Love's Intrigue

by June Francis

  ‘I thought your having a sister — ’

  ‘My sister is too young to be thinking of men,’ she said hastily. Then added, with an almost pleading note in her voice, ‘You did not despoil her, did you?’

  There was a silence and the light in his eyes died. ‘I talked of women, lad, not children,’ he rasped. ‘Perhaps when you know me better your estimation of me will change.’ Before she could answer he had moved past her and quit the chamber, leaving Louise feeling as if she was very much in the wrong.

  She shook herself, angry that he could make her feel so. Especially after the way he had touched her last night. Did she really believe that he had only been dreaming? Her fingers sought her buttons, quickly fastening them up, then she got out of her makeshift bed.

  She washed her face and hands in the basin of cold water on a stand in the corner before pouring herself a cup of ale. She took a sip before cutting a thick slice of bread and cheese. With the food in her hand, she went over to the window and gazed out on frosty roofs turning golden with the sun — to wonder just what this fifth — or was it sixth? — day in the company of the Englishman would bring.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE early morning air was noticeably frosty as Louise walked into the stable yard. She pulled the coney-fur-lined hat down over her ears and looked towards where Master Milburn and his servant were talking earnestly at the far end of the yard. She wished that they would hurry and bring their conversation to an end. Now that she had resigned herself to going to Caen she was impatient to be on her way. Perhaps if she was honest then she would have to admit to looking forward to visiting the city of her birth. When she had followed after Marguerite there had been little time to take note of any changes made by the English or to see if any of her old neighbours or friends still lived there.

  Her hand reached out to the dappled horse already saddled and she stroked its dark mane absently, most of her attention still on the two men. The servant slanted her a glance and then turned back to his master and nodded. Suddenly she was uneasy. A short while ago from the upper window she had seen a boy come into the yard and have a word with Master Milburn. Now she wondered what news he had divulged to cause the Englishman’s face to darken. He turned suddenly and came striding swiftly across the yard towards her.

  ‘Louis, my plans have been changed for me.’ His voice was low enough for other people in the yard not to hear. ‘It seems there have been several attacks on travellers using the road to Caen. There is to be an armed guard but I consider it wiser if you do not come with me.’

  ‘Remain here!’ she blurted out. ‘But I do not wish to! For I have set my mind on going with you.’

  He scrutinised her face carefully, before saying dispassionately, ‘I am, of course, delighted that you are desirous to be in my company — but you still do not come with me.’

  Louise was surprised at the extent of her dismay and for several seconds she just started at him, while his words penetrated deeper. ‘Is it that you think I will be afraid? I am not. I can take care of myself,’ she said emphatically.

  ‘I’ve seen how you take care of yourself,’ he said shortly. ‘And I don’t want to be worrying about you if it comes to a fight.’

  A spark of anger gleamed in her eyes and she jutted her chin. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, M’sieur Milburn.’

  ‘I do if you’re riding pillion behind me. You might get in the way of my sword arm.’

  ‘Then get me another horse and return my knife to me,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’m not afraid of chancing the road. After all, I travelled all the way to Calais alone.’

  ‘Not without incident,’ returned John grimly. ‘But no doubt you do not fear the brigands about Caen, who have robbed, raped and slaughtered. Likely they might be counted among your acquaintances.’

  Louise felt as if she had been slapped in the face. Her hand fell to her side and she stepped back from him with an angry movement. ‘You insult me, m’sieur. If Frenchmen are driven to make such raids on travellers it is because they are desperate. So much of our farmland has been laid waste and the workers have fled in fear because of the same crimes you accuse them of.’

  ‘That may well be so,’ he said roughly, as he moved closer to the horse. ‘But it is not hunger that causes them to ravish and slit the throat of a merchant’s elderly wife, but a desire for revenge! I’m not saying I don’t understand such an emotion, but it only creates a vicious circle which means more atrocities on both sides.’

  ‘Of course it does,’ she retorted, the colour coming and going in her cheeks. ‘And to perform such a deed is cruel. But some of those living in the wild are ruffians and petty thieves. They, too, fled when the English advanced and at such times as these they take advantage of the situation and surface like scum on water. But most people living in the wild, while they might resort to stealing, do not kill unless they have to.’

