by David Gilman
‘Selling your arse, brother?’ one of the men called as they walked past, lowering a beaker of drink from his lips. ‘You’re young enough.’ He smiled a toothless grin. ‘I’ve impaled monks before now,’ he said and stepped out to harass them. ‘Impaled them with my sword.’ He laughed and dodged forward to rub the back of his hand against Alain’s cheek. Alain sidestepped, eager to avoid confrontation. Perinne tried to crowd in on his shoulder to block the brutish routier. The man had clearly had too much to drink. The routier pushed Perinne aside. ‘Don’t get in my fucking way,’ he said.
Perinne’s muscled bulk barely moved from the shove, which surprised the belligerent man, but before he could make any more of it the escort turned.
‘They are from Prior Albert. The Countess does not allow any harm to come to these monks. Leave them be,’ he threatened.
‘Or what?’ snarled the man.
The garrison soldier was no match for the killer but he knew he had one weapon that would surely stop him. ‘Or Master Cade will hear of it.’
The drunk snarled and then turned his back.
Perinne’s heart beat faster. They were being taken to the Countess but perhaps William Cade was also waiting. He prayed that neither he nor the young Frenchman would be recognized.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The higher Perinne and Alain climbed towards the château entrance the more of Cade’s mercenaries they saw. The two of them exchanged glances, wondering whether the Countess used these men as bodyguards or if it was they who kept her as prisoner. Their escort spoke to two of Cade’s men at the entrance to the château’s courtyard, and then turned back. The mercenaries then pointed them towards the main door where even more of Cade’s men stood. They were getting ever closer to the centre of the web that might entrap them. What seemed obvious was that the mercenaries were a barrier between the Countess and the townspeople below and although there seemed to be more garrison troops than skinners it was here with these men the power and strength lay.
William Cade stepped out of the doorway. Alain and Perinne stopped.
‘What brings you here?’ said Cade.
‘My lord,’ said Alain, bowing his head, ‘we have information from Prior Albert but he asks us to deliver it to the Countess Catherine.’
William Cade stepped closer and looked at the two men. It seemed that he was the final barrier to pass before being allowed inside. He studied the two men, eyes going from one to the other. He grabbed Perinne’s wrist, who had the good sense not to resist as Cade examined his hands. ‘What work do you do at the monastery?’
Perinne grinned like a village idiot. ‘I keep the livestock pens clean, lord,’ he said, lifting his chin proudly as if he were the prior himself.
The men at the door behind William Cade laughed. ‘He cleans out the shit,’ one cried.
‘Aye, and he smells like it,’ said Cade, turning his attention to the younger of the two men. He carried out the same examination on Alain’s hands. ‘You’re no lay brother who works the fields.’
‘No, my lord, I am a novice and have only been at the monastery for a few months.’
‘Your hands sweat. What frightens you?’
‘Perhaps it is the exertion of the hard journey and… I am unused to being in the company of fighting men.’
Cade grunted. ‘Answer me.’
‘Most of my time is taken with study and I am often given duties in the kitchen.’
Cade was taking nothing at face value. He stared at Alain, who did not turn away. ‘Then you will know the fat bastard who prepares the food and tastes it more often than he should. Name him.’
Alain did not hesitate in his answer. ‘Sir, I think you are mistaken, I do not know when last you were at our sanctuary but it is Brother Simon who prepares the food with the grace of God and he eats sparingly. Perhaps the brother you speak of served in the kitchens before I arrived.’
William Cade said nothing: it seemed his question had been a bluff, as much a bluff as Alain’s answer. It was possible Cade had never visited the monastery in person.
The mercenary stepped back and looked at the two men. ‘I need to see that you do not conceal any weapons. There are monks who think they carry out God’s will by killing those who seek the pleasures of this world – and the Countess is no stranger to pleasure.’ He gestured for them to raise their clothing above their waists.
Alain and Perinne lifted their habits, exposing their nakedness. One of the men behind Cade spoke out again. ‘Don’t let the Countess see the lad’s weapon, William; she will be keen to see it raised in anger.’ The men laughed. ‘Monk or not, he bears more than a message from the prior. He carries his fortune between his legs. Perhaps it’s a gift for her.’
‘And I’ll be the first to take it with a knife should he try and deliver it,’ Cade snarled.
