The Turn of Midnight

by Minette Walters

  Thaddeus studied him with amusement. ‘Take care whom you offend, Master de Courtesmain. You’ll not be shown kindness by Dorseteshire folk if you call them pigs.’

  ‘Tha’ be the truth,’ said Mistress Wilde with disgust. ‘I zee but woone grunting hog here an’ ’e be a Franky. The stoöard shoulda roped him in a sty avore he let him into My Lord’s home to snabble his food an’ spread his pwoison.’ She stared de Courtesmain down as the servants in the hall greeted her brogue with laughter. ‘Your soul is full of malice,’ she finished in French. ‘Good people will always hide their thoughts from you.’

  Gyles halted his convoy thirty paces short of where d’Amiens and his guards had formed a line across the driveway. He was content to wait until he was noticed, but realised quickly that the wait might be a long one. The attention of all was directed at Lady Anne, who walked amongst a large crowd of men on the forecourt, taking each by the hand and listening gravely as they told her their names and numbered their dead. At her sides were his twin sons, Ian and Olyver.

  Away to Gyles’s left, on the grassland close to the river’s edge, Edmund Trueblood and Peter Catchpole were bent to the task of hobbling eight horses. Ahead, a dozen guards stumbled from the guard house, shrugging on tabards and pulling fingers through sleep-tousled hair. There was no sign of Thaddeus or Joshua.

  Gyles thought it a strangely peaceful scene. For more than a decade, he had watched Milady use kindness and reason to quell the anger in men’s hearts, but he marvelled that she had the courage to walk alone amongst so many strangers. Few lords would dare. He was reminded of some lines from Isaiah which Milady was fond of quoting. And the wolf will dwell with the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the kid. And the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little boy will lead them. She said it was a foretelling of the coming of Christ, but was it blasphemous to think it spoke of her as well? She displayed more honest love for people than was ever shown by men of the Church.

  As if Gyles’s thoughts had summoned him, the black-robed figure of the priest emerged from the woodland near the guard house. He seemed weighed down with care, or perhaps by the bag he cradled in his arms, but his rage at the sluggishness of the half-awake soldiers was clear. He struck the nearest across his face when the man was slow to buckle on his sword belt.

  ‘The priest prepares an army,’ whispered Alleyn behind him.

  Gyles nodded. ‘I see him. He looks to make himself their captain and they’re not comfortable with it.’

  ‘They’re obeying him nonetheless.’

  But not willingly, Gyles thought, casting about for the man who should be in charge.

  ‘To your right,’ murmured James. ‘My son brings company.’

  Joshua gave no indication that he recognised any in the convoy as he walked with the captain from the kitchen quarters. He called his pack to heel and addressed Gyles in French. ‘I am Buckler, master of hounds to My Lord of Athelstan. This officer is captain of arms to My Lord of Blandeforde’s steward. From the crest you wear, he believes you to be from Develish and has asked me to help him understand your speech.’ He made a small bow to the captain. ‘Will you allow me to explain that in words which are easier for them to understand?’

  ‘As long as you don’t play me false.’

  Joshua nodded to the small group of townsmen. ‘These men will tell you if I do. It’s only Normans like Master de Courtesmain who find the brogue hard to understand.’ He turned his attention back to Gyles. ‘Our big woone a-got the likin’ o’ this man an’ all the maëdes, an’ our laëdy a-got the trust o’ the v’ok vrom the town. Our Franky stoöard a-got the likin’ o’ none. The big woone a-told all that the Franky be zo baffled by our zpeech that ’e knows nowt o’ truth in Develish. This be why ’e is so mistaëken abou’ the big woone’s naëme ’n status. Do ’e unnerstan’?’

  ‘Ees,’ answered Gyles with a nod. ‘But I mun speak wi’ the cap’n mysel’. Tell ’im I know Frankish.’

  Joshua turned to his escort. ‘This man speaks French and is ready to answer any question you have for him, sir.’

