"Charles, I beg you, don't speak in riddles. I can't stand it."
"Put simply, he followed St Andre's orders, unaware that St Andre was a traitor. But the acts he has carried out in St Andre's name, if not sanctioned in the service of the King, are murder and treason." Put simply it was indeed a bitter irony. "Edouard arranged the meeting that brought Mayor Arno to Chamfort. A creature sent by St Andre killed him." He shrugged, helplessly. "There is more, so much more, but the heart of it is that St Andre has power over Edouard. And Edouard is enmeshed too deeply to escape his web."
"What possible hold has St Andre that would keep Edouard silent, would allow him to remain involved in treachery and murder?"
Charles fought an urge to bury his head in his hands. There was no simple answer to such a question, but he had to answer. He could not meet his father's gaze. "He demanded Edouard's continued service and loyalty. In return he promised not to move against Chamfort. From what Edouard says St Andre had every ability to do so." Silence. He did not dare look up as his father uttered a string of bitter obscenities.
When the cursing ended, he looked up and saw his father's face, and was afraid. "I'm sorry. I had no idea until recently. I would never have allowed him to…"
"It's not your fault. God help me, but after this morning I can even find some small comfort in this news." His father's laughter was vicious and quite terrifyingly cold. "It seems I have a son who is a fool and a murderer, rather than a son who is a traitor and a murderer."
He was afraid to answer. Afraid to speak. Afraid of what harm the wrong words might do. "Edouard followed orders," he said at last.
"Even when he knew St Andre was a traitor to King and country. And sending him to murder innocents." The Prince's face was cold and hard as stone. "I would see Chamfort brought to dust before I would sanction such actions. How could he not know this?"
"And the twins and Eloise?" Charles did not dare hesitate. He kept his voice soft. "You say you would see Chamfort brought to dust. But would you defend it first, stand against Ferdinand? It would mean civil war. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of deaths, Valderon torn apart. That was the cost Edouard weighed, perhaps he was wrong, but it was not lightly done."
Another silence. Then his father nodded. "Perhaps you are right, I don't know. But what Edouard has done…" A shake of the head as words seemed to fail him. "He is my son, and I will stand by him. But Edouard has chosen a path that can never be changed. He had no right to make that choice for all of us."
"But that was what he meant to avoid. I don't say he was right, but I know Edouard would say the failing was his alone. He would say that his guilt should not touch you. He wanted to protect us all, even my ambitions." He managed a smile. "And I think he has managed it thus far."
"Don't be a fool, Charles. He is destroying himself, playing into St Andre's hands. He has quarreled with Ferdinand, been stripped of his knighthood and destroyed his reputation at court. He half killed me in front of the whole court, and in doing so gave people good reason to think he had done the same to you here at Chamfort. Each day a growing number of people link him to the slaughter of innocents here and elsewhere, Mariette de Montmercy among them."
"Duchess Mariette, sword's blood," he thought he understood then. "So St Andre is under suspicion?"
"Yes. This Compact have been watching him for some time. They have not taken their evidence to Ferdinand yet. But they will." Another bitter laugh. "But I would bet that in the end it is not St Andre they have found evidence against. Why do you think he has used your brother?"
"But if that is so," he said stubbornly determined. "Then Edouard was right. He has protected us from his guilt."
"Well, yes, in that there is no proof against Chamfort, we will be safe enough. All we will need to do to stay safe is renounce your brother, abandon him to Ferdinand, and watch him receive a traitor's death. But perhaps you feel that is what he deserves?"
He shook his head, shocked silent by such anger. He could not let it go. "Perhaps you underestimate him?"
"You think, alone, he is a match for St Andre?"
The hint of criticism cut deep, but he kept the anger from his voice. "I have thought about nothing else. Edouard knows he cannot return home whilst he is under St Andre's power." It was true, and his father should know that. "There is only one way Edouard will ever challenge the Marechal. Only one place where Edouard can match St Andre."
