Viper's Blood

by David Gilman

  ‘How long before she can travel?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know, my lord. The woman, I mean the apothecary, says she must remain undisturbed and cared for a while yet,’ said Blackstone.

  Amadeus pulled a hand through his generous mop of hair and looked out of the window towards the mountain peaks. ‘You must get across the pass before the September snow falls. It can be early some years but you must be gone within ten days at the latest. And we are in danger of an early winter. It’s in the air, Sir Thomas. You can smell snow before it falls and those of us who live in the shadow of the mountains know the signs. Even the wild rabbits’ coats have started to turn from brown to white. We all ready ourselves. The child must recover and it must be soon. The ceremony is planned for October. There is much to be done. This marriage is a momentous occasion.’

  ‘We can only travel when her highness is well enough,’ said Killbere.

  ‘Of course, of course, there is no question of doing otherwise.’ Amadeus hesitated. Was now the time to try and uncover who wanted to harm the girl? ‘I have had men scouring the countryside to see that the route we planned for her is safe. They are thorough, and they have the ear of my subjects. But there is one I value more than most. He was a feral child I came across in the forest years ago – the circumstances are unimportant – but he has the sense of an animal and he knows these forests as well as any hunting creature. He has seen hundreds of men lying in wait – two hundred, possibly more – in a forest close to the road you will take. They are routiers who obviously mean to cause harm, yet they have made no attack on any traveller so far, although there are merchants who travel that route from Milan to Lyon and then north to Paris. They have not been assaulted.’

  ‘But you control the pass,’ said Killbere.

  ‘I have sufficient men to protect my territory but they are scattered and, as I told you, I hold them in reserve to respond to a call for help from the Pope. And here I have only enough men to defend the palace. By the time I send orders to gather my vassals these routiers may have gone elsewhere. Why are these men there, I ask myself, and if it is not to seize you then the only answer I can find is the Princess.’

  ‘To ransom her,’ suggested Killbere.

  ‘But how would common brigands know of her journey? Was it common knowledge among the English? Are these men released from service after the treaty who wish to seize wealth by taking the child?’ said Amadeus.

  ‘There is no knowing, my lord,’ said Blackstone. ‘Skinners will take their chances to seize a great prize and if your man saw two hundred then there will be more he did not see.’ Blackstone couldn’t discount the fact that these men might be waiting to ambush him. He had made enough enemies over the years: it might not be the Visconti’s mercenaries who were waiting. ‘Who would benefit from the Princess’s death?’

  The Count recoiled at the thought of someone wishing to kill the child.

  Blackstone pressed his question. ‘If the Princess dies. Who would benefit?’

  ‘No one. Surely,’ Amadeus said uncertainly, for a part of him knew that Thomas Blackstone might suggest the name of the one man who would gain from the death of the Princess. Galeazzo Visconti was politically astute and the marriage of his son into the house of Valois would give him the support of the French and the blessing of the Pope. There was only one man who would one day lose power because of the arranged marriage: Galeazzo’s brother, the second Lord of Milan, Bernabò Visconti. The crazed, lustful one who relished torture.

  Blackstone held the Count’s gaze. Had they both thought the same name? ‘Bernabò Visconti’s future would remain secure if the girl dies,’ said Blackstone, and saw that he and the Count had indeed reached the same conclusion.

  ‘Christ,’ said Killbere. ‘He would murder a child to stop his own brother becoming more powerful?’

  ‘Both have murdered members of their family in the past to increase their power. One pays the King’s ransom for the privilege; the other will kill for it.’ Blackstone looked back at the Count. ‘We should find out whatever we can before we take her across into Italy and determine whether this fever was brought on by poison,’ he said. ‘I suggest you keep your quarantine in force. The gates should stay closed and no one be allowed to leave the palace until this matter is settled. If she is the victim of a poisoner then those outside may be waiting for news of her death. Will you give me the time and authority to investigate?’