  Gyles spoke before the captain could. ‘I’m the same rank as you, sir, and am willing to give you any information you require, but I believe your own men’s need of you is more urgent.’ He gestured over the heads of the crowd. ‘A dozen approach with swords at the ready and all look nervous. They appear to be under instruction from a priest who walks in their midst. Unless you share his blood lust, I suggest you free them from his command.’ He stretched down a hand as a stream of curses issued from the other’s mouth. ‘Assist him up behind me, Buckler. Together, we’ll reach them quicker than if he goes by foot.’

  Peter straightened from hobbling Killer and looked up to see a horse emerge from between the trees that lined the driveway and race at speed across the grass between the forecourt and the river. He barely had time to register that two men were astride it before it came to a quivering halt some twenty paces from a troop of armed soldiers. With no idea who the riders were, or where they had come from, he took them to be as much of a threat as the soldiers and cupped his hands about his mouth to give the warning cry of a fox—a sharp screech that burst upon the air. When he saw he had Ian’s attention, he extended his arms, palms together, pointing in the direction Ian should look.

  Ian turned in time to watch the captain leap to the ground and confront soldiers with drawn swords, but he was more interested in the crest of Sir Richard, which was emblazoned on the back of the rider’s tabard. He knew from the way the man sat his horse that this was his father and, startled, he glanced towards d’Amiens, wondering what he made of Gyles’s sudden appearance. But there was nothing to read in the steward’s face.

  ‘He’s undecided what to do,’ murmured Olyver in Ian’s ear. ‘He’s asking himself how many more Develish men have come and whether he still has his captain’s loyalty.’

  Ian watched the captain pull his men forcibly from around the priest, ordering them angrily to sheathe their swords and form a line at his side. It was strange, made stranger by Lady Anne’s soft, untroubled voice continuing to greet the townsmen as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Yet there was such a froth of anticipation in the air that Ian was sure every person on the forecourt knew something was amiss.

  He chose to be unresponsive himself, watching impassively as the captain sent his men back to the guard house and took on the duty of escorting the priest himself. He pretended indifference when his father fell in behind them, and gave only a small nod of greeting to Edmund and Peter who returned, unbidden across the grass, to range themselves alongside him and Olyver. All the while, he studied d’Amiens out of the corner of his eye, certain he would not abide by his promise to keep from waging war on Lady Anne of Develish.

  ‘Step clear of the crowd and make ready to face towards the driveway,’ he whispered to his companions. ‘We must be first to our bows when the steward instructs his guards to prepare theirs. Loose one arrow into the ground at his feet and aim the second at his heart.’

  The captain watched in disbelief as Athelstan’s men ringed the steward’s feet with shafts and nocked and aimed a second arrow even as his own men were struggling to find the string with their first. Two of the guards made a half-hearted attempt to block him as he strode around the forecourt, but he cursed them angrily and ordered them back into line. Their expressions of relief gave him momentary pause, but he was more intent on preventing further shafts from being released.

  ‘What madness is this?’ he demanded, planting himself squarely in front of Ian. ‘Do you forget that Milady has pledged herself to peace?’

  ‘I do not,’ said Ian, taking a step to the side in order to keep d’Amiens in his sights, ‘but your argument is with the steward. He questions your reasons for depriving the priest of his guard and seeks to prevent you doing the same with his. He ordered your men to take you in charge.’

  ‘He speaks false,’ said d’Amiens coldly. ‘Recall your oath to protect
your lord and be sure you understand where the real threat lies. These men are Develish serfs who wear livery to mask their banditry and thieving. They are here with the single purpose of forcing the release of the one who calls himself Athelstan. If you aid their attempts at rescue, you will give succour to felons.’

  The captain stared at the ground for a moment and then appealed to Lady Anne, who stood a few paces behind Ian. ‘Master d’Amiens is correct to remind me that I am bound by oath to protect my lord—or, in his absence, the steward who stands for him. If you value peace, milady, instruct these archers to lower their weapons.’

  She shook her head regretfully. ‘I cannot, sir, for they answer to Athelstan. You should know their leader speaks the truth, however. Master d’Amiens was the first to offer threat.’ She held his gaze. ‘It needs only for you to give your surety that it won’t happen again. There can be no conflict if both sides are pledged to peace.’

