Daughter of War

by S. J. A. Turney

  Arnau nodded. He could hardly fault her. ‘Do nothing precipitous, though, my lady,’ he cautioned her. ‘There will be much to be put in order and, despite your careful accounting, the Lord d’Entenza will want a full inventory made of the estate for his own satisfaction. Added to that the need for an appropriate period of mourning and the time it will take for a betrothal and the organisation of a wedding, and you have some weeks’ grace. Perhaps during that time we can find a way to circumvent this, to prevent it happening somehow without simply disobeying the king’s cousin.’

  Titborga paused for a time, eyes narrowing, deep in thought, and finally she nodded. ‘You speak sense, Señor de Vallbona. We shall seek the wisdom of Church and state. Find me men versed in law. Priest or esquire, they will be found in Barcelona. We will scour the minds of the best men in the kingdom.’

  ‘I will serve as best I may, Doña,’ Arnau said quietly. ‘But mind that your father has just this day been laid to rest. A period of mourning is appropriate, and during that time you should withdraw from civil life. It will not help your case in any way to be seen as disrespectful to your father’s memory.’

  The lady of Santa Coloma nodded. ‘Then find the men we need and bring them here. We will consult them in privacy.’

  Arnau bowed. Personally, he could see no solution. Standing against d’Entenza was tantamount to standing against the king himself, and no power in Iberia would do that easily. In counselling caution, he had bought time, but what they could achieve with such time, he could not guess.

  Would that court life was as straightforward as battle.

  Chapter Three

  Finding learned men with a good working knowledge of law and a sharp mind did not prove difficult. In fact, Barcelona seemed to be overflowing with such men, mainly priests, a few mendicants and even some lay practitioners. Finding a man who would consider aiding a young unmarried woman build a case against the greatest landowner in the region and cousin to the king proved to be a different matter entirely.

  After three days of living in a pestilent inn on the city’s outskirts, Arnau had found almost a round dozen men who claimed they could argue the case right up to the king’s court, but who suddenly seemed either to doubt their abilities or to be far too busy to try the moment the name d’Entenza came into the conversation. Arnau had even tried to hoodwink one or two into coming with him without revealing too much detail, but those learned men pressed him until he revealed that which he had kept purposefully hidden, and the men soon lost interest in pursuing the case.

  What’s more, once or twice as he’d scurried around the streets of Barcelona, Arnau had felt eyes upon him, and had become certain that someone dogged his steps. He had seen the same cloaked figure – he was sure it was the same one, for no one sensible wore such a heavy mantle beneath the Catalan sun of a hot summer afternoon – several times. And by the morning of the third day the remaining lawyers he could find would no longer open their doors to him. Word, it seemed, had got round.

  Thus it was that late in the afternoon three days after the Lord de Santa Coloma had been interred, Arnau de Vallbona rode into the castle, dejected and sour. Time was running out for the young Doña of Santa Coloma, and Arnau’s only true hope of a solution had lain with seeking out the opinions of the sharp-minded practitioners of law. With the failure of that course, he had been racking his brain for another direction to take, but had come up with nothing useable.

  Legal recourse was going nowhere. Simple refusal of the betrothal would do no good, as had been made abundantly clear. Flight was idiotic. One potential solution had popped into Arnau’s head and had sat there for some time, tempting him, before he’d dismissed it with a sigh. He could challenge della Cadeneta over his part in the death of Berenguer. A duel, sanctioned in law and public. But there were too many variables in such a plan. Firstly, though Arnau was no novice with a blade, della Cadeneta was a noted swordsman. Any duel was at least as likely to go his way as Arnau’s, and that would only leave Titborga in yet deeper trouble. And even if he won, it would only buy a little time and further uncertainty. He felt sure that Lord d’Entenza would take such a course of action rather personally, and a new suitor would quickly appear on the horizon, chosen by the lord. No, satisfactory though it might be to try and put a blade through della Cadeneta’s heart, it would not necessarily solve anything.

