devilstone chronicles 01 - devils band

by richard anderton

  “What are you talking about trumpet player, I won’t run from a fight!” Thomas said.

  “But you must, the White Rose knows you have Leonardo’s notebook with the secrets of the war machines and he has great need of one of these devices. Build it, help him regain his throne and Richard will reward you above all other men,” Nagel whispered. This revelation left Thomas more than a little shocked. Ever since he’d taken the book from the dying Leonardo’s study, he’d been careful to tell no one he possessed the precious volume, let alone what it contained, and he couldn’t begin to fathom how the White Rose had learned of his secret. He could feel the book, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his shirt, but for the moment he thought it prudent to keep Nagel guessing.

  “Maybe I have it and maybe I don’t. You must forgive my reticence, Master Nagel, but by your own admission you’ve taken Wolsey’s gold in the past so, until I can be sure where your true loyalties lie, I shall keep what I know to myself,” he said and before the musician could protest, Thomas had joined the other men sharpening their weapons.

  The ship was soon filled with the sound of whetstones scraping against steel as every man aboard knew that his life depended on the sharpness of both his wits and his blade. Once their swords, boarding axes and halberds had been honed as keen as razors, the crew hid and waited whilst the shadows cast by the ship’s masts lengthened and faded into the night. The sky became lit by myriad stars but there was no moon and the darkness magnified the sounds of creaking spars, flapping canvas and rushing water that were the only noises disturbing the night time ocean.

  After an hour, those with the sharpest ears heard a faint change in the sound of the waves breaking along the ship’s side. The surf ’s cheerful chatter was being answered by a similar sound off The Steffen’s port beam and Thomas watched a ripple of hand signals spread along the lines of sailors crouched behind the ship’s gunwale. With his heart pounding, Thomas peered through a knothole in the planks and saw the balinger silhouetted against the starry sky. Inch by inch, the pirate boat drew alongside until the two vessels were sailing parallel with each other, less than a rope’s length apart.

  “Now!” yelled Captain Shobery and the stillness of the night was shattered by hellish thunderclaps. Like wyverns spitting death, fire leapt from the muzzles of The Steffen’s two port-side canon and in the brief moment that the pirate ship was illuminated, Thomas saw its deck was crammed with armed men. Suddenly there was a third explosion as the kogge’s masthead gun sprayed the balinger with another deadly rain of shot and the night became filled with screams and curses of broken men.

  “Board ‘em!” yelled Shobery and a dozen grappling irons flew through air to land on the pirate ship’s deck. Some The Steffen’s crew heaved on the grapnel ropes whilst the others loosed arrows or hauled lanterns to the masthead to spill an eerie yellow light over both vessels.

  Like scorpions in a death dance the two enemies became locked together whereupon the men on the kogge gave a great cheer and leapt aboard the pirate boat. Thomas landed on the balinger’s deck near its bow and he immediately dropped into a crouch as one of the pirates, blood streaming down his lacerated face, emerged from the shadows. The brute thrust a short boarding pike at where he thought his enemy’s head should be but the point passed harmlessly through empty air. In reply Thomas sprang forward, swung his sword and smashed the pike’s steel tip from its shaft. The pirate stared at the emasculated tip of his weapon and dropped the useless length of wood.

  “Quarter!” he screamed but Thomas was deaf to his pleas, again the sword flashed and the pirate’s head was separated from his neck. Elsewhere, Thomas’ companions were enjoying similar success. The hatred and rage they’d felt for their gaolers was now turned against the pirates and the men of the balinger were doomed. Bos smashed a great antique battle-axe into one man’s skull whilst Prometheus eviscerated another with a deft sweep of his sword. Quintana fenced awhile with a foe before running the man through and once they’d dealt with these opponents they despatched three more pirates with the same ruthless efficiency of a warrener killing rabbits.

  The Steffen’s crew had the advantage of complete surprise and the presence of four seasoned swordsmen in their ranks ensured the result of the battle was never in doubt. Within minutes, the balinger’s narrow deck had become slippery with blood and whilst the smell of spilt entrails served to embolden the attackers it spread fear among the attacked. The pirate chief, dressed in a scarlet cloak, tried to rally his men and make a last stand in his boat’s stern but when he saw only Thomas and his companions standing in front of him, he threw sword to the deck and raised his hands.

