Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

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  Rupert took the glass of wine from his brother's hand, glad to see his own hand was steady. The same could not be said of his emotions. He watched Ferdinand's back as his brother turned to pour for himself. They were alone and Rupert was glad of it. The morning had been a greater ordeal than he had imagined, and yet he was aware that it could have been much worse. Ferdinand had not been cruel. He was surprised by that.

  Ferdinand came to stand by him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry."

  Rupert was unnerved to find he believed him. He shook his head. Words were dangerous here.

  "I feel…" Ferdinand hesitated, an unusual thing. "I have Arnaud back–"

  "I'm glad of it," said Rupert, before his brother could finish the thought. He could not stop him continuing or speaking the name he did not want to hear from his brother's lips.

  "Edouard," said Ferdinand. "I was afraid he was like you. I see now I should have feared that he was not."

  It was the nearest thing to an apology he had ever had from his brother, an apology for a lifetime's suspicion, for exile from court and from the life that should have been his. But even a rapprochement between them was fraught with danger and hurt. It was not, and never would be, an apology for the loss of his son or for hearing his son branded traitor and murderer, held responsible for the defeat at Ralmadre. In truth his greatest sadness was his own silence, he had not defended Edouard. He could not, without risking everything. Edouard had died to protect them.

  Rupert wondered what he would have done if Edouard had been his only child, how differently things might have gone if he did not have a family to protect. It was not an easy thought. But in truth he had not had any part in the game. He would honor his son's memory by preserving the gift he had given them. "You have my complete loyalty," he said. "I will do whatever you ask."

  "I need no further proof." Ferdinand turned away. "You have shown me it is in my power to make things right between us and so nullify the threat. Beatrice has told me so for years."

  Why did you take so long to see what was so obvious? The words echoed inside Rupert's head. Why did I have to lose so much to gain your trust?

  "There is something I must say." Rupert knew he was about to take a great risk. He could destroy their fragile trust with these words. The irony was that he spoke out of loyalty to his brother.

  Ferdinand was watching him, waiting, his face inscrutable.

  "The Marechal St Andre," Rupert took a breath, paused a moment to see if his brother would speak, relieve him of this burden. The King was silent. "St Andre betrayed you."

  The silence stretched between them, treacherous as thin ice. Ferdinand was still; his wine glass paused halfway to his lips. He raised it and drank, silent as he savored the wine. Rupert felt the ice crack beneath him. He had risked his family's safety, a gift from his son, to give this warning. Had he been a fool to trust his brother's words? Ferdinand would be gracious for as long as he had what he wanted.

  The King turned his back. "I know," he said softly. "It changes nothing." The words were brutal, as only Ferdinand could be.

  "Of course," he said when he could speak. "That was not why I raised it. He has a son. There may be other conspirators." Every word was a risk, but he saw now that silence was dangerous too.

  "Clement St Andre is not his father. Do not fear. I will keep him close." Ferdinand did not turn. "I know my enemies; those I do not yet know, I will discover." The last was said with chilling softness.

  Rupert was still struggling with the implications of his brother's words. Ferdinand returned, bringing the wine. He filled their glasses. Rupert found his gaze caught and held.

  "I thank you for the warning," said Ferdinand. "I have seen the evidence. Let it be clear between us so there is no future uncertainty. Your son was in league with St Andre. That was the extent of the conspiracy. For obvious reasons, I cannot now make St Andre's treachery public. I am sorry." His words seemed genuine.

  It was too much. Shock dulled Rupert's wits and took the last of his strength. He could not decipher what his brother was telling him. Was Ferdinand afraid revealing St Andre's treachery would make him look weak? Or that it would give warning to the others. Rupert sat in silence. It was Ferdinand's problem.

  Ferdinand allowed the silence and Rupert was grateful. There had been enough words today. He wanted only to leave, to return to Chamfort. But he must wait on the King's pleasure. Ferdinand filled their glasses several times before he spoke again.