  ‘You have it, Sir Thomas,’ said Amadeus, but the look of concern still wrinkled his young face.

  Killbere kept pace with Blackstone as he strode from the Count’s quarters.

  ‘We have a hundred Frenchmen with us. It might not be enough if there are more of those whoresons in hiding,’ said Killbere. ‘Who knows how accurate the Count’s reports are?’

  ‘Have the men ready. If we go outside these walls we’ll do it without the French escort,’ Blackstone told him.

  Killbere spat. ‘Send the French. Rather them die than us.’

  Blackstone grinned. ‘But we kill better than them.’

  *

  Aelis was asleep, exhausted after the long vigil with the stricken child. Her arm was thrown across the side of her face. Blackstone gave her nakedness barely a thought. He shook her awake. She started but then calmed. He told her of his doubts about the child’s fever.

  ‘It could be poison,’ she admitted as she dressed quickly. ‘She vomited when I first went to her. If you are fearful then I must go back and stay with her. Keep everyone else away from her until she recovers.’ She had made no sign or gesture of affection towards him, but he followed her to the Princess’s chamber where the servants were waiting for Isabelle to regain consciousness. They looked alarmed as Blackstone and Aelis came into the room. Aelis went straight to the child, felt her heart and pressed a hand against her skin.

  ‘Did you do as I instructed?’ she asked the servants.

  One took a step forward, an older woman who served with the ladies-in-waiting. ‘She awoke for a few moments and I gave her the juice you left,’ she said, pointing to the carafe. ‘Then she slept again.’

  Aelis looked at Blackstone. ‘She sweats again and her breathing is shallow.’ She faced the women, some of whom cowed before her. ‘When I left her the Princess slept soundly. I had reduced the fever. What else has gone on here?’ Her voice was laden with threat and the younger women shuffled back against the wall. ‘Who prepared her food?’ she demanded.

  The older woman beckoned another of the women who were waiting obediently. ‘This one, Angeline.’

  Aelis made no move towards the girl. ‘Come here,’ she said.

  Blackstone watched the other women. They shot glances at each other; their hands twisted anxiously. They were all frightened.

  Aelis continued: ‘Did you prepare any food different than usual?’

  The girl shook her head, her expression anxious.

  ‘No spices in her food?’

  Again the girl’s head went from side to side.

  ‘She speaks the truth,’ said the older woman. ‘We have attended her highness for two years. We all know what she likes. She would not eat such food.’ And then she understood what the suspicion might be. ‘You think the child poisoned?’

  The women gasped at the prospect. One, a middle-aged matron, crossed herself and kissed the crucifix at her neck.

  ‘Spicy food would disguise the bitter taste of any poison. Of course,’ the older woman said. ‘But it is not possible. No one here, not one of us would cause harm to the child.’ She looked at the chambermaid, who was little older than the Princess. ‘And she has only been in attendance when her duties required her to be here. She is one of the Count’s servants. Look at her. She has neither the wit nor the brain to even know about poison.’

  ‘Then why is the Princess worse than when I left her?’ said Aelis.

  ‘She sickens, is all,’ the woman answered.

  ‘You,’ said Blackstone to the lady-in-waiting who had kissed her cruci
fix. The other women looked alarmed as they stared at her. Why was she being singled out?

  ‘My lord?’ she said.

  He beckoned her forward. The others stepped aside as she nervously approached Blackstone, her head craned upwards to meet his eyes.

  ‘When you raised the cross to your lips the back of your hand came free from your sleeve. It’s covered with red blemishes.’

  Before the startled woman could answer, he heard Aelis speak.

  ‘Wolfsbane. You’ve got it on your hands.’

  The woman quickly stepped back, terror-stricken, but Blackstone grabbed her and Aelis pulled back the woman’s sleeve. All saw the red blotches inflaming her skin.

  ‘Clarimonde! You did this? To our child? To this innocent?’ the older woman cried. ‘Did you put it in the wine? Bitch! You always serve her the wine!’

