Shadow of the Hawk

by David Gilman

  ‘That son of a whore de Hayle is the culprit. Look there,’ confirmed Killbere, pointing to men slain by crossbowmen. ‘They wear his colours. The bowmen took some skinners down before they overwhelmed them.’

  ‘I am responsible for what’s happened here,’ said Blackstone.

  Killbere groaned. ‘Mother of God, Thomas, you are not.’

  ‘He must have come here after he killed Kynith at the river. He made a run for it and took revenge for losing Beyard,’ said John Jacob. ‘Why here?’

  ‘It was in his path,’ said Killbere. ‘It could have been any village or town.’

  ‘And we brought the survivors here for safety from his previous attacks,’ said Blackstone.

  The men let their gaze settle on the slaughter. Bodies lay where they had fallen. A trail of them led away from the town, cut down as they ran. The killing looked little different from the scattered dead across the fields after the battle at Auray.

  ‘Godfrey de Claville said he did not have enough men to defend the town if de Hayle attacked. I promised to bring him the bastard’s head. I failed. Now everyone we saved and these townspeople are dead. The debt mounts up, Gilbert. Their blood is on my hands.’

  ‘If the coward had fought in the battle, you would have kept the promise. You cannot kill someone who does not present himself,’ said Killbere.

  Meulon nudged his horse forward. ‘Sir Thomas, do we take them down from the walls? Bury them?’

  Blackstone shook his head. ‘The French will come. Leave them to their own.’ He tugged the reins to turn the bastard horse and saw Halif ben Josef running from the wagon, robes flapping.

  ‘Ben Josef!’ Beyard shouted.

  The surgeon skirted the men’s horses and ran into the town.

  Blackstone rode after him as he turned into a side street. Killbere and John Jacob followed. The bastard horse ignored the dead lying in the street and cantered across their torn bodies. Ben Josef knelt before a ruined house. Four bodies lay at the entrance, two of whom were children. The surgeon sat palms upward, muttering to the God he followed.

  Blackstone dismounted. ‘Master ben Josef. Is this your family?’

  The old man stared at the two dead children. Their heads had been caved in from what must have been savage blows from a mace.

  ‘Master ben Josef?’ Blackstone said again as he dismounted, the tenderness in his voice drawing the man’s attention away from the dead.

  The kneeling man wiped a hand across his face. Blackstone gently helped him as he struggled to his feet. Ben Josef nodded his thanks. He sighed, and pointed at the dead. ‘I saved these children as surely as I saved your man, Sir Thomas. This family put aside any ill feeling towards me – a Jew, a humbled prisoner whose life could be ended in a heartbeat – and then they welcomed me into their home. Against the wishes of their neighbours. Even against the harsh words of their priest. Their gratitude touched me.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do here.’

  ‘You should give them a Christian burial.’

  ‘No, we must ride on.’

  ‘You are a Christian. Do you abandon their souls?’

  ‘I abandon their bodies. Wherever a soul goes, theirs have already departed. I leave that to the Almighty.’

  He eased ben Josef away from the bodies as the old physician murmured, ‘May the All-Merciful One shelter them with the cover of His wings forever. I will offer my own prayers for them. I beg you. A few moments.’

  Blackstone looked around the devastation. Ranulph de Hayle had done little damage to the town’s buildings other than burning a few of them. An eerie silence had settled over the place. The scattered bodies seemed out of place. Men, women and children lying as though a powerful wind had cast them down. Perhaps that was God’s hand. Killbere eased his horse forward.

  ‘We should move on, Thomas.’

  ‘Gather the men beyond the town. I’ll join you.’

  Killbere looked from Blackstone to ben Josef, whose open palms were raised heavenward. His eyes were closed; his lips muttered prayers in a language neither Killbere nor Blackstone understood. Killbere shrugged and turned his horse.

  Blackstone stood back from the old man’s prayers. Le Bête and his men had killed for the pleasure of it. Was it simple blood-lust or was there a greater reason to inflict this suffering? ‘It’s time,’ said Blackstone. Too many prayers dulled a man’s brain.

  The old man clutched Blackstone’s arm. ‘There is something I should have told you. I did not think it was important before, but now… This killer has evaded God and embraced the low creatures from the shadows. He is in league with the Angel of Death. I believe I know why he returned here and did this.’

  ‘I offered you my protection. Have you abused my trust?’

  ‘No, no, Sir Thomas, I pray I have not. But sometimes a man drops a clay dish and it shatters so that we do not find all the pieces. So it is with this killing here. My mind makes the pieces fit.’