  And so, his mind full of unacceptable plans and failed notions, Arnau dismounted in the courtyard and heaved his pack from the horse before leading her to the stables. The lad took the reins and went off with the beast and Arnau dropped his gear in his room before stomping across to the nobles’ quarters with a heavy heart. He climbed the stairs and entered the corridor, forming in his head the approach he would take to delivering the bad news.

  He stopped at the top of the stairs.

  Ferrer della Cadeneta was at the far end of the corridor, rifling in the pouch at his belt, outside the door of Titborga’s chamber. In the shadowy corridor, the cur looked truly furtive. He had not noticed the young man climb the stairs yet and, on instinct, Arnau slipped behind the door jamb at the stair top, peering around the edge with narrowed eyes.

  Finally finding whatever it was he was looking for – it gleamed with a golden sheen in the torchlight – della Cadeneta replaced his pouch and straightened. He knocked at the door. Arnau held his breath, his fingers making their way down to the pommel of his sword where they danced, tensely. The door opened after a few moments and Arnau recognised the shape of the maid, Maria, in the opening.

  ‘My lady is indisposed,’ Maria said in tones loaded with careful respect.

  Without so much as a by your leave, della Cadeneta simply grasped Maria by the shoulders and hauled her out into the corridor. The oily lord made to enter and simultaneously Arnau slipped out of the shadows, hand dropping from pommel to leather-bound hilt, ready to draw the sword, though there would be little room to wield it effectively in the narrow confines of the corridor.

  He halted when he saw Titborga suddenly appear in the doorway in a simple white gown that clung to her in a most improper yet fascinating manner. Arnau could almost feel the lust emanating from the lord at the far end of the corridor, but there was so much assuredness in the lady’s face he felt less fear for her than he’d expected.

  ‘I am aghast at your interruption, good sir knight,’ Titborga said in a withering, superior tone. ‘Are you not mindful that I am a grieving daughter and that you are in the home of the great father I so recently lost? This is most unseemly.’

  Arnau almost smiled at her manner. Most men would have shrunk before the force of her words, but della Cadeneta simply rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat.

  ‘Come now, Titborga. We are to be entwined as man and wife in the coming days. Is it not my duty as a loving betrothed to comfort you in your time of grief? And I can be most… comforting. I can comfort all night if I must.’

  The man had his back to Arnau, but the younger knight could picture the leering grin on della Cadeneta’s face. Arnau’s knuckles paled as his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He still had a knife on his other hip. Such a blade would be much more use in this place, though a knife in the back was the way of an assassin, not a Christian and a man of honour.

  ‘If you defile my flesh with even a trace of your sickly finger,’ Titborga replied in icy tones, ‘then you will have dishonoured me and you will be granting me arrows for my legal bow. I shall save any impropriety from you and deliver it in my case for an annulment. It is in your best interest to leave me alone, della Cadeneta, lest in your impatience you lose me forever.’

  But the lord was not so easily dissuaded. His arm reached out and, even as the lady recoiled, his index finger touched her chin, tracing a line along it towards her ear and then suddenly back across her throat in a meaningful way. Arnau heard himself utter a low growl. Titborga had stepped back, and della Cadeneta’s other hand came up, opening as it did so. A gold locket in the shape of a heart dropped a
nd then bounced upon the end of a delicate chain hanging from his fingers.

  ‘A token of my undying affection,’ the man said.

  ‘A gilded offering,’ Titborga countered, ‘in a sordid attempt to buy my honour. Take your bauble and drop it in the privy.’

  Della Cadeneta let out a sharp, unpleasant laugh. ‘Oh, Lady of Santa Coloma, you ever display such spirit. I look forward to breaking you.’

  Arnau felt his arm hairs bristling as the man turned to Maria, who was trapped in the corridor on the other side of the lord. The man’s hands shot out and grasped the maid’s breasts as he leered. ‘Then I shall have a taste of what is to come,’ he laughed, grabbing Maria by the shoulders and steering her towards the privy at the end of the corridor. Arnau felt the hatred within him peak, and Titborga stepped out of the doorway. Della Cadeneta paused for a moment, turning to the lady. ‘Choose, Titborga Cervelló. Tonight I ride a Santa Coloma horse. It can still be the wild filly.’