  The victors fell upon the only surviving pirate, trussed him like a chicken and dragged the brigand back on board The Steffen, whilst the rest of the kogge’s crew heaved the dead into the sea and searched for plunder. Apart from a few kegs of maggoty salt pork, the balinger’s hold was empty but despite the lack of loot the sailors were still well pleased with their night’s work. When sold the captured boat would earn each sailor a handsome prize, enough to keep a poor seaman in beer until his liver rotted clean away.

  “Are you insane Thomas? The conquest of England is more important than capturing this leaky tub,” Nagel cried when he saw the man he’d risked life and limb to save clambering over The Steffen’s side. The trumpet player was standing on the main deck and though he was holding a sword in his hand and sweating it was clear he’d taken no part in the fighting.

  “By the untouched tits of Saint Cecilia, you mewl like an old woman, would you have me do nothing and wait to be captured? Anyway, look what we’ve found, I’ll wager this poor fish hoped to find more than wool aboard this ship so let’s see what he knows,” said Thomas pointing at the pirate chief who’d been deposited at the feet of Captain Shobery.

  Having finished their search of the balinger, The Steffen’s crew crowded around the pirate chief shouting and jeering at the helpless prisoner. Several of their sailors showed what they thought of pirates by punching and kicking the man until his face was a pulp of blood and bruises.

  “Hang the miserable bastard,” the sailors cried and the captain was about to order the prisoner to be strung up, as the laws of the sea demanded, when Thomas intervened. He wanted to know why the pirates had chosen to attack a vessel under the protection of The Hanseatic League and offered to plead with the captain of The Steffen on the prisoner’s behalf if he told the truth. The pirate chief glanced around him nervously and spoke.

  “My name is William Callice and I was an honest Kent smuggler until a man with a warrant bearing Cardinal Wolsey’s own seal offered us twenty shillings apiece if we boarded a Hansa ship called The Steffen heading for the Rhine and killed the four fugitives from the King’s Justice on board.”

  “By all the herring in Frau Luther’s barrel, I didn’t think the cardinal would let us go so easily,” muttered Bos grimly.

  “So rather than risk The League’s wrath, Wolsey has used pirates as his assassins!” said Prometheus.

  “I thought a priest was meant to reform sinners not employ them,” added Quintana.

  “Have you done with him?” asked Captain Shobery and when Thomas nodded, he gave the order for Callice to be hanged.

  “You promised …” cried the pirate but his words were cut short by a noose thrown around his neck.

  “I lied,” said Thomas with a shrug. With the rope tight around his throat, Callice could only gurgle with rage as four burly seamen seized him and held him tight whilst the rope’s loose end was passed through a block attached to the mast. A moment later the sailors’ jeers and catcalls reached a crescendo as Callice was hauled off the deck and began to kick away what remained of his miserable life. The smuggler was strong, and he fought valiantly against the inevitable, but eventually his face turned blue, his eyes bulged from his head and his swollen tongue lolled from his mouth.

  “That’s it, he’s turned off, shall we cut him down?” a sailor asked the captain.

&nb
sp; “No. Leave him for the gulls, perhaps they can stomach a rat’s flesh, said Shobery. Nagel certainly couldn’t. In death the pirate chief had fouled himself and the dead man’s ordure started dripping onto the deck. The stench and the rolling of the ship in the swell sent the trumpet player running for the ship’s rail.

  The Steffen sailed beneath its gruesome banner all the way to the mouth of the Rhine and just as Shobery had supposed, the seagulls had no compunction about consuming a pirate’s flesh. As the kogge entered the great river’s estuary, a flock of flying vermin wheeled and screeched around the masthead as they fought to peck at Callice’s dangling corpse.

  The river now seemed to lose its way in the labyrinth of reed filled channels that formed the Rhine’s vast estuary but ships like Hansa kogges had been specifically designed for such waters. The Steffen slipped easily over the treacherous shoals and sandbanks and soon entered the broad channel of the River Waal. Beyond the Hansa town of Nijmegen, the Waal joined the other branches of the estuary to form the Lower Rhine.