  "There is good news," he said. "I hope you will forgive me for sharing it now, but it may bring some comfort." He smiled. "Gaynor is with child. Arnaud may yet give us a son."

  It was not news; Charles had told him. "Congratulations." Rupert raised his glass and managed to smile in return. He was glad for his brother, and he tried not to feel bitter. It was easier if he thought of Arnaud. "To Gaynor and Arnaud." He and Ferdinand shared the toast. Both of them understood it was good news for Chamfort. An heir would release him and Charles from a now precarious importance in the succession.

  "We will not announce it for a while," said Ferdinand.

  It was a warning. Rupert nodded, exhausted. He wondered what Ferdinand was keeping from him.

  "You will be keen to return to Chamfort?"

  It might have been an invitation to remain at court, if that was what he wanted. "Yes," he said. "Unless I may serve you further?"

  Ferdinand rose, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Return to Chamfort, brother," he said. "I will call when I have need of you."

  Chapter 101

  Rupert set the last of his papers aside and stood up. He looked around the study. After weeks cloistered at Chamfort he was about to make a journey that would change his family's future. He was nervous; the thought surprised him. The last months had been hard, he hoped the worst was over, but he could not be sure. The choices he made now were crucial.

  Elle and the boys remained at Etrives. He would not call them back until he was certain it was safe for them to return. Ferdinand had given him a warning and he knew better than to ignore it. Things would change with the announcement that Arnaud's Princess would give him an heir.

  He made his way to the stables where those accompanying him were waiting. Life went on. It was a remorseless truth. The Chamfort knights had returned from Etrives; new squires had arrived. Training went on as before. The chateau and its routines were his sanctuary. He had survived loss this way before. But there was one appointment he could not put off or ask Charles to deal with.

  He nodded to his son. Charles was not happy. He had not told him where they were going or why. It added to the tension that persisted between them.

  After so many weeks, it felt strange to leave the chateau grounds, to ride down the steep road to the bridge and cross the river to Chamfort town. It was easy to remember the weeks that this freedom had been denied him. He should be thankful that Ferdinand had been reasonable, and that things had not gone worse for his family.

  The streets were busy and people stopped to stare. They bowed and called out greeting or condolence. It was done with respect, unlike Fourges, in Chamfort no one believed Edouard had been a traitor. The reminder that there were so many who did cut too close; loyal as his people were, he was glad to leave the town and murmuring crowds behind.

  In Chamfort woods the first signs of spring had arrived, soft footed, turning gothic gloom into soaring green-lit splendor. Buds unfurled on the trees. Primroses pricked the forest floor, and the grass along the roadside was thick and bright as green velvet. The year turned as if nothing had happened. It was the same reminder with everything he touched or saw, and it filled him with helpless anger. He knew such thoughts were foolish, maudlin, but he could not yet deal with the losses his family had suffered. First Michel and then, despite that sacrifice, Edouard.

  He did not relish this journey, but it was something he could not avoid. Charles, Gerald and Antonio were with him and a score of Chamfort knights. A small party that woul
d not attract attention, and no one, not even Charles, knew where they were going. He felt his son's worried gaze and turned.

  "Charles, there is no need to watch over me like a hen with a single egg."

  His son smiled and shrugged. "Sorry, the secrecy is making me anxious."

  It was a fair answer. Charles was only at Chamfort because he was worried about him. He knew that his eldest son had no wish to remain at Chamfort. After today perhaps the problem would be solved, and Charles would be free to return to Fourges and the friendship he had developed with Prince Arnaud.

  "We are going to Montmercy," he said and spurred ahead before Charles could question him further. Since Charles' return, there was too much unsaid and unresolved between them. It was awkward, and he could not face another argument.

  He told his companions nothing more through the days spent traveling. It was a tense, silent group that reached the stronghold of Montmercy. As they rode beneath the long avenue of trees, he saw Mariette waiting to greet them. He supposed this was no easier for her, and that her offer had been made through a sense of duty and perhaps regret.