  The culprit snatched free her arm, but Aelis took everyone by surprise and slapped her hard. She sprawled. The sudden violence shocked the ladies-in-waiting into silence. Clarimonde looked at the stunned companions she had lived and served with over the years; then she scuttled backwards, snarling her own venom at them all.

  ‘I owe the child nothing. When the Dauphin ran back to Paris after Poitiers he had my son executed. He accused my son of cowardice on the battlefield.’ She spat at them, no longer a sedate matron but a vengeful creature who had harboured the venom of hatred within her every day since they had hanged her son. ‘All these years I have waited to inflict pain. Four long years!’

  Aelis turned on the other women. ‘Find mulberry leaves, boil them in vinegar. Be quick.’

  The women almost ran from the room. Blackstone looked at Aelis.

  ‘It will help to stop the poison. I have my own potions but I need to slow the wolfsbane’s effect first.’

  Blackstone reached down and hauled the squirming poisoner to her feet. Her lip was already cut. ‘You did this on your own?’

  She twisted her head away, refusing to look at Blackstone. He grabbed her face and forced her to confront him. ‘Why wait until now? You’ve served the child for years – why now?’ He loosened his grip so that she could answer him. There was fear in her face now, and uncertainty, and he could see that she would not answer.

  ‘Were you paid? Were promises made if you killed the Princess?’

  The fight and bitterness deserted her. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘He said I should wait… that I must hide my desire for revenge because it could be better served when the time was right. And then… when the child was betrothed… then he sent me word… Before we crossed the mountains, that is when I should make her ill so that she died.’

  ‘Who?’ Blackstone demanded. ‘Is it the Visconti who sent you?’

  She shook her head. ‘He does not bear that name. Cataline, my daughter, serves in his house… that is how he used me, used my desire for revenge. She will die if the Princess survives and reaches Milan.’ She slumped, as if her tortured soul was ready to flee from her, and wailed, ‘I have no other child!’

  Blackstone slapped her, forcing her back to reality. ‘Who?’ he demanded.

  But the fear of losing her child kept her silent.

  Blackstone eased her to the far side of the room. The cool air from the window seemed to revive her for a moment and as she glanced at Aelis tending the Princess the years of hatred and anger surged up once more; she found enough strength to spit on the floor at her feet. Blackstone pushed her down onto the bench.

  ‘What do you know of others who wish to harm the girl? Are there men waiting before we cross the mountains?’

  The look of puzzlement on Clarimonde’s face told Blackstone she knew nothing of the routiers in the forest. She shook her head. Blackstone lowered his voice. ‘You will be sent back to Paris and the Dauphin. There you’ll be taken through the streets to the Place de Grève for public execution. You know they won’t just hang or behead you. You’ll die a thousand deaths first. They will rip the flesh from your breasts, arms and thighs with red-hot pincers, and the hand that fed the Princess poison will be burnt with sulphur. And where they have flayed your body they will scald the raw flesh with hot irons to sear the wounds, and then they will tie you to horses and have your limbs wrenched from your torso, and what is left of your body will be thrown into a fire and your ashes scattered.’

  His quiet words held the woman as if in a trance. Her face was wet with silent tears.

  ‘I can help you,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll find your daughter and I will try to save her. What is the name of this man who used your hatred for his own purpose?’

  The palm of her hand wiped away tears and snot. ‘Antonio Lorenz,’ she said quietly. ‘He is one of the bastard sons of Lord Visconti.’

  ‘Which lord? Galeazzo or Bernabò?’ said Blackstone.

  ‘Bernabò,’ she said. She raised her head. ‘How can you help me?’

  Blackstone stepped back a couple of paces and looked at the open window.

  It only took a moment for her to realize what he offered.