Alain lowered his eyes and his habit.
‘He blushes!’ the man taunted.
‘He’s a novice, for Christ’s sake,’ said another. ‘Probably never even seen a woman, never mind knows what to do with one. Fodder for the monks.’
Cade pushed past them. ‘All right. This way. Not you,’ he said pointing at Perinne. ‘No one who shovels shit need go any further.’
Alain glanced at his companion. There was the briefest of looks between them, a warning, a moment of alarm, but Perinne quickly took on the mantle of a dullard. ‘God bless you, brother, but even a man who serves the animals needs food. A scrap perhaps? It has been a long journey. Is there a kitchen where a humble brother might be given a crust?’
Cade nodded to one of the men who loitered at the doorway. ‘She’ll want them rewarded for their journey. Take him to the kitchen yard. Feed him. This one will eat when he’s delivered the message.’
‘Bless you, bless you,’ said Perinne, bowing repeatedly until one of the men grabbed his arm and turned him in another direction.
The chill of fear gripped Alain as he followed the murderer Cade into the château’s gloom.
* * *
Two guards who wore the Countess’s blazon stood at the carved door. They were older men, and looked to be retainers from the time the Count had lived, sworn men who protected the widow. Men, Alain thought, who would not be threatened by William Cade’s reputation. They stepped forward and blocked the door.
‘He has a message,’ said Cade, nodding towards the monk at his side.
One of the men stepped into the room and a moment later reappeared and allowed Cade and Alain to enter the Countess’s quarters. The room he was escorted into was in stark contrast to the unfurnished and unheated entrance hall. Light filled the room from windows that overlooked the town and the countryside beyond. Richly embroidered tapestries hung over the harsh stone walls and a massive fire blazed beneath a granite mantel. His sandalled feet were cushioned on woven rugs that lay over the rush-covered floor. Two large, ill-bred dogs lurched from the warmth of the fireplace and went as if to attack as he and William Cade entered the room. A woman’s voice carried from the far side of the fireplace, her sharp retort bringing the dogs obediently to heel at the woman’s side where she sat in a carved chair softened by silk cushions. Alain squinted at first because the light from the vast windows obscured his vision of her. Cade pushed him closer.
‘Two monks have come from Saint-André’s monastery,’ he said and moved to her side. She held a small embroidery frame on her lap and did not look at him for a moment as she pulled a thread through the material.
‘Who are you?’ she asked without raising her eyes.
‘I am Brother Alain, my lady.’
‘And the one I saw from the window? Your companion?’
‘He is a lay brother, his name is Othon.’
‘Prior Albert usually sends Brothers Pibrac and Dizier. Why has he sent you?’ She raised her eyes and looked at him.
Alain stood ten paces away but from the moment his gaze fell on her he felt his heart quicken. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Black hair framed h
er face with the sheen of a raven’s wing. There was colour in her lips and her cheeks bore the blush of the fire. Her dark green eyes ate into him but he could not resist staring at the rise and fall of her breasts, which seemed to be barely contained in the rich fabric of her dress. The heat from the blazing logs seemed to penetrate the coarse cloth of his habit as he felt warmth creep into his groin. The taste of fear that had soured his mouth as he entered the château was now thick with the sweeter taste of lust.
She stared. A hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Perhaps, he realized, she knew the effect she had on him.
‘Well?’ she asked with a softness of tone that lulled him into a stammering reply.
‘My… lady. I… I do not… know why. Perhaps… perhaps because one is in the infirmary and the other is doing penance for raising his voice in anger at another brother.’
William Cade studied him and did not wait for the Countess to make any further comment. ‘Do I know you? Have we met before?’
‘I think not, unless you once prayed in the church at Les Choux, which is my home,’ Alain said quickly, desperate to answer without hesitation but at the same time frightened that Cade might know of the town.
Countess Catherine muttered a sound of delight. ‘William. You have prayed in a church rather than pillage it?’
Cade grunted. ‘I don’t know the place. But I have seen you somewhere.’
Alain swallowed hard. ‘I have a common enough face.’
‘I think he has a beautiful face,’ said the Countess, ignoring the quick glance of irritation from Cade at her remark, staring with delight at the young man before her. ‘A novice,’ she mused. ‘Well, I wonder whether a monastic life will prove suitable for you, Brother Alain. Perhaps you should wait a few years.’ She pressed the needle through the linen.