  It was here the seagull’s razor sharp beaks severed the last tendons holding William Callice’s head to his body. Without warning, the dead pirate’s rotting remains fell to the deck and the putrefying corpse burst, spilling maggoty, stinking entrails over the spotless planks. The crew had to use shovels to dump the grisly remains over the side yet Thomas watched the pirate’s mangled corpse disappear beneath the river’s murky water and felt a great sense of relief. Now he could begin his revenge

  Thomas plan was simple: he would use The Munich Handbook to recover all he’d lost but he would not rely on the magical spells and enchantments contained in its pages. Instead he would use the designs Leonardo da Vinci had sketched in the grimoire’s margins and end papers to build the war machines that would restore Richard de la Pole to the throne of England.

  All that stood between him and the gratitude of the House of York was the code Leonardo had used to keep the method of each invention’s construction secret so, whilst the others idled away the journey, Thomas excused himself and set to work to unravel the conundrum. For hours he sat in the forecastle’s cramped cabin studying the sepia diagrams and symbols however nothing he tried revealed the answer to the cipher. After two days, Thomas decided he needed a break from his labours so he ventured on deck and saw that The Steffen was approaching the Rhine city of Coblenz.

  As he emerged into the spring sunshine Thomas found Bos, Prometheus and Quintana leaning on the ship’s rail. He wished them good day but instead of returning his greeting the others informed him that they’d decided to leave The Steffen as soon as the ship stopped to take on supplies. Despite the injustices inflicted upon them by King Henry and Cardinal Wolsey none of Thomas companions had any wish to fight for an English rebel, instead they planned to join one of the mercenary bands that served The Holy Roman Empire’s innumerable bishops and princelings. They invited Thomas to come with them but, whatever his decision, they were determined to leave the ship at Coblenz.

  “The prophet Samuel says that the sin of rebellion is worse than the sin of witchcraft,” said Bos, conveniently forgetting the part he’d played in his homeland’s revolt against the Hapsburg Emperor.

  “And the Book of Proverbs teaches that an evil man seeketh only rebellion,” added Prometheus. Even Quintana was loathe to risk his neck in any foolhardy venture that promised great danger and little profit but Thomas had not only had he grown fond of the three men, he knew that their help could be invaluable. He therefore did his best to persuade them to stay, at least as far as Metz.

  “I can’t force you join me but I can promise great riches once Richard regains his throne and make no mistake, this is no rebellion. Richard de la Pole is England’s lawful king and we’ll be doing God’s work,” said Thomas and he told his comrades how the House of York had lost the throne of England.

  Fifteen years before Thomas had been born, Richard III, the last Yorkist king of England, had been defeated and killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field. After the battle, the victorious Henry Tudor, father of Henry VIII, had found the crown of England hanging in a thorn bush, whereupon he’d placed the golden circlet around his head and declared himself King Henry VII.

  Henry VII’s grandfather, Own Tudor, had been a lowly Master of the Royal Wardrobe but his marriage to the widow of Henry V, the French princess Katherine of Valois, had plunged this obscure Welsh family into the dynastic bloodbath fought by the rival royal Houses of Lancaster and York. After two generations of bitter civil war Henry Tudor, by virtue of his mother’s descent from the dukes of Lancaster had emerged as the Lancastrian claimant to the throne and his forces had met the army of his Yorkist rival Richard IIII at the Battle of Bosworth. On the eve of the battle the childless Richard had named his eldest nephew, John de la Pole Earl of Lincoln, as his successor.

  Like their uncle, the four de la Pole brothers could trace their lineage from two royal princes, the Duke of York and the Duke of Clarence, and thus they had a good deal more royal blood in their veins than the Tudors who could claim only one, but after Richard III’s death John and his three brothers had accepted Henry VII as their sovereign. Unfortunately, the new Tudor king was deeply mistrustful of anyone with Yorkist blood in their veins and had conducted a calculated campaign to provoke the de la Poles into rebellion. The scheme had worked. Barely two years after Bosworth, John de la Pole had raised the Yorkist standard once more but he’d been killed at the Battle of Stoke Field and the Yorkist claim had passed to his younger brother Edmund.