  She was wearing a dress of palest spring green, her dark hair gathered beneath a net of pearls. Her children were at her side. The boy, Francis, nine years old now and the image of his father, looked solemn. The little girl had the look of Hugo too. The sight of the children reminded him Mariette had suffered a grief to match his own. He dismounted and went to meet her.

  "Mariette, lovely as ever." He touched her fingers to his lips. "And Francis," he turned to greet the boy. "And this is Caterine."

  Charles came to join him, saluting Mariette somewhat coldly though he smiled at the children.

  He was grateful that Mariette did not seem to notice his son's manner. She touched her son on the shoulder and he bowed.

  "Welcome to Montmercy," the boy said, clear and proud.

  Rupert bowed in return. "We thank you for your hospitality, your grace, and hope to repay it when we welcome you to Chamfort. You will visit us?"

  Francis looked to his mother and then said, "You train knights, sir? I should like to see that." At Rupert's nod he continued. "Mama said you might train me."

  Rupert's gaze met Mariette's and he smiled. "I'm sure there will be a place for you, Francis." He ignored Charles and looked instead to Antonio and Gerald. "Here are my master of horse and knight captain. I believe they would be honored to have you join us." The two men bowed.

  The boy bowed in return, but he did not smile. "I want to learn from the best," he said, fiercely. "So I can protect mama, Caterine and Montmercy."

  "That is a noble aim." The boy's conviction was intense, and he sensed Mariette's distress. "Do you have a pony?"

  The boy nodded. "And my father's sword. I train with Captain Stefan, but we only use wooden swords."

  The boy was frowning again and Rupert said quickly. "Captain Stefan is a fine officer. I hope you will tell me all about your training."

  "But first we should offer our guests refreshment," said Mariette, touching her son's arm.

  The boy nodded. "And your guest is waiting for you."

  "Guest," said Charles, his voice sharp with concern.

  Rupert realized he had been unfair. He turned to face his son. "Lorenzo de Etrives is here. He has come to meet with us." He saw Charles face change. "It is all right. Elle and the boys are safe. Lorenzo is here for a pleasant reason."

  Charles had lost color, but he did not question. How could he in truth. He did say, "He takes a risk. You are taking a risk."

  "That is why we have kept this meeting secret." He put a hand on his son's shoulder, mirroring Mariette. "Come, do not worry." Despite their differences, it was a comfort to know he could trust Charles to act sensibly.

  Mariette led them inside. Women came to take the children, though the boy did not want to go. His mother soothed him, placing a kiss among his brown curls. "This is not our business, Francis. It is a meeting between our friends of Chamfort and Etrives," she said gently and watched as he followed his sister.

  Rupert went to her side. "Thank you for doing this, Mariette. We did not intend to intrude on your family."

  "I owe you this much at least," she said and there was the slightest edge to her voice though he could not identify the emotion.

  He had been angry with her, he remembered, and harsh. Seeing her at Montmercy, with her fatherless children, he was sorry for that. "There is and always will be only friendship between our houses," he said, and followed as she led him through the great hall to a solar overlooking the gardens.

  Servants took their cloaks and brought wine and light refreshments.

  Lorenzo de Etrives joined them soon after, limping and gaunt faced. His short hair turned near white, but his halting step was firm and there was a steady strength to the hand that gripped Rupert's. "I am sorry for your loss," he said and ignored Rupert's gesture of dismissal. "And for any part I played in what happened. If it is any comfort I will tell you that your son fought bravely at Ralmadre, and at Etrives we will always remember him as a hero."

  Mariette had turned to leave them. Rupert stilled her with a touch. "Stay, if you will. If this is something you want to hear." He was not sure, but after a moment's hesitation, she nodded and turned aside to find a seat.

  Charles was still standing; he looked to Lorenzo. "If you will speak of it, I would know more of what happened at Ralmadre," he said.

  Rupert said nothing. He would not have asked, but he could not deny Charles the chance to hear the truth.