Alain’s heart would not calm. A vein in his neck pulsed and he felt the embarrassment of an erection beginning.
‘Very well,’ she said, concentrating on her needlework. ‘What message does Prior Albert send?’
Alain concentrated; this moment was the culmination of his journey and the trust placed in him by Blackstone. ‘Seventeen men sought sanctuary which Prior Albert gave gladly. They paid him with gold.’
Cade’s eyes registered at the mention of plunder.
‘They are mostly English but there are others,’ Alain continued. ‘Some French and German, I think, but I never spoke to them. They were kept in the guesthouse.’
‘And when will they leave the monastery?’ asked the Countess, some of the warmth lost from her voice.
‘Prior Albert has told them to come north, towards Felice. He told them there is plunder to be had here. I am to tell you that they would leave the monastery two days after Brother Othon and I began our journey.’
Cade looked down at the Countess, who seemed more interested in her embroidery. ‘I’ll send forty men,’ he said. ‘Thirty of your garrison and ten of mine. That will be enough to overwhelm them.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Do they have archers?’ he asked Alain.
‘No, my lord, only hobelars,’ he lied.
‘I’ll get the men ready; they can ambush them easily enough,’ said Cade.
‘William, do not send so many of mine, they are not as skilled as yours. Ten of my men. No more. Make up the numbers with your own men – and do not forget that we want some prisoners,’ she said, glancing up. ‘They must be taught a lesson.’
Cade didn’t like the idea of leaving so few of his men in the town. They were already outnumbered by the Countess’s troops. If she should ever turn against him then their numbers alone would be sufficient to overwhelm his own. But there was an incentive to use his men rather than the garrison’s. Cade’s fighters had the experience to defeat a smaller force without killing them. Garrison troops would be less skilled in the field. Cade stood to make money from the encounter.
‘As you wish. I have no desire to lose my bounty on those we deliver to you.’ He looked at Alain. ‘I’ll take you to the kitchen, then you can be on your way.’
Countess Catherine eased a silk thread into her design. ‘You would have us neglect our hospitality, William. Look at Brother Alain’s feet. They are cut. They need attention before we send him back. Have food brought here. He should bathe and then his wounds can be attended to,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘And then he can join me in prayer.’
Cade glowered. The bitch was grooming a novice monk to take to her bed. He resisted the urge to grab her throat, to show her that he would not be humiliated. Much good it would do him. If he killed her in a fit of rage, made her suffer for the power she held over him, it would be hard to escape with his life, no matter how tenacious his men were in a fight. The garrison troops would cut them down. And should she survive such an attack then he had no wish to suffer the pain she could inflict on a man. He swallowed his pride together with the words of condemnation. As he strode past the young monk he swore to himself that he would carry out his threat made against the novice. Once the bitch had taken her pleasure the youth would be of no concern to her and then he would geld him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Blackstone and Killbere lingered on the road to Felice. They had allowed good time for Alain and Perinne to reach the town. Once the message had been delivered soldiers would be sent to ambush Blackstone that same day. If the two bogus monks had reached the château by early morning then Blackstone had planned to be a half-day’s ride from the city walls. A chill wind persisted from the higher mountains but the men made little effort to warm themselves other than riding with their cloaks wrapped securely around them. They were on the alert for an attack and would be ready to discard them the moment their enemy appeared. Blackstone had picked fifteen men to ride in column behind him while the captains rode on his flank with their men out of sight. If Alain and Perinne had delivered their message and suspicion had not been aroused then a force outnumbering those on the road would soon appear. Blackstone had made the two captured monks ride with them on the pack horses until they were far enough away from the monastery on foot not to be able to raise any alarm. They were given food, drink and a blanket and sent back.
‘I don’t suppose William Cade will ride out against us himself. So that means after we kill those he sends that we will have to seek him inside the walls,’ said Killbere.
‘You think it is not worth our effort?’ Blackstone said.
‘I’m thinking it’s going to be difficult to root them out. God knows how many men this Countess has under her command. Street fighting is a dirty business, Thomas, you know that. We will lose men and as yet we have no means to scale walls. If they are forewarned then they will be ready. What do you propose? That we take on their clothing once we kill them and pass ourselves off? By the time we reached the town gates the sentries would know our real identity.’