  ‘Bless you, Sir Thomas,’ she said and, clambering quickly onto the bench, pitched herself through the open space onto the courtyard far below.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  When Blackstone and Killbere sought permission to speak to Amadeus the Count’s chamberlain demanded to know on what grounds they wanted an audience, insisting that anything that could be said to the Count should be relayed first to him. Blackstone extended a restraining arm to stop Killbere grabbing the old man’s beard and tugging him to his knees.

  ‘When Sir Thomas Blackstone requests an audience he does so with information fit only for your master’s ears, you decrepit beggar.’

  The insult made matters worse and the chamberlain turned his back until Blackstone threatened that unless the old man did as they asked the French royal Princess might not survive the day. The blustering fool ran as quickly as his spindly legs could carry him into the great hall where Count Amadeus berated him for standing between the child’s bodyguard and his lord under whose roof she sheltered. Bowing with abject apology the chamberlain ushered Blackstone and Killbere into the Count’s presence. Blackstone recounted the dead woman’s attempt on the Princess’s life.

  ‘Did you throw her from the window?’ asked the Count.

  ‘I gave her the choice of that or the Dauphin’s punishment.’

  ‘She made the right decision.’

  The young Count sank into silence. The complexity of the situation did not escape him. The child was in his care until she passed across the Alps.

  ‘Do you know of Antonio Lorenz?’ said Blackstone.

  ‘One of Bernabò’s bastards,’ the Count replied.

  ‘He is the one responsible,’ said Killbere.

  Amadeus gazed at the burning logs in the grate. His alliances could just as easily go up in smoke. After a few moments he became aware of Blackstone and Killbere staring at him. Each had moved slightly, as if ready to block any attempt he might have made to escape. It dawned on him that they might think him complicit. The realization spawned other fears. Blackstone and the French escort numbered nigh on two hundred men inside his walls. His own men were too few to ride out against a determined enemy but strong enough to hold out against an assault. But not from within. Not from men such as Blackstone led. They could kill him and seize the palace. Perhaps Blackstone had already alerted his men.

  ‘You consider me a part of this?’ said the Count.

  ‘Your sister is married to Bernabò’s brother. We reach your palace and an attempt is made to kill the child.’

  ‘You dare to accuse me?’ Amadeus said sharply.

  His indignation had no effect on either of the men before him. The danger these men presented was immediate and he knew no matter how strongly he might protest their suspicions had to be allayed.

  ‘Very well, I understand. But we spoke earlier of who would benefit from the child’s death. We have no evidence to link Bernabò Visconti to this assassination attempt. And it was I who w
arned you about the men waiting on your route. I gain nothing from this,’ he insisted. ‘If anything I lose greatly. Think on it, Sir Thomas. My sister Bianca married to Galeazzo; their son betrothed to Isabelle. An alliance that strengthens my hand against those who try and attack my borders. My territory straddles the Alps. I need alliances but Bernabò Visconti is a man berserk with lust and an unquenchable desire for power. He cannot offer me anything except loss of influence and disgrace brought down on my name. If he is involved through his bastard son then he is our common enemy.’

  His explanation was convincing enough to make sense to the two armed men.

  Blackstone’s hand eased away from Wolf Sword’s grip, a move noticed by the young Count. Perhaps he had been closer to death than he had realized.

  ‘It’s obvious that if this woman failed to kill Isabelle then the men waiting are there to see it done,’ said Blackstone. ‘I cannot risk her again, so I ask you to allow us to travel south to the pass I have used before to cross the mountains.’

  ‘Through the Gate of the Dead?’ Amadeus said. ‘Into Montferrat territory? No. Sir Thomas, he may be your friend but he is my enemy, and if he had the chance to seize the girl and hold her to ransom he would, and then whatever friendship there is between you could soon disappear.’ Count Amadeus had regained his composure. ‘No, I will help you snare these routiers. You must travel the way we have determined.’ He walked to the far side of the room where a long table held writing materials, books and rolled parchments which he fingered until he found the one he wanted.