Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "This interest in a squire seems a little unusual. What is the boy to you, Edouard?"

  He turned then, but did not move from the bedside. In the dim light, she could not make out his expression. The silence lengthened.

  "You are jealous." She teased, smiling despite her growing concern at his behavior. She offered him a way out. "But you cannot be surprised. You have heard of my liking for pretty boys; the court talks of nothing else."

  He moved then, coming slowly to her side. Halting out of reach, he said, "I have been replaced?" Although he could not believe it true, he did not sound amused.

  "Only if you disappoint." She laughed as he flushed. "Did you really think so?" She took a step closer. "Aren't you going to welcome me to Chamfort, Sieur Edouard?"

  He did not hesitate then. As he bent to kiss her, she reached a hand to his neck, drawing him close. At last, when she was certain of him, she pressed him gently away. "Not here."

  He caught his breath, glancing up as if he had forgotten where they were. Drawing him with her, she walked from the room and turned towards her own. At the door, she felt him hesitate.

  "Come, I have something for you." She saw his face and laughed. "A letter from your cousin, Arnaud." Still he hesitated. "Are you so afraid to be alone with me?"

  "Terrified." He laughed, and all his rude arrogance was gone. He followed her into the room. Sophie was unpacking. When they entered, she glanced up, bobbed a curtsey, and left silently. Edouard closed the door and leaned against it. He sighed.

  "So, Edouard, what is this strange reserve? Am I the one to be spurned?"

  "No!" The word hung in the air. "But…"

  "But?" This was not what she expected. First the interest in the boy, now this. She had been so sure of him. Disappointment and concern made it hard to keep her temper. But whilst he could be teased a little, he was proud. If she was to discover his secrets she must go gently. She waited.

  "My father has heard about...."

  "And?"

  "He is not pleased."

  "He thinks me too old? It is against some chivalric code?"

  "He believes my behavior dishonors you."

  Faced with such painful honesty, Mariette retreated a step. She did not laugh, smile or tease. "I'm sorry. Of course that is unfair."

  "By his standards, it is true."

  "And are yours so different?"

  "That is not fair."

  "But deserved, I think." Despite her intentions, she was annoyed. "So, you will obey your father and cast me aside. If it means so little to you, then perhaps he is right, you dishonor me."

  "No. It's just that he doesn't understand. How could he?"

  Another barb? Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was painfully honest or growing skillful in these games. He had not moved. His hair was damp; she guessed he had come straight from the practice yard, washing and changing quickly so he could come to her. She guessed that if she said the word, he was still hers. But it was awkward. His father deserved her consideration. Rupert had done so much for her, proved he was more than just a good friend. She studied Edouard until he shifted and turned away.

  "I will go, then, if that is your wish?"

  "Ah, so my wishes count for something in this," she said.

  "I am only here because it was your wish, Mariette. From the first, it was so." He did not move. "I will stay if that is your wish."

  "I do not wish to cause trouble between you and your father."

  He laughed. "Don't worry, he has a low opinion of me already." She saw him realize these were not the right words. "I would risk much more for you, Mariette."

  "Then let us compromise. Whilst under his roof, we will do nothing that would upset your father. But he cannot object to our friendship?" She smiled. "Or to a few stolen kisses." She moved closer, inviting him to kiss her. He did not protest.

  After a while his, lips moved down to kiss her neck, and his fingers brushed the stiff edge of her bodice. One hand slipped around her waist, half lifting her. She did not resist as he carried her to the bed. His kisses were urgent now. His hands fumbled with her laces.

  "Edouard, what about your father?"

  "Damn my father," he said, breathless.

  She placed a hand against his chest, holding him away. "I have a letter for you from Arnaud." She did not smile. "Perhaps that would distract you and we might obey your father's wishes. Would you not rather read your cousin's news?"

  He laughed. "Much as I love him, no…"

  "Edouard, after what you said, I do not think this is wise." She drew away, slipping from his arms, standing up and tugging her skirts after her. Leaving him lying on her bed, she went to gather a packet from the table. She tossed it to him. "Read your letter."