  The captain’s lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘And how do I give such surety, milady? I am a captain who is obliged to obey whatever instructions his lord’s representative gives him.’

  ‘Except when they’re foolish,’ she said with an answering smile. ‘If the purpose of these soldiers was to release my cousin by force, they would have made Master d’Amiens their prisoner and bargained his freedom against their master’s. The guards on either side of him would be dead and he would have a knife at his throat.’ She paused. ‘You have authority over your men, sir. I beg you to use it wisely. Athelstan’s people ask only that he be allowed to prove his title free of duress and in the hearing of honest men.’

  Thaddeus had dressed his hand himself, placing small wads of boiled rag, steeped in brine, on either side of the wound and binding a long strip of the kirtle tightly about his palm to hold them in place. As the maids at the window reported the captain mounting behind a Develish man and riding at speed across the grass, he allowed Mistress Wilde to tie off the ends and help him ease his left arm from the sleeve of his shirt. He forbade her on the grounds of decency from removing the garment completely and refused her suggestion that they leave the great hall so that she might tend his wounds in private. Now was not the time to absent himself if what the maids at the window were describing was true.

  Mistress Wilde sucked her teeth to see the blood begin to flow again as the scabs came away with his shirt sleeve, but in truth the blade hadn’t penetrated far. Thaddeus urged her to clean the cuts with salted water before she bound them, thanking her kindly when she’d finished. She seemed unused to gratitude and her cheeks flushed rosy red as she assisted him back into his clothing. She asked if it was the custom where he came from to cleanse and treat open wounds in such a way and he answered that it was.

  ‘And where would that be, sire?’

  Thaddeus stared at de Courtesmain as he answered. ‘My mother’s family came from a town called Alexandria in Africa. It was she who taught me the value of salt in the cleansing of wounds.’

  Angry spittle formed on the Frenchman’s lips at this barefaced lie, but any retort he made was lost beneath a cry from the window that the steward had seized the captain and was threatening him with his own sword. The guards who remained in the great hall looked at each other in alarm and then turned their anxious faces to Thaddeus, looking to him for instruction.

  With a sigh, he rose to his feet, taking the dagger from the table and dropping it into the pocket of his coat. ‘She also taught me that men make poor decisions when they’re afraid,’ he murmured, ducking his head to Mistress Wilde before beckoning the guards to accompany him. ‘I believe we’ll serve peace better by going outside,’ he said. ‘The steward’s quarrel is with me, not with your captain.’

  The younger guard gestured towards the archway. ‘Would the better route not be through the kitchen, sire? We’ll likely meet the priest if we go by the front door and he’ll not let you pass if he can prevent it.’

  Thaddeus gave an approving nod. ‘Lead on and I’ll follow.’

  Twenty

  IAN DOUBTED HE AND HIS companions could maintain tension on their strings for much longer. With the captain’s body shielding the steward’s, they had aimed their arrows at the guards on either side to warn them against entering the fray, but the effort was taking its toll. As each second passed, Ian felt his fingers loosen and his arms tremble under the strain of holding them at shoulder height.

  A stillness had fallen on the forecourt as this new threat unfolded, broken only by Joshua and his dogs emerging from the trees that lined the driveway and crossing the grass to join his friends. He commanded the pack to form up in front of them and nocked an arrow in his own bow. His presence gave Ian heart, but in truth he could see no way out of the impasse except surrender. Neither Lady Anne nor the townsmen would tolerate the killing of defenceless guards or the death of the captain who had permitted them to enter the compound. Perhaps Olyver read his thoughts, for he urged him to hold fast.

  ‘I see movement on the driveway,’ he whispered.

  And so it seemed did Joshua, for he gave a low whistle to set his dogs moving forward, hackles raised and growls rumbling in their throats. It mattered not that this was a trick like any other, performed in return for titbits; so loud were their snarls and so alarming their lowered heads and stalking tread that the attention of every guard in the line was fixed on them. D’Amiens ordered Ian to call them off or bear responsibility for the captain’s life.