  ‘I take your word for it,’ he said impatiently, swinging up into the saddle. ‘But that doesn’t change matters. You still aren’t coming with me.’

  ‘I see!’ Her face was flushed with annoyance. ‘Our ways part here, then?’

  ‘That isn’t necessarily so,’ he muttered, glancing at her stiff, outraged figure. ‘If you still want my help to find your sister, then I suggest that when the wind rises and veers to the west you go aboard the Grace. It will sail along the coast and up the river Orne to Caen. I will leave for England from there.’

  His words took her by surprise. ‘Why can’t you sail with her?’ she retorted swiftly.

  ‘Why?’ he murmured, having gained control of his anger. ‘Because I daren’t delay. The person I wish to see might leave the city.’

  ‘I suppose it’s business! If you are in such haste then you should have sailed straight to Caen in the first place,’ she said annoyedly. ‘It seems foolish doing it the way you are. Surely you must have noticed such ships as yours tied up at Caen when last you were there?’

  ‘No,’ he said shortly, his mouth setting in a hard line. ‘If I had known it was possible I would have sailed straight to Caen. But the master of the Grace knows little of France’s rivers, being more familiar with northern seas. He knew of the river Orne but not that it was navigable so far inland. He discovered it was so from some mariners he was drinking with last night.’ He gathered the reins into one hand. ‘I have spoken to Thomas and while he is not … responsible … for you he will help you in every way possible if you wish to take up my offer.’

  ‘I suppose I have no choice,’ she said ungraciously, her frowning gaze meeting his.

  ‘If you wish to find your sister that is so,’ he murmured in that silky voice that always spoke the truth and made her feel discomfited. ‘Be content, Louis. You are to be relieved of my company and for that I thought you would be grateful.’

  ‘I am transported with delight, m’sieur,’ she said drily.

  A deep chuckle sounded in his throat, causing a slight smile to crease her face. ‘And if I’m killed on the road I suppose you’ll cheer?’ he murmured.

  ‘Unlikely.’ Her long eyelashes swept down, hiding her expression from him. ‘For how then will I find the man who knows my sister’s whereabouts?’

  He laughed shortly. ‘Trust me when I say that I have provided for that and every other eventuality.’

  Louise was startled into looking at him. ‘What of the unexpected?’

  He kept her waiting for an answer and the air seemed suddenly vibrant between them. His eyes glinted. ‘It’s the unexpected that’s the sauce on the dish of life. If this is adieu, Louis, then I’m glad we met. God grant you a safe journey, and may your passage be smooth.’ A wave of the hand and he set the horse in motion.

  His words surprised Louise and caused her unexpected pleasure. Her pulses raced jerkily as she watched him go. Then she tore her gaze from his blue-clad figure to turn it, with some displeasure, on the advancing Thomas. Remembering their first encounter, she felt certain that he would thoroughly disapprove of her.


  He was a man of middle years, of medium height, possessing a nondescript face, which at that moment showed all the signs of his suffering from a fever. His eyes were red and watery and he was in the process of wiping his nose on the back of the brown sleeve of his padded jupon as he stopped in front of her.

  ‘Well, lad — lass,’ he said hoarsely in English, giving a sniff. ‘This is a fine chase you’ve sent the master on.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Louise smiled patiently. ‘Parlez Français, Thomas.’

  ‘Je parle un … only a bit — er — m’sieur,’ responded Thomas, his creased face drooping in comical dismay.

  ‘Mon monsieur forget to parlez vous that.’

  She stared at him in bewilderment. ‘Pardon? Pouvez-vous parler plus lentement, s’il vous plait?’

  ‘Pardon it is.’ He sneezed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, blinking at her mournfully. ‘How are we going to do here with you speaking no Anglais et moi no Français, that’s worth mentioning?’

  Louise could see some humour in the situation but she was also impatient of it. ‘M’sieur Milburn est un imbecile!’

