by David Gilman
Blackstone watched her. He had eased from her embrace before dawn to be with his men. He had felt her stir and then as he dressed saw a movement in the darkness as she sat up. ‘So soon?’ she had said.
‘My men must be ready,’ he had answered. ‘Once we get to Milan you’ll stay with Will Longdon and the archers. It’s the safest place.’
She had remained silent for a moment and then whispered, ‘I won’t be staying, Thomas. I’m riding with the Princess.’
He tugged on his jupon, her sudden proclamation catching him unawares. He had assumed she would be staying with him. Hadn’t she told him how she was attracted to him? At times he had used harsh words towards her and the memory of them suddenly taunted him. He didn’t love her. She did not hold his heart as had Christiana. So why did he feel the tinge of regret?
‘As you wish,’ he said, refusing to tell her that he would prefer her to stay under his protection. And, he admitted, close to him.
The darkness hid their feelings.
‘Remember when we spoke at Chartres? In the cathedral? You thought me to be abandoned,’ she said.
‘I have not abandoned you,’ he answered into the gloom.
‘I told you we would travel across the mountains and that I saw the future more clearly than you.’
‘Then you’ve decided?’
‘It is decided for me,’ she said.
He noticed the catch in her throat. ‘It is as it is then,’ he said, and stepped out into the early dawn.
*
Blackstone tugged the bastard horse’s reins. ‘She goes her own way,’ he said to Killbere.
‘Not before time. We lost a good man because of her, and I’m thankful we didn’t lose another,’ said the veteran knight with a knowing look at Blackstone, his meaning clear.
‘Ready the men, Gilbert. We’ll ride on the flank and see what the Visconti have in store for us.’
Killbere watched as Blackstone turned his horse away from Aelis in the distance. She turned her face towards them. But Blackstone did not look back.
*
For over a hundred years there had been a hundred towers in Milan. There were more now – should a man take the time to set his back against a tree and begin counting when the sun rose he would barely be finished by the time it set – symbols of power thrust towards the sky. The city’s encircling walls behind rivers and canals made it unlikely an enemy would attempt to lay siege. The great banners fluttered in the day’s breeze, the languid caress creating the illusion of a living serpent on the blazon swallowing the child. The Milanese were soft in their comfort, their fighting done by paid troops: German and Hungarian, English and French; all had fought for the great city-state and over the years Thomas Blackstone had faced them and killed them. The scourge of Milan led his men aside as the royal column was brought to a halt by the Italian noblemen. Musicians dressed in colourful clothing oozed from a city gate like a shuffling caterpillar, the soaring cacophony of their trumpets and drums shattering the day’s stillness and drowning out birdsong.
‘Noisy bastards,’ said John Jacob as he and the others sat waiting. The half-day’s ride from the previous night’s camp had been without incident but the men’s growing sense of anticipation kept their senses and their eyes sharp. Despite the expanse of the flat plain ambush was not out of the question, even at this late stage of the journey. They watched as Visconti heralds rode out of the city gates escorting someone who looked to be important.
‘Perhaps he’s the head tavern keeper,’ called Will Longdon from behind Blackstone and his squire. ‘Probably about to offer the Princess a barrel of wine as a wedding gift. John, ride over and tell him she’s too young, but we can oblige.’
Killbere looked behind him at the column of men. Blackstone had ordered that his pennons and banner be shown and that their shields be on their arms. The important-looking messenger had approached the Princess and then de Chauliac. After a brief conversation the Frenchman turned his horse and spurred it towards Blackstone. The music still bellowed across the plain.
‘They play much louder and they’ll bring down the walls for us,’ said Gaillard.
‘Let’s see what de Chauliac has to say,’ said Blackstone as the royal captain approached. He reined in his horse.
‘Sir Thomas. We are to ride to the southern gate. The Porta Ticinese is the Lord Galeazzo’s entrance into the city; you are to ride under escort to the Lord Bernabò’s entrance, Porta Tosa.’
‘What escort, captain?’
‘I am relieved of my attendant duties when we reach the Porta Ticinese, and then it is I who will escort you.’ The Frenchman paused. ‘Is it meant as an insult, Sir Thomas?’
Blackstone shook his head. ‘They mean to give me a sense of security. They will raise no hand against us while a royal guard is with us.’
De Chauliac looked at Blackstone and his men. With their shields raised they were not preparing for an attack at this late stage of the journey, they were proclaiming themselves to the Visconti. Look who comes into your city, they were saying. Feast your eyes on the men who have bested your troops. Gaze upon your enemy. Be fearful.
‘You taunt the Visconti, Sir Thomas,’ said de Chauliac. He couldn’t help the grin that creased his face. He had learnt to respect the Englishman’s courage. ‘You defy them.’
‘You don’t tread lightly into a nest of vipers, you carry a big stick. Scare them away before they can sink their fangs into you,’ said Blackstone.
Killbere spat. ‘Except these serpents squirm from every shadow and alleyway so we might not see them coming. We’re just letting them know we’re ready for them.’
