soon he would have another.

  He passed the Welsh ditchdiggers. Now that the task of burrowing under the walls was over, they had been set to digging more pits to bury the casualties of war. The siege had cost more than Alexandre expected. But it was a chance he had had to take. That stupid Raoul. Le Défenseur. “Bah.” Alexandre spat on the ground, nearly striking one of the men wielding an ax. He cursed his inattention and picked up his pace before the man could set upon him. ’Twas Brigitte’s fault he was preoccupied.

  He found a stand of boulders on which to perch and watched the king’s fleet filling the harbor. Their white sails bobbed in the water like a flock of gulls. Though he had been pushed from the Nest, he’d made sure some of his fledglings remained. Their latest news had put him into a rage he had never known before.

  He had thought de Gaucourt would carry the blame for the lengthy siege. Instead, once he had surrendered the keys of the city to the king, they treated him like royalty. Feeding him comfits while he, Master Alexandre, had to settle for scraps.

  A troop of riders came through the gate. Dust swirled in the air.

  Alexandre sat up. English soldiers surrounded Raoul as that English prick, Sir Nathan, barked orders to his men. The large, redheaded knight’s destrier pranced toward de Gaucourt. The toes of Le Défenseur’s boots scraped the ground as he straddled the wide-bellied beast. His cheeks heated at Sir Nathan’s jest.

  Alexandre concentrated, wishing he could hear what was being said. The news from his fledglings was correct. The king was allowing him to leave. Only the other day, he had stood in ridicule, a rope around his neck. But where would he go? Not to Burgundy. They had lost their pretty little packages. The duke would be furious.

  “Better still,” Alexandre muttered, “what have you told your new friends?”

  The cane in his hands creaked from the pressure he put on the polished wood. Strangling his enemies had never been an option until now.

  He shook his head to clear his vi
sion. These spells were becoming thicker, more frequent, and harder to shake off.

  A bird, cawing overhead, brought him back to the latest challenges to his plans for financial gain and power. The boy, their treasure, was set to board a ship and sail away. And it was that bitch who had surely made it happen. “Bee,” he ground out.

  He threw his beloved cane at the bird. Cursing the woman and all that stood in his way. “I will make you pay, my sweet.”

  * * *

  Brigitte gripped the window ledge until her nails bent. “How could you?”

  Drem drew her shoulders toward his chest. “’Tis for his safety.”

  “But you should have told me. Given me a chance to say good-bye.”

  “He’ll make his home with my sister, Terrwyn, and her husband, James. You’ll see him again.” He paused. “When we return to England.”

  Brigitte took in a deep breath. Did she want to live in England with this man? No; her path was meant for Calais. She felt it deep in her soul. But the thought of not having him in her life, not seeing his smile light up a room . . . it made her ache at the loss. How could she be in two places at once?

  At the rise of dawn, one of the king’s ships, loaded with the vast number of infirm and dying, left the harbor. It unfurled its canvas wings. The wind caught hold of the sails and carried them to England. Brigitte covered her mouth. So far away.

  “You do want to return with me. Don’t you, my caru?”

  “Oui.” Harfleur’s pennants no longer flew over the gates. Instead, the standards of St. George and the English king fluttered across the blue sky. The day had changed. And so had her life. Just as it had the day Maman died. Brigitte tilted her head and smiled up at Drem. “I would like some air. Would you walk with me?”

  “Are you certain you are strong enough?”

  “The cough is nearly gone.” She lay her palm on his sleeve. “Please. I know you say Claudette took care of me, but I have not seen her since that night.”

  Drem frowned. A puzzled look drew his brows together. “She has not been to see you this week? Forgive me, I didn’t know. I’ve been busy with the soldiers. The rebuilding. The prisoners.”

  Brigitte stroked his arm, soothing the tense muscles. “This I know.”

  “I would have had her stay in the Defender’s house, but she insisted she had a comfortable room on the square.” He smiled, but the gleam never reached his eyes. “Come. We’ll look for her.” He strapped on his sword and crooked his arm for her to hold. “You’ll be pleased with the measures taken with the rebuilding.”

  “Merci,” she whispered. Concern for her friend began to deepen, trickling down her spine.

  Brigitte stepped over the mansion’s threshold and into the square. The sun glittered, harsh against the cobblestones.

  Townspeople watched as they passed. Each glaring face seemed to cut her skin. She drew her shoulders back and yearned for the days when she could move about like a wisp of smoke. “They despise me.”

  Drem lifted her hand, grazing her knuckles with his lips. His fingers tightened, drawing her attention. Flecks of scattered gold glittered in his stern countenance. “They should hold you in high regard. As a hero for saving them from more destruction.”

  “No.” Her hand trembled as he led her to Claudette’s. How much did they know? How could they have suspected she and Claudette of playing a role in placing the English in control?

  Drem unsheathed his sword and pushed open an unlocked door. “Stay behind me.”

  Brigitte no longer heard him. She shoved past his braced arm and felt the room begin to spin. Claudette loved a clean home and had always polished the wood and windows until they shone. But the furniture had been tossed aside. Plates were tumbled to the floor. Bloody handprints stained the whitewashed wall.

  Drem walked carefully around the room, then entered what had been her laundry. “She’s not here.”

  “Then she might still be alive,” Brigitte said, though with little hope. She pointed to dark, circular marks tapped out on the floor. “’Tis Master Alexandre’s cane.” A black wave of anger and sadness roared into her ears. She spun on her heels.

  “You think the fledglings have returned?”