  Lorenzo nodded. "I will answer what you do not ask." He took a moment. "The battle went badly for Etrives, and not by chance. I was not supposed to survive the battle. If your brother had not risked all to come to our aid, if the Chamfort knights had not supported him," he shrugged. "I saw Edouard in St Andre's tent after the battle and made some gesture to show that the rumors accusing him of responsibility for our losses were untrue. But it was not my first thought or concern. Later he came to my camp to warn me. It was a foolish risk, endangering us both. I was harsh with him."

  Charles made a sound, quickly silenced. Rupert glanced to him and spoke first. "Do not blame yourself, Lorenzo. The die was long since cast. I fear it was too late by then."

  "Perhaps," said Lorenzo. "But it was poor payment for the service he had done Etrives that day." He looked at Rupert. "I learned something of the trouble he was in. I told him he must stop St Andre before he destroyed Chamfort."

  "Saints of mercy, you said that to Edouard?" said Charles, and fell silent under his father's look.

  "You were not to know," said Rupert. "His options by that point were limited. The failure was mine, I did not realize…" He glanced to Charles. "What Edouard faced, or what he had taken on himself."

  "St Andre was a threat to more than our houses, by dealing with that threat your son saved Ferdinand and Valderon," Lorenzo de Etrives said simply. He looked to them both. "Even if it is never acknowledged, it is the truth and I believe Ferdinand begins to realize it now." He stood and raised his glass. "The unity of our great houses will be his monument."

  Rupert stood and mirrored his gesture. "To Edouard, Etrives and Chamfort." He drank.

  Charles was slower to rise, but it was not a salute he could ignore. "Edouard. Etrives and Chamfort," he said somewhat grim.

  Rupert turned towards Charles. His eldest son was not a fool and had obviously guessed the true purpose of this meeting. Rupert met his gaze, offering apology for the secrecy as he raised his glass again. "To unity," he said and looked to Lorenzo. "From your words I gather we may toast the betrothal of Jasper and my daughter Eloise?"

  Lorenzo nodded once. "It is our honor to welcome your daughter into our family. We understand the debt that is owed Chamfort. We will treasure her if she will allow us?"

  "She has written to me of the affection in which she holds your son." Rupert felt badly for Charles. It had not been something he was prepared to discuss or argue with him. "It is a match that protects both
our houses. When it is announced that the Princess Gaynor is with child, and with the safe delivery of that child, I hope the madness of the succession will end. In the meantime, this match will dispel forever rumors of a rift between Chamfort and Etrives. We have the King's permission and we show unity and loyalty to Ferdinand."

  Charles looked stunned as he settled back into his seat. "It is a powerful gesture," he said. "And I am pleased it will do much to reverse the harm done by the false allegations made against my brother. It is some comfort to know that in time, his reputation may be restored, or at least he will not be named traitor and murderer. But it is a shame we could not find a way to help him while it mattered. If this news had come earlier…"

  "Charles!" Rupert turned quickly.

  Charles rose, his color high, and turned to Lorenzo. "My apologies, I have no doubt your son will care for my sister." He seemed to struggle for the right words. "If you will excuse me?"

  Rupert watched him go, and then looked to Lorenzo. "I'm sorry. I should have told him what we planned. But it has been difficult… He blames himself, and me."

  Mariette had risen too. "You have important matters to discuss. I will leave you alone."

  It was true. They had one night, and there was much to be done.

  Chapter 102

  The Compact's men rode for Castle Adumbra. Remy rode with them, trying to hide his fear. He might have won Jaime's approval in the fight at the manor, but inside the fear remained. He had fought and survived; it should make a difference. It didn't. The fear seemed to be part of him. He told himself he had conquered it once. He would do so again.

  In truth he thought any sane man should be afraid of facing the shadow creature. Though he said nothing, even to Mathieu, he wondered if the Compact's men understood what they faced.

  The second night on the road, Brother Liam scried for the creature and found it.

  "Just as we were told, the shadow creature is where the castle stands," he said.