  Arnau started to pace forward angrily, but with a laugh, della Cadeneta disappeared into the privy with the maid. Titborga stood in the doorway, ashen faced.

  ‘Go inside,’ he told the lady as he stomped along the corridor, pointing back behind her with his left hand as he drew his blade with his right.

  ‘You cannot,’ she said, eying the sword.

  ‘I cannot wait for God to visit him with a just reward. I shall do it for him.’

  Titborga stepped out into Arnau’s path. ‘If you attack him, my Lord d’Entenza will see your head roll for such a thing.’

  Arnau’s fingers flexed on the sword hilt, but he knew the truth when he heard it. No matter his motivation, no good would come of such an act. If he were to kill della Cadeneta it would have to be in the open with no doubt as to the reason and motivation. In fair combat. And that brought him right back to the problem with the uncertainty of such a course.

  ‘I will keep watch on your door, milady.’

  ‘Do not do anything rash, Vallbona.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  She locked him with a long, steady, piercing gaze and then, satisfied, nodded and retreated to her chamber, clicking shut the door behind her. Arnau spent an uncomfortable few minutes then, standing outside her door, beset by the dual tortures of his lady weeping in her rooms, and the grunting and whimpering from the privy. Finally, the small wooden door at the end of the corridor was thrust open and della Cadeneta emerged, smoothing down his under tunic and pulling his bliaut back down into place. The waft of a hundred years of piss and shit billowed around him, and yet he remained the most unsavoury thing in the corridor to Arnau.

  The lord paused as he stepped out into the passage, looking Arnau up and down. The younger knight suddenly realised he had not sheathed his sword, and the gleaming blade remained gripped tight in his right hand.

  ‘If you intend to use that, Vallbona, you had better be sure of yourself. I have killed more men than the ague.’

  For just a moment, Arnau wondered if he could somehow provoke della Cadeneta into launching an attack. Perhaps, if he were simply defending himself…? He swept aside the idea. Foolish. And della Cadeneta was unarmed. He would look the thug, while the oily lord would be the wronged man. No. Arnau sheathed his sword.

  ‘I simply stand ready to preserve my lady’s honour.’

  ‘And take it at the first opportunity, I’d wager,’ sniffed the lord. ‘Do not ride that pony, young knight. I wish to break her myself and I would like her untouched.’

  Arnau felt himself trembling with anger and clamped his hands on his sword belt in an attempt to resist the urge to gut the man there and then. Della Cadeneta simply laughed a horrible laugh. ‘Oh, the certainty of youth,’ he snorted as he stepped past Arnau through the narrow gap beside the corridor’s wall. Maria emerged from the privy, flushed and not looking as distressed as Arnau might have expected. He was about to tell her to return to her mistress when there was a flurry of fabric and a whisper of air and a knife blade was suddenly at his throat.

  Arnau flinched and even that tiny movement drew a bead of crimson. He held himself perfectly still as della Cadeneta moved around in front of him, the knife remaining perfectly still despite the movement, as though on gimbals. The lord grinned, hot breath carrying the stink of strong ale washing over Arnau, who almost recoiled before remembering the presence of the knife. One twitch of those fingers and the younger man would be breathing through his neck for the rest of his very short life. The knife was as sharp a blade as Arnau had ever encountered.

  The man was so steady, so fast. Like a cobra in striking.

  ‘Your place is standing by a door looking bored or throwing yourself into the press against the Moor, Vallbona. Do not think to try the patience of your betters. The next time you hold a naked blade in my presence I will slit your throat before you realise I’m even there.’

  The knife was gone a moment later and della Cadeneta was sauntering off down the corridor towards the stairs, whistling a jaunty tune.