"In single combat." His father answered at once, without thought, and clearly unimpressed. "You put your hopes on an honor duel."
"Yes." His confidence wavered. "You don't agree?"
"You seem to have become as half-witted as your brother. If Edouard kills St Andre, it will hardly end his problems. It might be that he loses any chance of proving his innocence. And there is a good chance he will not prevail."
"Edouard is King's Champion. The best knight in Valderon…"
"Don't be naïve. The title does not ensure supremacy. St Andre is a seasoned fighter. He has played Edouard like a hooked fish. Your brother won't stand a chance against him."
"What can we do?"
"Now? Nothing, it is too late, and we are too far away. It will be over before we could get close. I thank the saints Michel is with the boys."
Chapter 60
The screaming was getting louder. Edouard reined his horse to a halt, choking on the smoke of another burning village. His stallion pranced and reared and for a moment, he fought to control the battle-crazed animal. Around him soldiers were herding off the animals before firing the last houses. A village woman ran past, screaming. Off to his left, Edouard saw a soldier run down a fleeing peasant, killing him from behind with one thrust of his pike. St Andre's orders allowed the men license for revenge and, frustrated by the defeat outside Ralmadre, the mood was ugly.
With the bulk of the army safely in Valderon, the tail of the rearguard was sweeping through the Ettivaran border lands killing, burning villages, slaughtering animals, determined to leave only ruin and desolation behind. Edouard watched the carnage. St Andre had personally given him command of this final rearguard action, and he knew it was punishment for Ralmadre.
St Andre's ploy had been intended to draw the Ettivarans out to defend the border lands. But it had failed. William of Ettivar had not come after them, and his people were suffering for it. The countryside ravaged for miles, and the towns taken in the advance looted and burned. St Andre had made sure that for William the success of Ralmadre would have a high price. It was a battle that would leave a bitter legacy.
After a week of burning and driving the people from their villages, Edouard and the men he commanded were about to cross the border into Valderon. Watching the destruction, blank faced, Edouard was forced to live his nightmares. It did not help that this time the killing and burning were at least nominally done in the King's name. It was an awful reminder of the power St Andre held over him. After what had happened at court, and the battle of Ralmadre, any hint that he had acted dishonorably would destroy him. The truth, twisted to St Andre's purpose, could do much worse.
Every house in the village was burning now. Edouard signaled to his captain to sound the retreat. Reining his stallion round, he saw the men emerging from the smoke, carrying what poor spoils the village had offered. Scowling, he watched them, trying to remember they were doing no more than their orders allowed. The score of knights he commanded galloped up; their faces were as grim as his mood. The knights reined their stallions to a halt and waited silently for his orders. After dispersing them to oversee the men and animals, Edouard looked to the hills of Etrives.
By this evening, they would be back in the camp, safe beneath the walls of Etrives. Though there would be little safety for him in St Andre's camp after Ralmadre. He was prepared for that. It was a time to make plans; he would see Angelo, but not Michel, and make sure everything he had asked was done. He hoped Angel had convinced Michel. By now, there should be some sort of plan in place, and once he was free he could act. Duke Lorenz
o's warning nagged at him constantly. Angelo had told him that the betrothal between Rafaela de Etrives and Clement St Andre had been broken. If there was to be a reckoning, he dare not allow St Andre the chance to strike at his family.
####
On the second morning after his return to Etrives, Edouard left the camp, riding alone. He forded the river to reach the meadows. To his left the bulk of Castle Etrives rose like a mountain range across the skyline. Though it was early, a queue of people and carts were already waiting at the gatehouse, and a steady stream of riders and pedestrians was flowing down the road down to the city. He had not seen the Duke, and he knew better than to expect help from Etrives. Lorenzo had his own problems.
With a last glance to the castle, Edouard turned his stallion towards the open meadows and the hills beyond. He persuaded the horse to settle to a walk. Monster clouds rolled above the hills, and a hint of breeze did not disguise the heaviness in the air, a storm was coming.