  Thomas’s brows bristled. ‘Master John’s got a lot on his mind,’ he said sharply. ‘He’s no fool — just harassed, trying to do the right thing. So look here! You’ll have to learn some Anglais.’

  ‘Anglais?’ she questioned, staring at him down her nose, and folding her arms across her chest. ‘No English.’

  ‘Vous gonna parlez Anglais,’ he said determinedly. ‘Si vous allez à Angleterre.’

  At that moment Louise had doubts as to whether she would ever get to England, but she nodded and said, ‘Ma soeur Marguerite est en Angleterre!’

  Thomas sneezed again, scrubbed at his nose and looked at her with a serious air. ‘Ma soeur — my sister, lass. I comprends that. Votre soeur — your sister!’ he said emphatically, adding, ‘Master John told me about her.’

  ‘Pardon? Ma soeur — my sister?’ Her spirits lifted a little and her hazel eyes twinkled. ‘Votre soeur — your sister.’

  Thomas grinned and patted her shoulder. ‘Good! Bon.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Nous allons à … the inn. I could do with a hot drink of ale with some nutmeg and honey in it. Master John said that if you’re staying then I’m to keep the room on for you at the Peacock.’

  Her smile faded and she shrugged. ‘Je ne comprends pas.’

  ‘Ay, I can see that, lass.’ He groaned. ‘And we’ve either got to find someone who can understand both of us or give this up.’

  ‘Pardon?’ demanded Louise impatiently, tapping her foot on the cobbles. If this went on she would go mad.

  Thomas sneezed, and she came to a quick decision, having no desire to catch his fever after just recovering from a chill. ‘Je vais!’ she declared, walking away.

  Thomas quickly seized her arm and spun her round. ‘You can’t just allez,’ he muttered with a worried frown. ‘But what to do about you, that’s the problem,’ he added with an air of uncertainty.

  Louise sighed heavily before removing his hand from her arm. ‘Thomas! Je vais!’

  He shook his head at her and then his doubtful expression lifted and he grinned. ‘Right! Vous allez.’

  ‘Oui!’ She flashed him a quick smile. ‘Au revoir!’ Again she moved away but he pulled her back.

  ‘Attendre!’ Before she could free herself he reached inside the neck of his jupon and took out a pouch. ‘Master John wouldn’t like it if I just let you go like that,’ he muttered, taking his hand from her arm so that he could empty out a heap of coins from the pouch. ‘But if I give you the money that I would have spent on the room at the inn and feeding you then I’m hoping that should satisfy him.’ For a second he appeared doubtful. Then he shrugged and held out a number of sous and deniers, as well as pennies and farthings.

  Louise stared at him, understanding a little of his actions, but not really wanting to take the money. ‘Non.’ She shook her head for good measure.

  ‘Oui!’ He took her hand, pressed the coins into her palm and curled her fingers over them. ‘Pour pain.’ He stepped back and shrugged and repeated, ‘Pour pain.’

  Conflict surged inside her — to accept money from an enemy did not seem right, and really she did not want to accept it, because it made her beholden to him. Yet she would need to buy food. ‘Merci!’ Her voice was husky.

  He smiled and she smiled, before turning and walking away. She tried to estimate how much money he had given her for bread without being seen to be doing so. English and French money, and it was enough for several weeks by the feel of it. At least she would not starve and the clothes she wore still had a lot of wear in them.

  But what to do? She was extremely reluctant to abandon her search for Marguerite, but her exchange with Thomas had shown her better than any argument how difficult it would be to go to England without Master Milburn’s help. She supposed that she could stay in Harfleur and take the ship to Caen still, even though Thomas believed her to be leaving. What was she to do?

  Torn by indecision, Louise trod the narrow streets of Harfleur, hardly feeling the cold because her thoughts were so taken up with her dilemma.

  Eventually she found her way to the south-west corner of the town. Two English soldiers huddled by a brazier near the damaged barbican, exchanging desultory conversation in their own tongue. A black-robed monk, riding a donkey, crossed the drawbridge in company with a group of peasants carrying burdens of firewood on their backs. She gazed out on the bleak landscape beyond the moat, and found herself estimating the distance to Caen. Anything would be better than roaming the streets, waiting around the town and wondering whether she would be allowed on the Grace.

