“Could they have just...gone off somewhere? To fight maybe?”
“I thought of that but...Well, they were talking last night – secretive like. I noticed it ‘cos they don’t usually talk at all. They really had their heads together.”
“That does seem unusual. When was this?”
“After them others came in – the captain from Radenoc and his friends.”
“That’s hours ago.”
“Aye. It was only when I woke up just now and couldn’t find them that I remembered.”
“Thanks, Con. Saddle Hercules, will you?”
“You shouldn’t go yourself, Raoul. It’s not safe!”
“What’s this?” Bertrand, roused by their voices, was on his feet and moving towards them, his blanket still draped round his shoulders.
Raoul explained.
“The boy’s right, Raoul. If something were to happen to you this whole affair would be for nothing. My guess is that they haven’t gone far – just settling their quarrel in private.”
“But they could have been picked up by Gilles’s night raiders...”
“If they have, you putting your life in danger is hardly going to help, is it? Send out scouts, send your best men – but for God’s sake, don’t go dashing off yourself.”
Reluctantly, Raoul allowed himself to be persuaded. Riders were immediately sent in several directions to see if any trace of the two boys could be found but there was nothing. Throughout the day, men went out from the main force which, necessarily, travelled slowly but still no trace of the missing squires was found. As the day wore on Raoul became increasingly desperate.
“Surely it’s a good sign that they’ve found nothing,” Bertrand said.
“You think so, do you?”
“Well, obviously. We know the man’s methods. If they’d found them they’d have killed them – strung them up from a tree for you to find or left them lying in the road.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Well, it’s what he’s done before.”
“Claude obviously means little to you or you wouldn’t be so cheerful about the prospect of his slaughter or mutilation.”
“Raoul, for the love of God! I’m saying that if they’d been harmed we would know about it, that’s all. No news is good news.”
“I didn’t realise how lacking in imagination you were, de Courcy.” Raoul’s face was livid and his eyes glittered as if he had a fever. “Have you never looked at Etienne? Just as I look like my great-uncle, my ‘squire’ looks like me. He’d be a pretty useful weapon in the hands of my enemy, don’t you think?”
“Not if you didn’t know he had him!” Bertrand exclaimed. “If the boys are in Gilles’s hands, he’ll let us know. Until then, for Christ’s sake, stop torturing yourself.”
Raoul’s lips tightened but he said nothing. He dug his spurs into Hercules’s flanks and urged the horse on ahead.
In the afternoon, Connell, with another of the squires, rode up to Raoul.
“This lad’s got something to tell you,” Connell said grimly. “Haven’t you, eh?”
The other boy shrieked in terror as Raoul seized him by the front of his tunic, almost lifting him out of the saddle.
“It was nothing to do with me, my lord!” he protested.
“What’s this?” Bertrand had ridden up.
“Why it’s my shadow – or is it my conscience?” Raoul sneered, giving Bertrand a glare.
“The boy heard something,” Connell explained. “Don’t worry about Raoul – he’s in a state.”
“You forget yourself!”
“Isn’t the best thing, ‘my lord’, to listen to what the lad has to say?”
Raoul seemed to visibly control himself.
“Speak. What do you know?”
“It... it was a sort of a dare, sir, my lord, I mean. It was...you wanted to know what Lord Gilles was up to – Your squire said Claude du Courmier should go and find out. Then when he said he wouldn’t, Etienne said he was a coward. Then Claude said he was... and well, they both decided they would go – to prove that they weren’t afraid, you see.”
Raoul groaned, sinking his face into his gauntleted hand.
“It proves nothing,” Bertrand said. “They didn’t know where the camp was.”
“I’m taking some men and going to find them.”
“No! Raoul, what would it achieve if you are killed? What happens to Radenoc then? You must have patience. You can’t defeat Gilles with a handful of knights – you’re not on Crusade now.”
For a second it seemed as if Raoul would draw his sword. There was murder in his eyes as he glared at Bertrand. Again, he seemed to fight with himself for control.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “But spare me your platitudes and stay out of my sight. That goes for you too, Connell.”