  ‘You’re mighty keen on killing innocent men, sir,’ Alleyn Startout said in French, seizing the steward’s sword arm from behind and forcing it away from the captain. He cracked d’Amiens wrist across his knee to dislodge the weapon and watched in satisfaction as it clattered to the ground.

  James Buckler prised the steward’s other arm from the captain’s throat and twisted it behind his back. ‘Your servant, sir,’ he said to the captain in the same language. ‘My Lord of Athelstan follows with his guards and a dozen townsmen. He asked me to tell you that he continues to honour his parole.’

  The captain took a moment to regain his balance. The dogs had dropped to their bellies on a second whistle from Joshua, but Ian and his companions still kept the tension on their bows. ‘Did he give orders for his men to stand down?’

  ‘As long as you give the surety Milady asked for,’ said Alleyn. ‘He believes you think conflict as senseless as she does.’

  ‘I do,’ said the captain grimly, stooping to retrieve his sword. ‘As would My Lord of Blandeforde were he here.’ He replaced the weapon in its sheath. ‘You have my surety,’ he told Ian. ‘Now oblige me by honouring Milady’s pledge of peace.’

  ‘Gladly, sir,’ said Ian, lowering his bow and ordering his companions to do the same. He nodded towards the driveway beyond. ‘My Lord approaches now.’

  The captain turned to watch Thaddeus and his guards cover the last few paces. ‘Will you order these men to release the steward, My Lord?’ he asked. ‘I have no authority to hold him, and nor do you or Milady.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Thaddeus motioned James and Alleyn to step away. ‘I trust it’s only your pride that’s hurt, Master d’Amiens.’

  ‘Your men were wrong to threaten me.’

  ‘I could say the same about de Courtesmain.’

  ‘Your wounding was none of my doing.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you, sir. It’s the priest who holds the power here.’ Thaddeus took the dagger from his pocket and balanced it on his bandaged left palm. ‘I believe this is Aristide’s. De Courtesmain was easily persuaded to wield it on his behalf.’

  D’Amiens stared uneasily at the stained blade and the bloodied gashes in Thaddeus’s left sleeve. ‘You blame the Father unfairly. The intent to harm was clearly de Courtesmain’s. He believes you to be a bastard serf from Develish so attacked your sinister side—the side that denotes illegitimacy.’

  Thaddeus shook his head in amusement before flicking the knife into the air and catching it neatly in his right hand. ‘De Courtesmain’s thoughts are never so fanciful. He
was simply obeying the priest’s command to prevent me speaking to the household of how the pestilence can be avoided. Your confessor fears having his duplicity exposed. Withal, he’s a poor judge of character. Whatever de Courtesmain’s faults, he hasn’t the stomach for murder . . . with or without a promise of absolution.’

  D’Amiens chose to answer with bluster. He rounded on the captain. ‘This man is a prisoner,’ he snapped. ‘Why is it he who’s in possession of this weapon and not you or one of his guards?’

  ‘It transfixed his palm from side to side, sir. He waited a half-hour before he could withdraw it.’

  ‘Why did you not take it from him then?’

  ‘It wasn’t necessary, sir. My Lord had already given me his parole.’

  ‘His status is yet to be determined.’

  The captain shrugged. ‘Then determine it, Master d’Amiens, and allow us all to resume our lives in peace. There’ll be no need for violence once every grievance is resolved.’

  ‘This man has been the cause of the violence and will provoke more once he’s shown to be an imposter.’

  ‘Not while my surety stands, sir. Worry more for yourself if his accuser is found to be a liar. You and the priest took much on faith when you chose to believe a stranger’s stories of heresy and insurrection in Develish. My Lord of Blandeforde would have demanded stronger proof before he arrested a fellow noble who posed no threat to him.’

  The closest and most interested observer of that day’s happenings was Matthew Miller. Despite his name, his trade was woodworking and there had been precious little call for his services these past two seasons. Lack of work had pushed him into idleness, and lack of revenue had made him resentful of those who had put money aside when times were good. To be witness to something out of the ordinary—more, to be given a sense of purpose and a belief in the future by a woman he’d never met—had raised his spirits higher than they’d been in months.