  She hurried past the parish church that had almost been destroyed in the English attack and to a bakery that she had noticed. She had to use English money to buy some bread and a couple of veal pasties with crosses on top, from an English-speaking baker. Here in Harfleur, she realised more than ever before how advanced were King Henry’s plans to anglicise Normandy. She placed the food inside her doublet and made her way to the south-west gate. The soldiers took little interest in her and she was soon over the drawbridge.

  Louise reckoned that, walking, she could reach Caen some time on the morrow, all going well. As soon as she came to some trees she found herself a suitably heavy stick, balancing it in her hand before setting out again. A few hours walking and she reckoned to be in country that had become as familiar in the last eighteen months as the city of Caen had once been. Only then would she leave the road and cut across country.

  She found herself not only thinking of Master Milburn, as she walked, but of the past two years, reviewing the youth’s part she had played. It seemed a madness now and she wondered how many other people had known her for a maid, besides Pierre, when she had chopped wood, dug turves, and gone hunting. Yet when they had hunted in groups after boar or deer she had always managed to hold her own and keep up with them. She had been scared at times because there had always been danger in colder weather from prowling wolves, drawn by the smell of the kill. And there had been the chance of meeting up with a hunting party of English — that was what happened when Marguerite had been taken.

  Marguerite! She thought of her small sister, who, despite all the hardships they had been through, had never lost her high spirits. It was Marguerite who had cooked the small game, caught by Louise with homemade snares and bow and arrows. She baked the blackbirds and thrushes, feathers and all, in clay. Old Marie had taught her how, just as she had taught Louise the easiest way to skin a rabbit. Old Marie, almost blind, had known Louise’s secret. It was her voice that had given her away, said the old woman. She was wise in the way of herbs and had taught both town girls how to recognise plants and roots for flavouring and healing. She had also comforted them when their father had died. Still life had been harder after his death and would continue to be so if they returned to live in the forest, even with Pierre’s protection. But Louise did not want to think of what she migh
t have to surrender for such protection, and instead gave her mind to her journey.

  The hours wore away and eventually Louise sat down in the lee of a hillock. Her feet, in the unaccustomed boots, were hurting and a blister had burst on her left heel. She ate one of the pasties and drank sparingly of icy water from a stream as she viewed the empty road that passed within twenty feet of the forest spread out not such a great distance before her. No doubt Master Milburn would be in Caen by now, having his supper.

  Louise made her way to the deserted stretch of road and limped along it. She was completely unprepared for the carnage that met her when she rounded the bend. Her eyes widened in shock as they took in the hacked bodies in the bloodied grass and beaten earth. Nausea seized her and for a moment she stood retching, her eyes tightly shut. Then she forced them open, and, crossing herself, prayed as she steeled herself to go and look at the faces of the dead.

  Some had been stripped of their clothing and their private parts had been mutilated. Fingers had been chopped off and she guessed that rings had been taken. Not all were mutilated nor were they all English. It had been a fierce battle and the attackers had not got all their own way. She widened her search, going into the skirts of the forest, and found there more bodies with arrows piercing throats and chests. One of the men she recognised as belonging to the camp, but of Master Milburn there was no sign.

  Louise went further into the trees; it was much darker beneath their cover and she had difficulty at first following the signs left by the attackers in the undergrowth. It would be reasonable to believe that Master Milburn had escaped, because the attackers had taken few horses — if the hoof marks were anything to go by. Compelled by a strong urge she went on, hesitantly at first but swifter as her eyes grew accustomed to the twilight under the trees. Something or someone had been dragged along the ground. It could be a dead horse taken for food, but she could not help thinking that if Pierre had been involved in the raid he might have recognised Master Milburn as the man who had slashed his hand through to the bone, just as she had recognised him immediately in Calais. If that was so and he had managed to capture the Englishman then he might have something other than a quick death in mind for him.