He shut his eyes for a second and turned away, agonising pictures filling his mind, a red fog of hatred growing.
As the light began to fade, the army finally halted to make camp for the night. Raoul tried to persuade the other leaders to go on.
“The men have been on the march for nearly twelve hours, Lord Raoul,” the Count of Léon objected. “Tomorrow you will reach Radenoc. Your troops need their rest – and so do you. Are you feeling quite well, my lord?”
“It’s just this...this worry over my squire, my lord.”
“I understand. You must bear up.”
Unseen by Raoul, he and Bertrand exchanged worried glances.
Still fully armed, Raoul paced relentlessly to and fro as fires were lit, horses tethered and food prepared. A little later Connell approached him.
“You must eat, Raoul.”
“I can’t.”
“Drink then – here’s wine.”
Raoul took the cup in an unsteady hand.
“Thanks.”
“My lord, my lord, there’s news!” The shout came from the far side of the camp.
“What’s that? Where?”
As if startled out of a trance, Raoul flung down the cup and strode towards the sound.
“There’s a messenger, my lord,” the sentry cried, “he’s from Gilles!”
Chapter Thirteen
It was a boy, small, slight and pale. Unsurprisingly, he looked terrified.
“So, you have been sent by Lord Gilles, have you?” Raoul said grimly. “What is your message?”
The boy glanced to right and left and then moistened his lips. News of his arrival had spread quickly through the camp and a sizable crowd had gathered. He cleared his throat.
“Well? Speak, I said.”
“Yes, my lord. Are...are you...L...Lord Raoul?”
“I am.”
“Then I am to say that my lord has...some...property of yours.”
Raoul laughed.
“Do you mean Radenoc? Does he acknowledge at last that it’s mine? That’s a good sign!”
“Indeed it is!” The Count of Léon looked down at the boy with a smile.
“Is Gilles making some offer to Lord Raoul? Is that it?”
“No, my lord.”
“You’ve no need to be afraid. We don’t harm children here. What’s your name?”
If anything the boy was looking even more terrified.
“Thierry...” he said with a strange gasp.
“So what else are you supposed to say, Thierry?”
Like a rabbit’s in a snare, the boy’s eyes darted round as if he was desperate to escape.
“What else, boy?” Raoul spoke sternly.
“My lord said that he...he expects to enjoy – what was yours but is now his – even more than you did.”
“Riddles do not help. Speak more plainly, Thierry, please.”
“He’ll not riddle with my dagger at his throat.”
Before Bertrand and the Count could protest, Raoul had seized the boy and now pressed the sharp point of his weapon against his windpipe.
“Now then, what property do you mean?”
Thierry whimp
ered but said nothing. The dagger’s point was pressed in more firmly until it started to break the skin.
“Do you mean the castle?”
“No.” The boy’s voice rose. “Please, oh please, my lord, don’t hurt me!”
“Let him go, Raoul,” said Bertrand. “He’ll speak now.”
“Yes,” Raoul agreed, “he will.”
He had no move to release the boy and a thin trickle of blood crept down now from the pin-prick wound in Thierry’s throat.
“It’s...it’s a person, my lord.”
“A person – a boy, perhaps? My squire?”
“Yes...Oh, please, don’t!”
“Raoul, for God’s sake!”
The Count had gripped his arm, preventing further movement of the dagger. Raoul turned furiously towards him, his eyes glittering. Then, after an inner struggle, he seemed to get himself under control. He slowly removed the dagger from the boy’s throat.
“Yes,” he said after a moment, releasing him. “It’s not his fault, I suppose.”
Some of the fury faded from his eyes and he stood turning the dagger in his hands.
Bertrand stepped forward and took Thierry’s arm.
“Tell us what you know. Without any nonsense, if you please.”
“The boy was captured earlier today,” Thierry said. “They brought him into the camp. Tonight they’re going to the castle. That’s all there is, my lord.”