  Maria stood before him, eyes bulging in shock. Arnau reached up and wiped away the drops of blood from his throat with a forefinger. ‘Inside,’ he said, gesturing to the door. The maid knocked politely and, at an acknowledgement from her mistress, disappeared inside, leaving the open door behind her. Arnau entered.

  ‘Saints above,’ Titborga whispered and, realising she was looking at his neck, Arnau reached up and wiped away a few fresh beads of blood.

  ‘’Tis nothing,’ he said dismissively, though in truth he was still reeling from the speed of the man with his hidden knife. ‘The low trick of a villain.’

  ‘Your arrival was timely,’ she said. ‘I thank you.’

  Arnau shook his head. ‘You had the situation firmly in hand, my lady. I saw the ease with which you disarmed him. He went after easier pickings,’ he said, earning a black look from Maria.

  ‘Still, the presence of the only man of arms in whom I can trust relieves me of a great burden,’ Titborga sighed. ‘Though from the bleakness of your expression, I assume you met with little success in the city?’

  Arnau slumped a little in the shoulders. ‘I regret that it is so, my lady. It has become clear to me through my investigations that your case is a strong one. Many a good man said he could successfully mount such a case.’ He noted the hope building in Titborga’s eyes and regretted that he must dash it. ‘Sadly, it appears that there is no lawyer, be he priest or layman, who is willing to prosecute even the surest case against the might of the d’Entenza family. And though your true enemy is della Cadeneta, you will I am sure appreciate that it is d’Entenza who we would face in the event.’

  Titborga nodded. ‘Then we must find a new plan of attack. You are a military man, Vallbona. Think of this betrothal as an ambush of which you have been warned. Apply your tactics and your strategies. Find a way around it. A way to outflank our ambushers.’

  ‘If only it were so easy, Doña. More than once these past few days have I wished that life was as simple as the battlefield. That I had the direction and simplicity of a warrior at all times. How straightforward it is to be a warrior, or how pleasant to be a priest, charged with only a simple task.’ His mind furnished him once more with a picture of that grand, proud man bearing the red cross as he hewed and sang, sang and hewed. Some men were both, of course.

  Titborga strode over to the window and threw back the shutters. There, glowering purple in the afternoon gloom, the peaks of the hills behind the Santa Coloma lands watched over them. ‘Somewhere out there, de Vallbona, is the answer.’

  Arnau paced across the room to the window, uncomfortable standing beside the virginal young noblewoman in only a simple nightgown. His own gaze played across those peaks, then down to the tower where his own room lay, and finally to the courtyard. His breath caught in his throat. There, in the open, a cloaked figure crossed the courtyard and entered the great hall. Of course, evening was pulling in now and, while it was still warm, men going on duty for the night might well don a cloak against t
he chill later. But the coincidence was too great, and something about the figure told Arnau it was the same man he’d seen in Barcelona.

  ‘It seems to me that we are carefully observed, my lady. Our every move is noted. My actions in Barcelona are even now being reported to the high lords in residence.’

  Titborga frowned. ‘How do you conclude this?’

  ‘I was followed in the city, Doña. I could not prove it and did not see the man’s face, but he just crossed the courtyard below us. I would stake my life upon it.’

  ‘Then we are undone,’ the lady sighed.

  ‘The game is not over yet, my lady,’ Arnau said suddenly. ‘I have lost many a game of chess against you in my time. Sometimes with only a queen and a tower, a mate can still be achieved.’

  ‘Can one be avoided?’ Titborga asked archly.

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ Arnau replied, watching with nervous interest as the great hall doors opened once more and one of the castle’s numerous servants appeared at a hurry. Moments later he reappeared from the periphery of the courtyard with della Cadeneta in tow.

  ‘I think you should dress swiftly, my lady. Important dealings are afoot.’

  Titborga regarded him for a moment, and then nodded. Arnau crossed to the door and exited the room, standing impatiently in the corridor for some time. Finally, the lady emerged dressed in a rich gown of claret hue with long, draping sleeves. Her belt was gold and intricately knotted. She had forgone a wimple and wore her hair long and braided with a simple unadorned gold circlet.