He had not traveled far when his horse pricked its ears, skittering nervously sideways. From behind, he heard the steady drum of hooves. He looked back. Half a dozen riders were tracking his path across the meadows; he recognized St Andre at their head, with Raymond and four men. They were traveling at a steady trot and would soon catch him. The stallion pranced, snatching at the bit, awaiting his command. He glanced back wondering if he should make a run for it and draw them off.
St Andre had spurred to a canter, Raymond beside him, the four men following. Edouard scanned the meadows, but there was no one close by, only one distant horseman following the road from the castle towards the hills. Unsettled, the stallion reared and Edouard reached a hand to gentle it; really there was no reason to run. This was a moment he had been waiting for.
The riders came steadily on but as they drew close, St Andre rode ahead. He came abreast of Edouard and reined his stallion to a walk.
"Edouard, it is important we talk, privately," he said, with the slightest smile. "I'm glad you waited." He looked to the hills. "Shall we ride on?" It was no more a question than a request. The Marechal urged his horse to a canter. Edouard hesitated for a moment, but Raymond and his men flanked him. He followed St Andre.
They covered the distance to the hills quickly. Riding between the curling slopes, the meadows and Etrives were soon hidden from sight. St Andre drew rein, easing his stallion to a walk. It was very quiet. High above a falcon was gliding in lazy circles. Edouard watched the bird, waiting for the stoop.
St Andre's voice dragged his attention back. "So, Edouard, what have you to say about Ralmadre?"
Raymond and his men had dropped back to ride a couple of horses' length behind them. Edouard hardly noticed; St Andre's words swept everything else aside. It was a challenge and he knew he should dissemble. But after Ralmadre, with Duke Lorenzo's warning burning in his brain, he could not. "You sent no order to relieve the Duke. You wanted Etrives decimated, Lorenzo and his sons dead."
St Andre did not reply at once. He settled in the saddle, narrowing his eyes to scan the hillside. The weeks on campaign had hardened him, etched the lines deeper around his mouth and eyes. Bareheaded, he was wearing a light mail jack and heavy leather gauntlets. There was no sign of the courtier now. A last he spoke. "How unwise you are, Edouard. Should I believe you thwarted me deliberately?" His smile was cold. "Be careful how you answer."
"I did what any loyal commander would have done. You can't think I will help you maneuver against Etrives."
"Even to protect Chamfort? To protect your family? I thought I had made myself clear in this, the stakes are very high for you, Edouard."
"That goad no longer works." Edouard turned on him, his fragile control slipping. "You broke it with what you did at Ralmadre, and when you made sure the blame would fall on Chamfort."
"Not so." St Andre said, softly. "You foiled my plans, Edouard. You cannot expect my protection if you go against me. In the circumstances I think I was generous, you must know that with a couple of words I could have made things much worse for you." He looked over, pausing to make the words a promise and a threat. "I still can."
Between the hills, there was no breeze, and the air was thick and cloying. Edouard reined his stallion to a halt. He waited until St Andre turned back. It took an effort, but he spoke quietly. "Your threats are useless. Whatever game you are playing, I won't be your pawn." He felt the strength of St Andre's will turned on him and fought to match it.
St Andre broke laughed softly. "This is not a game." He raised a hand. The men behind them fanned out to form a circle, cutting off any hope of escape. Raymond moved closer. Edouard was not thinking of escape, his attention was focused on St Andre. He had seen him in this mood before and the sense of danger raised the hairs along the back of his neck.
The Marechal did not speak while his men deployed. He sat waiting. When the men were in position, he urged his stallion forward. The horse laid back its ears as it came alongside Edouard's stallion. One handed, St Andre curbed it. He raised his other fist. The heavy, backhanded blow caught Edouard across the face before he could react.
"What makes you think you have a choice now?" Jabbing the curb brutally, St Andre brought the stallion to a trembling halt. "Have you forgotten your brothers are at Etrives?"
Edouard did not feel the blow. Without looking, he judged how close Raymond was to them, but kept his attention fixed on St Andre. "And I should thank you for that?"