  For a moment, he looked cross, but then he picked up the packet. He broke the seal still sprawled across her bed. She laughed. "Get up or I may be overcome by passion."

  "Mariette, you are–"

  "Yes?"

  He grinned and rolled off the bed. "Incomparable and without flaw?"

  "I should think so. And you are almost charming. Now read your letter."

  She watched him read; several times he laughed, but as he finished his smile faded. "How was he when you left?" he asked.

  "Much the same. I don't think he finds much comfort in his Princess."

  "No." Edouard folded the papers. "She is a sweet girl, but…"

  She waited until it was clear he would say nothing more. His loyalty to his cousin was one reserve she had never breached. "I think he would like it if you were at court more often. You will see him more when you join St Andre."

  His hands stilled. "I am not sure I will be joining the Marechal, or much at court."

  "But your plans?" Again, she waited until it was clear he would not answer. "That's a shame. Arnaud would have liked to have you close."

  "I know. If only they would all leave him alone."

  "That will not happen until the succession is…" She stopped as he laughed bitterly.

  "This is Chamfort, Mariette, we hardly need reminding."

  "Of course. It must be hard for your father, and Charles," she probed gently.

  "Father does not enjoy it, but I see no hardship for Charles, only that he must wait until Arnaud dies to be assured of the crown." He shook his head. The packet crushed between his fingers. "I'm sorry, that was unfair."

  It was also insanely indiscreet. She said nothing. He prowled to the window, staring down at the gardens.

  "I would like a chance to talk to the boy."

  She had been waiting for it, dreading he would ask. "Remy?" She raised her voice as if surprised. "He's not well. I have given him something to make him sleep."

  "When he wakes, then."

  "Why, Edouard?"

  "Because he made a pledge to Chamfort; he should think hard before he breaks it."

  "That can wait. I don't want him upset when he has been so poorly." She joined him at the window, slipping an arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder. "Surely Chamfort can spare one squire, if that is what the boy wants."

  "My father will not be pleased."

  It was a weak excuse. "Why, Edouard, what has the boy done to you?"

  "Nothing." He spoke a little too quickly. "He must have wanted to come to Chamfort. It's a lot to give up. I would like to make sure he makes the right choice, that's all."

  "Then you can speak to him when he recovers. If you will let me be present." She saw his face. "I have taken him into my household and given him my protection."

  "He doesn't need protection from me." He moved, putting distance between them. "Why would you suggest it?"

  "I didn't," she said. "But no doubt you are a hero to all the squires. I would like to be sure he feels he can make his own choice. A few days can hardly matter."

  "Then it will have to wait till I return."

  "Until you return?"

  He glanced round. "I'm sorry, didn't I say? I leave tomorrow and will be gone for some da
ys." He did not sound sorry.

  "You're leaving. Why?" She went to the table, picking up the scattered papers.

  "I ride with St Andre's knights to hunt brigands."

  He was staring out of the window towards the Chamfort woods. Arrogance plain in his stance, and tone, and in the casual way he informed her of this unexpected absence.

  "I have come all this way and you will abandon me." She was angry, and unsettled to find another link to St Andre. If he thought to treat her casually, that this was a game, she would show him it was not one he would win. She turned slowly. "After weeks apart I come to you and you leave."

  "You did not come to me, Mariette. You are here for my father's birthday."

  "I came early, to see you, not to wait alone."

  He laughed. "This is Chamfort, you will not be alone." In the distance a bell rang. He moved from the window, gathering Arnaud's letter. Reaching her side, he bent to kiss her. "It is only a few days, and it will give my father a chance to calm down."

  She turned her head aside. "You're right, and if I am bored, perhaps your brother will entertain me."

  He drew back, no longer smiling. "Don't joke like that."

  "What joke. If you will abandon me, I will find diversion where I choose." She smiled. "And it will reassure your father if I pay attention to Charles. Surely that is what you wanted."

  He left, slamming the door.