  Edmund had escaped into exile after the disaster of Stoke but the persecution of the House of York did not cease even after the first Tudor king had died. Henry VII’s son, Henry VIII, tricked Edmund de la Pole into returning home and despite the promise of a full pardon, the moment Edmund had set foot in England he’d been arrested and executed. Soon afterwards, Henry had William, the third de la Pole brother, arrested and imprisoned in The Tower of London on false charges of treason. William had never been seen again so of the four de la Pole brothers, only Richard remained.

  “So you see my friends, Richard de la Pole has far better claim to the throne than the murderous Tudors and if all this is not enough to convince you that the White Rose’s cause is just remember that Henry VIII married his brother’s widow, which is a union forbidden by scripture. The Tudors have therefore broken faith with God so all good Christians have a duty to oppose them,” said Thomas. The Lutheran Bos and the Orthodox Prometheus were both familiar with the teachings of Leviticus and they had to agree that Henry VIII’s claim to the throne was at least no better than that of Richard de la Pole, but Quintana was more concerned with the rewards Thomas promised.

  “You say that this White Rose is descended from kings and queens, but how is a penniless exile going to raise any army?” he said. Thomas had to admit he did not know but Nagel supplied the missing information.

  “The White Rose has the wealth of Burgundy and France at his disposal,” said the trumpet player and he continued Thomas’ story. After the deaths and imprisonment of his brothers, Richard de la Pole had fled to the Flemish city of Mechelen where his aunt Margaret of York, widow of the Duke of Burgundy and a wealthy Yorkist heiress, ruled the Low Countries as Dowager Duchess. The House of York’s elderly matriarch had welcomed her nephew warmly, given him the title of White Rose and made him swear never to abandon his family’s claim to the crown of England.

  Margaret had died soon after Richard’s arrival and though she’d left her nephew a wealthy man he needed a powerful ally to reconquer his lost kingdom. Richard had therefore sought an alliance with the French king Louis XII who’d been delighted to foment trouble in England. Louis had given Richard an army to wrest the English throne from the Tudors but, whilst the White Rose waited at St Malo for a favourable wind, the French king had unexpectedly made peace with Henry. As a condition of that peace, the last Yorkist claimant to the English throne had been ordered to leave France but Louis had softened the blow by providing the Whi
te Rose with a generous pension. French gold had allowed de la Pole to build La Haute Pierre, a large palace in the heart of Metz.

  Richard de la Pole had soon established a glittering Yorkist court-in-exile in this a fee city on the border of France and the Holy Roman Empire but he’d never forgotten the vow he’d made to his aunt and he’d continued trying to enlist French support to recover his throne. After Louis’ death Richard had repeatedly petitioned the new king, Francis I, to provide him with another army to invade England whilst on the other side of The Channel, Henry VIII had become obsessed with ending the Yorkist threat by wiping out the de la Poles once and for all.

  “Henry ordered his Lord Chancellor, Cardinal Wolsey, to murder the White Rose and though all the assassins sent by the Tudors have failed Henry’s sure to keep trying until one succeeds. Only when the Tudors are cast down and the House of York rules England will honest men like Richard de la Pole feel safe,” said Nagel.

  “He has my sympathy but what do you want us to do about it?” said Quintana who’d listened to the history lesson with polite detachment, his only concern was to put as many miles as possible between himself and the king who wanted his head.

  “You’ve said that you wish to sell your martial services to some great lord of The Empire but you won’t get rich chasing poachers and guarding wine cellars. On the other hand those who fight loyally for the White Rose will be given their castles and great estates,” said Nagel but Quintana still wasn’t satisfied. He reminded Nagel that every Yorkist plot had ended in failure and the only reward received by defeated rebels was death.

  “Nevertheless Richard will be king and, what’s more, I can show you how I will lead his armies to victory,” said Thomas and before the others could stop him he had disappeared into the forecastle’s cabin.

  9

  METZ