  ‘Ben Josef, I don’t have time for riddles.’

  The old man nodded furiously, eager not to have Blackstone dismiss him, yet his steps were faltering, holding back. ‘Before you first came here the killer arrived and paid for prisoners from the battle at Cocherel. He and Godfrey de Claville spoke privately.’

  ‘De Claville let him inside the walls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he was afraid of de Hayle. He asked me to kill him. I made him that promise. I failed him and this is the result.’

  ‘I believe you are wrong. De Claville took le Bête’s money for the Spanish captives and your money for me. I was worth more because of my skills. Better I was kept under lock and key to treat the sick and wounded. But you brought your friend and de Claville saw your need to keep your man alive. Godfrey de Claville was an opportunist. He let you bargain for me. And he urged you to kill de Hayle. That would have stopped any further threat from him against this place.’

  ‘Old man, you’re rambling. I am lost. What does any of this have to do with de Hayle coming back here and killing those that did not escape?’

  ‘The boy! Godfrey de Claville sold the boy. That’s whom de Hayle was searching for. It is simple. You see it, don’t you?’

  For a moment Blackstone did not. Then he did. ‘I took his prize. It was not Beyard. And how else could I have known about Beyard, and the boy, being kept in the castle at Auray if the information did not come from here.’

  ‘Yes, yes! And that is why he came back to exact revenge.’

  ‘Then why is this boy so damned important?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The stench of death was downwind by the time they camped in woodland on rising round with a clear view of the surrounding countryside. Blackstone summoned Beyard, who had regained much of his strength.

  ‘This boy is the key. Tell me everything that you know and that he has said since they captured you at Cocherel,’ Blackstone said.

  Beyard played out his memory. ‘I was taken to Auray by one of the French lords. I don’t remember much because they beat me senseless. Then one day an Englishman arrived and threw some Navarrese prisoners and the lad in the cell with me. I tried to comfort him but he could barely speak – terror had made him mute. The Englishman was Ranulph de Hayle. I was so weak I could do nothing but lie there and watch as he took prisoners out and tortured them to death. He forced the lad to watch. Now I understand that he was trying to get the boy to talk. About what, I don’t know. The more de Hayle killed the more the boy withdrew.’

  ‘He never spoke?’

  ‘You saw that dungeon. It was infested with rats and so cold we had to huddle together to survive. I held the boy close to keep him warm. I learnt his name but that was all. I tried to get him to talk but he was just too frightened.’

  ‘What are we to do?’ said Killbere. ‘If the boy has something vital to tell, something de Hayle wanted, then it’s buried in his silence.’

  ‘He cannot be enticed to reveal it no matter what bribe might be offered,�
� said Beyard.

  ‘So we make the lad feel safe,’ said Blackstone. ‘We treat him with kindness. No harsh words. He will help in whatever work can be found for him. Does he speak any French or English?’

  ‘I believe some French. Sometimes when I spoke to the prisoners who knew my Lord de Grailly I could see he understood a bit of what I said.’

  Blackstone thought for a moment. ‘Until we uncover the boy’s secret we must protect him. We don’t crowd close to him but keep watch at a distance. We go about our daily work, but every captain will take his turn and stay vigilant. Beyard, you will tell him that I wish to speak to him. Do not bring him to me in case he thinks he is being brought for punishment or interrogation by someone in authority. I’ll go to him and I want you there when I do. After we have eaten is best. Make sure he’s well fed and warmed by a fire. We’ll question him slowly. I think it will take time. And until that time comes we double the pickets at night. De Hayle’s men outnumber us and if they are tracking our journey, then I see no reason why they would not try to seize back their prize.’

  John Jacob attended to the fire and settled the blackened cooking pot over the flames. ‘Why keep a secret if you’re among those who rescued you?’ said the squire.

  ‘Fear dries more than the mouth, John. It takes hold of the mind, pushes it into a dark place then slams closed the door and throws away the key.’

  ‘Like hunger and my stomach,’ said Killbere. ‘The secret to unlock my misery is for you to make some oatcakes, John.’

  ‘No, Sir Gilbert, that’s a luxury you must wait for. Pea pottage with garlic and sage and a few old breadcrumbs to thicken it.’

  ‘Peas.’ Killbere sighed. ‘They loosen my bowels. I need something to cling to my ribs.’

  Blackstone reached into a hessian sack. ‘Will and Jack are hunting. If they get back in time John will cook you a choice cut.’ He pulled a piece of horse bread from a sack. ‘I had one of the lads make a batch while we waited for Hugh Calveley before the fight at Auray. This’ll bind you.’ He tossed it to Killbere.