De Chauliac looked back to where the Princess’s retinue had begun moving towards the city gate. ‘Sir Thomas, I’m under the Dauphin’s command. I am only relieved of my duties once the marriage ceremony is over. That’s three days away. You saved her life and I will do what I can to serve you should you think you and your men are in danger.’
‘I’m grateful, but this isn’t your fight. However, you can hold this for me,’ said Blackstone, reaching forward with a folded document. De Chauliac looked at the sweat-grimed parchment. ‘You recognize the seal?’
The Frenchman nodded. ‘Yes. The Prince of Wales.’
‘Our safe conduct. If anything should befall us they would seize that and deny its existence and then we are abandoned. When the time comes I would ask you to relinquish it only to Lord Galeazzo. He’s my enemy as much as his brother but with you as witness he might see the value in honouring the English Crown’s demand for our safe passage.’
De Chauliac tucked the document into his glove. ‘Very well, Sir Thomas. Let us hope that moment does not arrive and we can all return safely to our families.’ The Frenchman must have realized that his words had a hollow ring to them for Blackstone. The scar-faced knight showed no sign of displeasure or regret. The royal captain searched for more appropriate words but few came. ‘Back to our… duties,’ he said falteringly. He dipped his head in salute and turned his horse.
‘You put our safety into the hands of a man who, when his horse kicks him in the head, will realize that the Dauphin would reward him handsomely for not doing as you ask,’ Killbere said.
‘It’s worth the gamble, Gilbert. Who knows, we might have French swords to help protect us when the time comes.’
Killbere snorted. John Jacob, Meulon and Gaillard couldn’t keep from smiling. Blackstone grinned. ‘God moves in strange ways. Will Longdon might even snap his bow and become a monk.’
They laughed.
‘I’m doing what?’ said Will Longdon from behind.
‘Sir Thomas thinks there’s a chance that one day you’ll become a monk!’ Gaillard shouted.
‘Aye, well, unless these Italian women spread their legs I might as well,’ Longdon grumbled.
‘At least you’d be pleasured by the other monks,’ Gaillard taunted.
‘At least I’d have the pleasure of gelding you first,’ Longdon answered.
‘Dip your head, son,’ Blackstone commanded. ‘Only village idiots grin like that.’
As Henry obeyed the veil lowered and the procession continued towards the southern gate.
‘At least we’ve bought ourselves good favour with one of the brothers,’ said Killbere. ‘Galeazzo should be rewarding us with some of his gold and silver for saving his son’s bride.’
‘He won’t even hear of it,’ said Blackstone, turning his horse to lead the column of men behind the entourage. ‘All he might be told is that some routiers were stopped from stealing from merchants. The Princess knows nothing of the truth and de Chauliac won’t even be questioned. He’ll be billeted like us. No one will get close to the Visconti to say anything.’
‘Then how do we get to the bastard we’re looking for?’ said Killbere.
‘They’ll come for us,’ Blackstone answered.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Henry Blackstone sat astride his horse with the Tau knight Foresti at his side. They watched as Henry’s father led his men around the southern walls of Milan. The exuberant colours of the musicians was surpassed by the clothing worn by the Italian noblemen and he knew it was unlikely that he would ever see such a spectacle again. And he realized that in a small way he had been a part of it. A princess of France was going to be married to a lord of Milan’s son, and that was history.
When he had parted from the column those men who knew him, the men close to his father, had embraced him and wished him well. He had smelled the pungent sweat on Will Longdon’s greasy leather jerkin when the archer had put his strong arms around him and told him slyly to watch out for the beautiful daughters of Florence. He had been nearly smothered by the two bears, Gaillard and Meulon, their garlic breath wafting over his face as they kissed each cheek. Perinne had simply grasped his arm, unconsciously almost crushing the bones. The fighting man seemed as strong as his stonemason father. John Jacob had quietly lectured him on his behaviour. Their long-standing bond stretched back years to when the tough Englishman had taken the boy into his care and protection after the night Henry’s mother had been raped. John Jacob had cut the man’s throat and Henry had helped tip his body into the river. John Jacob cleared his throat, his eyes welled with tears and he had quickly turned away. It was obvious to Henry that these men were saying their farewells in case they did not return from what might be their last fight at his father’s side.
When the men’s embraces were done Blackstone drew his son aside. He resisted the impulse to bend down on one knee so that he might embrace his son as if he were a child. The truth was Henry was growing quicker than he had realized and had he knelt the boy would have been taller than him.
‘Henry, you know I am going into Milan to avenge your mother and sister.’
‘Yes, Father. To kill the man who sent the assassin.’
‘Your mother’s strength was forged from love and I would not wish your inheritance to be anything less. Vengeance is not hatred; it is honouring that love. If I don’t return you will complete your studies in Florence. Father Torellini will protect you but the day will come when you must honour your mother and sister.’
‘And you, Father.’
‘Yes, if that’s what needs to be done, me as well. Bear your name with honour and pride, Henry, and remember that injuries to one member of a family are considered injuries to all. It is written in law that the family should take up weapons because vendetta is an obligation on kinsmen. It doesn’t die with those who have been killed.’