  Mariette was still staring after him when Sophie returned. It was hard to frame the words; harder to believe they might be necessary.

  "Have Stefan set one of the men to keep a watch on Remy, at all times."

  ####

  Clouds hung heavy in the night sky. It was late, and the streets of Chamfort were empty and dark. In places the darkness seemed thicker, the air colder. Hurrying through the deserted streets, the man felt the change as he crossed the mouth of an alley. He hunched his shoulders against it. Glancing around, he hurried on, annoyed at his discomfort. Behind him, the streets were silent and lifeless. But the unease lingered, his gaze strained into the murky night, his eyes drawn to the deepest shadows. Unbidden, a half-remembered fragment of his wife's evening chatter crept into his thoughts. Gory details about the murder of Mayor Arno. The Mayor's body had been found in the town horribly mutilated. There was talk of other strange murders. His wife had recounted the details with avid satisfaction.

  The scream of cats fighting ripped mournfully into the silence. Another noise, much closer, made him spin round. Stumbling, he turned back as quickly. Fear and anger lashed him forward, eyes set. Ahead, the slightest chink of light, a candle behind shutters, encouraged him and he marched on.

  Crossing under the swinging creak of a tradesman's board, he turned determinedly into a narrow alley that cut between the streets. Familiar landmarks guided him towards home. Mortified by his earlier jitters he paid no attention to the shadows that seethed across the alley behind him. He passed the stalking cats; rivals, intent on each other, they ignored him, backs arched with silent vicious intent. Behind him, suddenly disturbed, they hissed and scattered.

  As he neared the alley's end, he caught the softest whisper of sound, little more than a hiss; it brushed across his senses like a nightmare remembered. Suddenly he was cold. A step further and he heard the chant clearly. He managed two more steps against the seething pull of its power and then shuddered, caught by some unseen force. The shadows gathered. He saw the knife moments before it struck. Unable to move or cry out, he felt the blade cut deep. The shadow settled over him. He felt icy fingers claw his chest and sink deep into the wound. Before he could scream, the shadow claimed him.

  Chapter 27

  Ferdinand eased the reins, letting his chestnut stallion pick his way up the narrow, stony track. Overhead, gray clouds rolled across the sky, and beyond the sheltered Bay of Trielas, the wind whipped the sea to crested waves. Ferdinand could hear the crash and hiss as the waves pounded the rocky shoreline. The wind carried wisps of sea foam up across the cliffs.

  He glanced back; his Chancellor, three lords of the Privy Council and an escort of guardsmen followed close behind. They were forced to ride in single file as the track climbed steeply through a narrow gorge between the cliffs. Ferdinand was glad of the excuse to ride alone and for a few moments peace. Soon the noise of the waves faded and even the noise of the shipyards was muted by distance. When the track reached the clifftop, it widened. Ferdinand reined his stallion to a halt and turned to survey the shoreline.

  The Bay of Trielas was shaped like a horseshoe, sheltered by cliffs, and deep enough to hold large vessels. Along the shoreline, he could see the timber frames of two galleys and two galleons. Stacks of timber lay ready for use, and the bronze guns were hidden beneath tarpaulin. The smell of burning tar carried on the wind. His pleasure in the scene faded as Duke Roch de Isdorielle urged his stallion alongside.

  Ferdinand favored the Duke with a cold smile. Roch de Isdorielle was always pushing himself to the fore. However annoying Roch was his ancestors had ruled Valderon, taking the crown from a Vallentin King. He had to be handled carefully.

  Nearly two centuries ago, Roch's ancestor, Gerard Bearnesse, had made war on King Hubert III and won the throne of Valderon. Gerard's heirs had ruled for three generations until Ferdinand Vallentin defeated them at Brodden Moor. During the battle, Ferdinand II killed Gerard's only great-grandson, the only Bearnesse male heir, and claimed the throne back for the Vallentin. In the settlement that followed, Gerard's great-granddaughter was married to Ferdinand II's third son.