“Was there one boy or two? We believe that my squire, Claude du Courmier was with Etienne de Montglane.”
“They say there was another – but he’s dead.”
“Dead? How? Who killed him?”
“I wasn’t there but they say he fought like a demon.” Thierry’s voice wavered. “He was defending the little one – that’s the story.”
“Poor Claude. Why do you think Etienne wasn’t killed too?”
“He...” Thierry broke off and stared at the ground. His breathing was ragged. “They...they knew...Lord Gilles would be more interested in him than the other one.”
“Because he’s Lord Raoul’s squire?”
“Well, partly that but...”
Suddenly Thierry threw himself onto his knees and grabbed Bertrand’s hand.
“Please, my lord, let me stay here now. Don’t make me go back to him, please. I don’t want to have to tell him what you’ll do – or how he feels!” He shot a glance at Raoul. “Let me stay!”
Guillaume Rénard, a silent observer of the proceedings until now, spoke quietly to Raoul and the Count.
“He’s an – er – intimate of Gilles, my lords. You’d better not trust him. Gilles mistreats him, true enough, but who’s to say what little assassination job they might not have planned together?”
“You filthy little toad.” Raoul sent the boy sprawling with his foot.
“Oh, please, my lord, please!” Thierry flung himself at Raoul, clutching at his leg and kissing his boot. “I will serve you as I did Lord Gilles – and better than the other boy – better, much better! I will do everything to please you. I am...”
“Get off me this instant!” Raoul broke the boy’s hold and pushed him violently away. “Did you think that Etienne...? That I...? You disgust me! Gilles and all of you! Get back to your...your master and tell him if he so much as touches my squire with his filthy hands that I’ll not only kill him, I’ll kill anyone belonging to his household that I find – groom, scullion, page – anyone! And before I kill them I’ll make them suffer whatever abomination that Gilles does to my – SON!”
On the last word, Raoul’s voice broke.
“Go back now, Thierry, quickly,” the Count said. “Take a fresh horse. Lord Raoul was fond of the boy so you’d better warn your master to treat him properly. We’ll pay a ransom, of course.”
Guillaume Rénard shook his head.
“That’s not Gilles’s way, my lord.”
“This time we’ll have to hope that it is.”
“Try to get a few hours’ rest, Raoul. We can ride out at first light.” Bertrand laid his arm across his friend’s shoulders.
“Do you seriously imagine that I can sleep?” Raoul demanded, flinging him off. “Rénard, how far is it to Locronan?”
“Five hours’ ride, my lord, as the crow flies. By road it’s a bit longer.”
“What’s the country like? Is there road all the way?”
“A clear enough track, sir. And the moon’s full.”
“Right. Send round to each man’s troop. I want volunteers, the best men on the best horses, for a night attack.
“Very well, my lord. I’ll come with you myself, if I may.”
“Good, captain. I hoped you would.”
“What do you plan, Raoul?” the Count asked anxiously.
“I’ll take the town and move on to Radenoc – give Gilles a taste of his own! You and Bertrand bring up the main force in the morning – secure Locronan if you need to and then move on to attack their main camp near the shore. My guess is that Gilles will only take his closest cronies to the castle. I may be able to trap them there like a rat in a trap.”
A very short time later, a troop of about two hundred men were mounted up and riding as fast as the ground would allow towards Locronan.
The thought of what Gilles might do to Etienne tormented Raoul unbearably. At times a red mist seemed to have gathered before his eyes, and he longed for violence, foe revenge. He visualised Gilles there in front of him and could almost hear his enemy’s cry of pain as he drove his dagger into his guts, his throat, his heart.
“Gently, my lord.”
Hercules stumbled and, as Rénard’s voice jerked him back to reality, he pulled on the reins to slow the sweating horse. For a while he kept his mind on the road ahead, but lulled by the destrier’s rhythmically pounding hooves, as time passed his bloody vision returned and grew, almost overwhelming him.