"It does not matter now. Just remember your actions affect their well-being. That should be simple enough to understand, even for you."
"The boys are no longer at Castle Etrives."
"I hope you are mistaken," St Andre said quietly, holding his gaze. "I have not given permission for them to leave, and it would be most unwise for them to attempt to travel without the necessary papers."
He smiled. "Michel is with them, and Angelo and fifty Chamfort knights. I'm sure they'll manage."
St Andre's hand jerked to a fist. But as he lashed out, Edouard touched spurs to his stallion's sides. The horse pranced sideways. St Andre's blow missed. Immediately, Edouard spurred the stallion, driving it back towards St Andre. Behind him, he heard the hiss of steel as Raymond drew his sword. He did not attempt to draw his sword. The main gauche was in his hand. As his stallion leaped forward he slashed the dagger up towards St Andre's throat. But the Marechal reacted with a fighter's instinct, his horse, battle trained too, struck out with teeth and hooves, causing Edouard's stallion to falter. His blow struck too low, glancing off chain mail.
Edouard let the momentum of his lunge carry him on into St Andre. As the Marechal's horse staggered under the double weight, Edouard pulled him from the saddle. They hit the ground together. Edouard gripped the main gauche; one well-placed thrust was all he needed. Ignoring the pain, he dragged his arm back, with the other hand he tried to pin St Andre but, even as they landed, the Marechal was rolling away, using moves learned over years of close combat to break free.
Unable to hold him, Edouard slammed an elbow into his ribs. He heard St Andre gasp. Knowing he had only moments, he threw his weight across the Marechal's legs. But St Andre could fight dirty too; somehow he brought a knee up. Edouard twisted, stabbing down desperately. He heard Raymond cursing close behind him, and knew time was running out.
The first blow took him across the back. He was wearing mail, but the weight of the blow slammed him to the ground. He rolled, avoiding the next blow. St Andre was on his feet now. His boot lashed out, stamping down and catching Edouard's injured arm.
It stopped him, for a moment. Raymond was on him before he could recover. Dragged to his feet, the main gauche twisted from his hand, he saw the glimmer of steel then St Andre's blade pricked his throat.
"So, Edouard, you will add murder to your crimes?"
"My crimes!" He wrenched against his captors, but despite his fury they held him. "You, talk to me of crimes, you murdering bastard." He struggled and fought them until a blow dazed him. Shaking his head to clear it, he knew o
ne thing. They had not yet taken his sword.
St Andre was standing, with the point of his sword resting on the ground. He was smiling. "So, Edouard, what was your plan?"
Edouard made no answer. The smile faded from St Andre's face. "Of course, I should've known. Did you really think my death would be enough to end this?"
"It is my right." He stopped struggling. "To demand an honor duel, to ask you face me in personal challenge." He said it slowly and clearly. "I accuse you of abusing the King's trust and using the power that trust conveys to kill and maim those you have sworn to protect."
"When did you become the King's champion?" St Andre asked with heavy irony. "This is old ground, Edouard. Any tale you tell will damn you twice over before it harms me. If Ferdinand will even hear you. It is more likely he will throw you into the deepest dungeon to rot."
"He will not dismiss the treason of Ralmadre so easily. You threw away any chance of victory to see Etrives destroyed." He did not mention Duke Lorenzo.
Sunlight glinted on steel as St Andre raised his sword. Edouard did not flinch as it came to rest against his throat. His voice held steady. "I offer you challenge, what have you to fear? You have threatened and harmed my family. If you have any honor, you will accept it is my right to challenge you." He made sure the men at his back heard. It was a powerful claim, one that he thought even St Andre would hesitate to ignore. However much his men knew, whatever the reason they followed him, they were fighting men and, before any other, they lived and died by that code.
"You attempt murder and talk of honor." St Andre regarded him impassively, the blade rock steady in his hand. "There is no debt of honor between us, Edouard. You have made your choices."
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 61