  Ferdinand thought his great-grandfather had been too lenient. Whatever tensions the match had eased, it had not removed the Bearnesse ambition. Now they could claim Vallentin blood and were doubly dangerous. He longed for an excuse to crush the man and his family. But the Bearnesse were too powerful. The family controlled the great western demesne of Isdorielle, and the web of Bearnesse clients and patronage extended further yet.

  The Duke curbed his stallion as it snorted and fretted, made restless by the swirling cliff top wind. He was a slender, fine-boned man with the long Bearnesse nose, but there was something of Vallentin in the cast of his face, with his blue eyes and dark hair. He wore his hair long, in the current fashion, and the wind ruffled it as he turned to stare across the bay. Ferdinand thought it an affectation. Born the same year as him, Roch was near a head shorter, but he dressed and carried himself in a way that made the difference seem less. Today he wore expensive black velvet slashed with scarlet satin.

  He looked down at the shipyard, blue eyes narrowed. "It seems your new ships will be ready in time for the summer campaign. With ships to blockade the port and St Andre's army in the field, Ralmadre will be yours before the summer is done. A wealthy port and a fine legacy to hand your son."

  "I doubt William of Ettivar thinks it so certain, nor St Andre," Ferdinand answered coldly. Roch's flattery was always double-edged.

  The easy smile did not waver. "The Marechal has never been defeated in the field. You cannot doubt him?"

  "Of course not." He twitched his stallion's reins and turned to ride on. It was typical of Roch to twist his meaning. The Duke's words seemed ingenuous, but they were barbed, and any conversation with him was a trial of wit and patience. "Ralmadre lies more than thirty leagues inside the Ettivaran border; we must first win through to the city before we think of taking it."

  The Duke laughed politely and spurred his horse to keep pace. "Rumor has it Lorenzo de Etrives has already gathered you eight thousand men. And you will never want for knights. The strength Prince Rupert holds at Chamfort would shame many sovereigns, and his son the new King's Champion. All yours to command."

  "Yes, mine." Ferdinand echoed the words, disinclined to speak further on the matter. The plans for the summer campaign would be discussed that afternoon at the Privy Council meeting. He did not want to give Roch any chance to cause trouble beforehand.

  "The cost will be high, and no doubt there are those who will quibble, but the rewards." The Duke le
t his stallion move ahead and turned in his saddle. "The revenues the port of Ralmadre will bring should more than recoup the costs incurred in taking the city. It is not much of a risk unless..."

  "The Council will decide." Ferdinand cut him off, and then turned away to look for his Chancellor. Basile was riding close behind, just out of earshot. Ferdinand beckoned him forward. The Chancellor flapped his heels to urge his gray gelding to a trot. The Duke did not wait to be dismissed. He reined his stallion away, falling back to join the other councilors.

  Ferdinand touched his spurs to his stallion and the horse leapt to a canter. Basile was not much of a horseman, and it took him some moments to urge his gelding up alongside the stallion. Aware that he had been summoned to displace the Duke, and busy trying to control his horse, Basile remained silent.

  Ferdinand glanced sideways, amused. "The work goes well. We will have the ships we need in time."

  "Yes, majesty," Basile hesitated. "But at a cost; to secure the timber and ordnance, and the new vessels must have crews..."

  "The cost need not concern you, Roslaire de Lyon will finance the building and he will find crews. You will ensure progress continues, see that they have the timber and supplies and everything else they need in good time,." Ferdinand said curtly. He knew the Chancellor's views on the cost and financing for his new fleet, and he had no wish to hear them voiced again. He looked away, staring out across the sea with its white capped, rushing waves. "There is rain coming."

  "Yes, majesty." Basile answered politely, after the barest hesitation. "There is another matter we have not discussed. I only ask as it is bound to be raised in council. Roslaire de Lyon's involvement in this venture is substantial; do you think it is wise to rely so much on one man?"

  "I do."

  "There are concerns about his reputation, majesty." Receiving no answer, Basile continued, "There are many who consider him little more than a corsair, a wealthy one, but still…" Basile trailed off.