“Locronan’s ahead, my lord,” Rénard said eventually.
The dark walls of the settlement were visible in the distance, sleeping, silent. Memories of Damona, the girl who had tormented him there, years ago, now rose up in his mind. He had had his revenge on her: he had taken her, violently, against her will, paying her back for plaguing him. Now it was Gilles’s turn. Somehow, in his fevered thoughts, the two seemed to be strangely connected. Raoul felt sick with a powerful lust to hurt, to kill.
He spurred Hercules ahead and hammered with his sword hilt on the great barred gate.
“I am your rightful lord. All that is within your walls is mine!” he bellowed. “Open these gates!”
There was no response.
“Open up, I say!”
A head appeared fleetingly above the palisade, followed by a fearful cry.
“It’s the Normans! The Norman army has come!”
Beyond the walls the cry was taken up by others: there was screaming, shouting, sounds of panic, followed by the frenzied ringing of a church bell.
A new fury seized Raoul. Why did the stupid fools not listen to him? Did he sound like a Norman?
“In the name of the Lord of Radenoc, open these gates at once!” Raoul yelled at the top of his voice.
A head appeared above the parapet.
“You are a foreign invader and Lord Gilles has promised to protect us,” the man called, his voice high with terror. “We will not let you in!”
Raoul turned his horse away and rode back to his troop.
“Collect brushwood,” he said. “Anything that will burn.”
“What will you do, my lord?”
Raoul ignored the note of anxiety in Guillaume Rénard’s voice.
“We’ll fire the gates – then they’ll have no means to shut us out.”
“That could take time, my lord.”
“The fools deserve to suffer. We’ll just wait until the wood’s ablaze and then we’ll press on to Radenoc. By the time Bertrand gets here in the morning they’ll have no means of defending themselves.” He laughed exultantly. “We’ll teach them not to defy us!”
Urged into swift action by Raoul’s fury, it was not long before the great wooden gate was a mass of flame.
“Onwards now! There’s no time to lose!”
Raoul dug in his spurs and Hercules reared, seeming also to catch his master’s reckless mood.
To avoid confronting the bulk of Gilles’s men, they had to leave the road now and skirt round to the north. Guillaume Rénard, knowing the country, led the way and Raoul struggled to control his impatience as their pace was forced to slow. He could feel the blood throbbing in his temples as, again, he had to rein in his horse, dropping to a walk for what felt like the thousandth time. The moon had set by now; the ground was stony and uneven. Then, as they crested the brow of a hill, Raoul saw the castle ahead of them, silhouetted against the faint luminosity of the sea.
Casting caution aside, Raoul dug in his heels and urged Hercules to a canter which turned, as they reached the level plain before Radenoc, into a wild gallop. The horse came to a juddering halt in front of the moat.
In the faint starlight, Raoul could see that although the larger bridge was securely in place, the foot-bridge was down. He dismounted and drew his sword. It could be a trap, he supposed, but there was a more probable explanation. A surge of bile rose in his throat at the thought that Gilles had eluded him. While he had wasted his time and anger on the peasants Of Locronan, it looked as if his enemy had escaped.
Without waiting for his men, he crossed the bridge and entered the castle. A single torch burned smokily in its bracket on the wall. Raoul removed it and held it aloft, circling the courtyard. The stables were empty of both horses and men. The kitchens and bake-house were deserted. Everywhere it was silent and dark; the doors of the Great Hall hung open, swinging gently in the gusty breeze.
“Is anyone here?” Raoul called urgently, mounting the steps two at a time. It seemed so odd that Gilles would have just abandoned the place, without a fight. Fear set his heart thudding.
The Hall was also empty but at the far end, near a curtained archway, another torch burned. That door led to the solar, Raoul recalled – and you went through there to get to the great West Tower beyond – where he had confronted Armand in his supposedly impregnable chamber. He tensed, almost expecting the sinister figure of his great-uncle to emerge and laugh at his presumption as he had before.
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