He handed Henry a folded piece of parchment. It bore a blood-red seal.
‘You carry this with you. That is the King’s personal seal and it guarantees our safety. When the King knew what we were to undertake he gave us his safe conduct. As did the Prince. If one safe conduct was lost or destroyed the other would serve in its place. We live in treacherous times and we must think ahead for what might befall us. Fra Foresti will guide you to Florence but if anyone challenges you that safe conduct will save your life or ensure they know you are important enough to be ransomed. Guard it well and show it to no one unless you have no choice. Understood?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Good. Now let us embrace and go our separate ways. You carry my strength with you and the shield of your mother’s love.’
*
‘It is fifty leagues to Florence,’ said Foresti. ‘We will not punish the horses but I expect you to ride at least five or six leagues a day.’
‘I understand,’ said Henry. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I have ridden at my father’s side across France and I have a good horse.’ He looked at the column of men who snaked their way past the Princess’s entourage. His father, along with the French escort, would enter the city by another route, and the trouble was Henry had no idea how he could follow once he escaped the man tasked to lead him to the city of learning and art that was Florence.
Fra Foresti nudged his horse away from the city walls. Henry turned with him, gauging the man. He was much younger than the Tau knight who had once served Henry’s father. Henry knew that like his predecessor this man would be an expert swordsman who would lay down his life for the boy at his side. ‘Do you know the route well, Fra Foresti?’
‘Of course. We are hospitallers who guide pilgrims on the Via Francigena. It is what our order does.’
Henry knew this, but wanted to engage the Tau knight in genial conversation so that he might gain his trust. If he could weaken the man’s resolve and diligence by appearing to be less knowledgeable than he was, then the older man might lower his guard and not sense any threat of escape. ‘So, do you prefer to be in the countryside or in the city?’
‘Both,’ Foresti answered. ‘Each has its qualities.’
‘But you prefer Florence to Milan?’
‘Florence, yes. It is a great city and the Tuscan language is one that is more pleasurable to the ear.’
‘So does Milan have more gates into the city than Florence has?’ Henry asked, searching for the answers he needed.
‘There are sixteen gates into Florence and each is opened at dawn and closed at sunset. Milan has six or seven gates but it also has other posterns so that local people can come and go more easily. Milan has more towers. They denote its power but Florence is the more beautiful. Towers are ugly.’
It seemed an impossible task to discover a route into the city that he might use. Henry could not think of a way to get the information he needed from his guardian without raising suspicion. He lapsed into silence. And then Foresti, keen to impress his young charge, began to talk.
‘I spent some years studying in Milan before I took my vows with the Knights of Altopascio. Students can get into a lot of trouble so we always had to find a way into the city after being outside the walls in the village taverns. It is forbidden for a man to be caught on the streets leaving a tavern after dark and in those days we spent a lot of time in taverns, I can tell you.’ He grinned and shook his head. ‘I should be ashamed, but when you are so young… well… your time will come and you will understand. I remember there was a postern, Pusterla di Sant’Ambrogio, that we used all the time. We had to lie to the sentry – God forgive me but I did; we used to swear we were on a pilgrimage of confession to the basilica to pray for forgiveness. No one can deny entry to a pilgrim. We were so young, barely a few years older than you, but that’s what we did. And then, well, then I did pray in the basilica and the saint spoke to me and I gave up my sinful ways. And, as you can see, my h
onour has been restored and I serve God and man.’
‘Is that where my father will enter the city?’ Henry asked, suppressing his relief at finding a way into the city.
‘No, no. Porta Tosa is round to the east, Sant’Ambrogio is to the west. Different parts of the city.’
Henry looked over his shoulder. The sun would go down across the plain, somewhere beyond a small village church tower that he could see in the distance. If he used that as a landmark he would make good his escape but it would be made more difficult by Fra Foresti wishing to make good progress.
‘Could we wait a while? I would like to watch the last of my father’s men make their way beyond the walls.’
The music from the procession was fading but Blackstone’s men could still be seen in the far distance. Foresti glanced at the boy. It was possible the lad would never see his father again. He looked around him and saw that a few miles ahead smoke curled from village fires. They could camp there for the first night, he decided, and make up lost time the following day.
‘All right, Master Henry. We will watch until they disappear from view. And we shall pray for them. Would you like that?’
‘Very much,’ said Henry, already hoping his father, as well as God, would forgive his sly and wilful disobedience.
*
De Chauliac’s royal escort rode into Milan beneath the Porta Tosa archway into the eastern side of the city. The horse’s iron-shod hooves clattered on the paved street, their echoes drowning out some of the men’s ribald cries and laughter. Blackstone and his twelve men-at-arms followed.
‘What are they shouting?’ Killbere asked.
‘I can’t hear,’ said Blackstone.
‘If they’re laughing at us because we bring up the rear I’ll kick de Chauliac’s arse in front of his men.’
As Blackstone entered the archway he pointed and laughed. ‘No need, Gilbert.’
Embedded in the gate’s walls was a statue of a woman raising her skirts and exposing herself, a pair of shears in one hand as if about to cut her pubic hair.