‘I don’t have a plan, Gilbert. Not until we are there. We must see the lie of the land. But I want William Cade to pay the price for hanging young Peter Garland, and to find out where Gruffydd ap Madoc has gone. If Beyard brings more men to us we need to offer them some enticement other than allowing them to claim territory. And for that we need the gold that was seized from us. We’ll find and kill William Cade, Gilbert. I made that promise. It needs to be done.’
‘Well, it’s better than having to stand outside a town’s walls and hear those inside bleating like sheep that they do not wish to swear allegiance to Edward. At least now we do what we do best, but it might take months to track down the Welshman and who knows how many men he will have drawn to himself by then? Beyard had better not be languishing in an Avignon brothel.’
‘Perhaps I should have asked you to go and raise troops with him and then you could have kept an eye on him.’
‘Ah, now that would have been sensible. In fact, there is a very fine brothel in Avignon which I would recommend.’
‘No nuns?’
‘Thomas, do not tempt God’s wrath. Nuns in brothels? That is near enough blasphemy and—�
�� He stopped his playful chastisement as he saw movement ahead. ‘Horsemen. Ready yourself.’
* * *
William Cade’s men were over-confident. They sought a quick killing, sweeping down onto the few men they saw on the road. Their intention was to kill a dozen and capture the rest; that way Cade received his bounty.
Blackstone and Killbere raised their shields and spurred their horses. The men behind them quickly formed an arrowhead formation. They had chosen this place carefully: the road ahead widened to one side where rough mountain grass swept upwards into a forest. This expanse of rising ground forced their attackers to sweep out into the grassland. Cade’s men were seasoned fighters and their attack did not falter. They quickly swept wide in an attempt to encircle Blackstone’s horsemen but they had not anticipated the few men they thought to quickly defeat would meet them with such ferocity. A cry of alarm went up from one of Cade’s routiers when he identified Blackstone’s blazon. These were not the down-at-heel skinners they had been expecting.
Blackstone’s bastard horse barged into the nearest mount. Blackstone felt its power surge through his legs as if the beast had deliberately gathered its strength and lunged with such force that the other horse was knocked off its stride. Its rider struggled to control it and his raised sword arm was unable to strike. Blackstone eased the reins, letting the antagonistic beast have its head, and rammed his sword point beneath the man’s armpit as the bastard horse’s momentum carried him past the fatally injured routier. Barely a few strides behind him Killbere and the other men thudded into the attackers. The thwack of horseflesh striking horseflesh and the clash of sword blade on metal mingled with cries of exertion and pain. The first assault took Blackstone’s men clean through the attackers’ ranks and they wheeled their horses in a tight turn ready to strike again. Unsaddled horses ran wild, their riders dead or dying on the ground. The garrison troops fared badly, unused to such violent close-quarter battle on horseback. Defending a town in a position of strength was different from this sudden onslaught. As Blackstone’s men urged their horses back into the fray those they attacked broke and ran, scattering in a desperate attempt to escape. More were brought down as Blackstone and Killbere struck at them again but some slipped past, laying the flat of their sword blades against their mounts’ rumps, urging the terrified beasts to gallop faster. Blackstone and Killbere reined in and let the routiers ride across the grassland. The edge of the forest shimmered as Will Longdon’s archers stepped forward and quickly bent into their bows, shooting into the retreating men. The horsemen swerved this way and that, shields raised above their heads. Some of the yard-long arrows punched through shields into men’s shoulders. Others struck exposed legs and horses’ flanks. The animals whinnied and screamed and fell headlong, throwing some riders down, crushing others beneath their weight. But still there were those who evaded the arrow storm and raced for the road back to Felice and safety. As they spurred their mounts at the far edge of the grassland more riders suddenly appeared, Meulon and the other captains, sweeping around from the edge of the forest to cut off the few survivors block their path and hack the men down. The routiers were overwhelmed, but one man gambled and spurred his horse away from the track obstructed by these new horsemen. He lashed his horse up the rocky ground – perhaps he knew the landscape and where the animal tracks ran because he guided the horse expertly this way and that – but it seemed a desperate gamble for no escape route was visible.