  She slid a glance at him, fearing he would read her mind. “They come from the Nest. If they are here, I will find them.”

  “We will find them,” he corrected. “And we will speak with them.”

  They made their way, climbing over toppled walls and crumbled buildings. “So much to do.” She paused to shove damp tendrils from her forehead. “Where will the burgesses set up their wares? How is anyone to survive this?”

  Drem leaped over a short wall and waited for Brigitte to gather her skirts. His brows rose at the sight of her calves. “Beauty and strength. What more can a man ask of God?”

  His large hands encircled her waist as he lifted her over. Blushing at his approval, she cast her gaze over the garden. She wrinkled her nose. “Everything is no longer familiar.”

  In a fortnight, she had become a stranger in her own home.

  “Aye. Henry is distraught over the damage required to gain Harfleur’s surrender. But it is our garrison now. And we will rebuild.” He pointed to the harbor. “Many of the burgesses did not wish to stay, so our good king has ordered two of his vessels to bring provisions. Merchants, fishermen, tradesmen, all are coming with their wares.”

  Brigitte turned at the sound of pebbles scattered over the alley. “Come.” She motioned for him to follow as she led the way into the cellar. “The fledglings.” She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the ceiling. “They’ll speak with me.”

  “Sieges. Battles. They change people.” He shook his head. “’Tis not the same world you once knew.”

  A trapdoor creaked shut, and the patter of feet ran across the floor overhead. Brigitte grabbed Drem’s arm as he started to push past her. “You’ll frighten them. Stay here until I call for you.”

  Although she received an annoyed grunt in response, she knew he understood her reasoning. Stretching up on tiptoe, she grazed his mouth with hers. Their kiss lingered. His mouth silently urged her to reconsider, to allow him to lead the way. His fingers rubbed the base of her back, caressing the curve of her hip.

  He slid his hand over her jaw, his lips hovering over hers. “I bend to your will this once. I beg you, use caution.”

  “Oui.”

  A thrill of excitement raced down her spine. Shadows stretched over the wall, bobbing as they scurried past. She stepped out and caught a fledgling. The emaciated child wriggled under her hand, thrashing for release.

  “Tobes,” she said. A bony knee struck her stomach. “’Tis me. Bee. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  In an instant, the struggle ceased. It was as she had told Drem. They knew they could trust her. She relaxed her hold. “There now,” she crooned.

  A scampering of feet came from behind. They surrounded her, swarming, pulling and pawing at her hair, her dress. Dirty nails scratched her face, raked her arms. Stunned, Brigitte cried out. She slapped at their grasping fingers. The orphans she had cared for, taught to lift purses and empty pockets, so as to please Master Alexandre, were no longer fledglings. They were like the rats that ran through the alleys.

  “Varmints. Hold where you are.” One by one, Drem pulled them from her. His sword drawn, he held them off.

  Some scurried to the corners. One lad breathed in rushing gasps for air. He stood, facing them with enough rage to dim his wits.

  Brigitte’s arms shook as she pushed up from the floor. She untangled her skirt and walked to the children. Her skin stung from cuts, but ’twas the wary look in their eyes that sliced her heart. “Tobes. ’Tis I, Bee,” she said again.

  She limped beside Drem. They shared a silent understanding. They were the wall the children could not break.

  The boy spat in her direction, but she was ready for him this time and avoided his aim.

  “You betrayed us,” he snarled. “Master Alexandre t
old us.”

  The day was stretching long and tiresome. Brigitte sighed, silently begging Drem to keep his silence. “I did what I had to. To save you.” She waved at the others. “All of you. Food aplenty is arriving.” She licked her lips, praying she did not overstep with the next. “King Henry wishes you to help rebuild. He’ll pay you in kind by . . .” She glanced up at the sound of a sharp intake of breath. Drem kept his stern gaze focused on the children. She swallowed and charged on. “. . . by feeding you. Letting you stay in the Nest.”

  “You must first swear allegiance to your new king,” Drem added. “Or leave.”

  “And I need to know where Claudette is hiding.” She smiled, hoping to reassure the grumbling that had begun after Drem’s pronouncement.

  Tobes grunted, his hands on his hips. The others were silent. He had become the fledglings’ leader and they awaited his direction. “Gone.” He spat again and motioned with his hands. “Fly, fly away, little birdie. ’Tis what happens to traitors. Don’t it?” He turned and ushered the fledglings back into the Nest.

  Brigitte’s thoughts raced as she worked to keep him talking. “Wait. Please. Let me get my things.”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. The cold gleam of his eyes chilled the room and made Brigitte’s blood crackle with the icy threads of his hatred. “No need to come back here again. The bastard took everything with ’em when he ran. He’ll return soon enough. Said to tell you that you can count on it.”

  Brigitte bristled. “You’ve seen him?”

  “He moves about.” Tobes shrugged his thin shoulders. “Like the rest of us.” A leering eye scraped over her. “He doesn’t sleep in a big fluffy bed, all cozying up to the enemy.”

  Brigitte grabbed Drem’s sword hand. She clasped his wrist. “Come. We must go to the wall.”

  Thankful he had kept his weapon unsheathed, they marched across the square. Master Alexandre’s threats were as real now as when the day turned into night. He blamed her for his losing the power that slipped through his fingers. Even now, she felt the fledglings watching as they passed collapsed buildings and closed shops. She feared if not Alexandre, it would be the citizens of Harfleur who would see her hang. Leaving the town was her only chance of survival. She prayed Claudette had indeed left on her own two feet. Freely and willingly. And safely.