  ‘Thomas, hunger is the enemy of a fighting man. When he becomes a beggar at the door of necessity, he will boil his leather belt if that is all he has to eat.’ Killbere sniffed the offering and bit carefully into the baked cake of crushed peas and beans held together with bran. ‘It’s stale,’ he said but kept chewing.

  ‘I thought so,’ said Blackstone. ‘My horse spat his out.’

  *

  When the men had eaten their meagre pottage Blackstone walked through the camp checking the picket lines, stopping here and there to speak to the men. Blackstone never had cause to check up on his captains. They knew their duties, so whatever his reason for inspecting the camp they knew it had nothing to do with them.

  ‘Is the boy looking?’ said Blackstone to John Jacob, who accompanied him.

  John Jacob saw Beyard out of the corner of his eye. The boy was with him, scraping the pot for the last remnants of food, his gaze following the tall, scar-faced Englishman who led the men and whom his new friend and protector Beyard honoured. John Jacob saw Beyard nod. ‘He hasn’t taken his eyes off us, Sir Thomas. Beyard has just given a sign that he’s ready.’

  ‘All right. We’ll walk the perimeter and then make our way around to where they are.’

  They moved closer and pretended to confirm that the horses were tied and hobbled securely. Then they made their way back, which brought them past Beyard. The boy cowered, eyes lowered, pushing his shoulder into Beyard, seeking comfort.

  John Jacob sidled away, leaving Blackstone alone with the boy and his chosen guardian.

  ‘Beyard, you’re well now?’ said Blackstone, making light conversation for the sake of the boy.

  The Gascon captain nodded. ‘I am recovered, Sir Thomas. Strong as ever. Lázaro here has been helping me clean weapons and feed my horse. He’s a strong worker. Lázaro, greet Sir Thomas. He is my friend and saved us from the dungeon at Auray.’

  The boy raised his eyes to look at Beyard, who nodded his encouragement. Lázaro reached out for Blackstone’s hand and kissed it, but remained silent. Blackstone gently held his hand and turned it to look at the palm. The lad flinched.

  ‘It’s all right, Lázaro,’ said Blackstone, releasing him. ‘He has callouses on his hands. He’s no kitchen boy. He’s used to hard labour yet he’s as scrawny as a starved rat. Has he said anything more?’

  Beyard shook his head. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘There is something,’ he said. He turned Lázaro, who offered no resistance, and lifted his shirt. There were dull marks on his back: old scars. Someone had whipped him. Beyard settled the shirt and brought the boy back to face Blackstone.

  ‘If you tell Sir Thomas how you got those scars, we will stand in good favour with him.’

  Lázaro remained silent.

  ‘Was it your master who did it?’ said Blackstone.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Was it your mistress?’ said Beyard.

  The boy’s eyes widened at the thought and he shook his head.

  His answer gave a clue. He had served a noblewoman at some stage but there was still more to uncover.

  Beyard was about to interrogate him further but Blackstone raised a hand, not wishing his captain to press him. ‘No more questions, Beyard. We rode hard today. Let’s get our sleep. Lázaro, I know you understand enough of what is said. You are safe with us. You’re under my protection, but there are men who wish to cause you harm. We have stopped them once but – although we will not press you for answers – it would help if you tell us why you are important to them. When you wake tomorrow, look at the meadow flowers around us. Watch how their petals open to welcome the sunlight. Open your heart to us so you may feel the warmth of our friendship.’

  Then, without another word, he bade goodnight to his captain and the boy as he saw Will Longdon and three of his Welsh archers approach the camp. They brought no fresh meat and came at the run. The look on their faces told him they had found trouble.

  Longdon drew breath and spat phlegm. ‘Horsemen. About six or seven. They looked like a scouting party.’

  ‘Show me where.’

  Will Longdon went down on one knee and made a crude model with stones and grass. ‘This is us. The forest goes down into the meadows here.’ He scraped his knife blade in the ground. ‘Tracks through the forest here and here. We saw them ride across the valley floor. I think they’re camped in the trees here.’

  ‘How far?’

  Will Longdon grimaced. ‘No more than two miles over that ridge beyond this forest.’

  Blackstone looked at the camp’s cooking fires. By now most were deep-bedded embers heating cooking pots. The breeze tugged at the treetops. ‘We’re downwind from them so they won’t catch our woodsmoke or smell our food. Do you have room to shoot where they are?’

  Will Longdon saw the distance from one edge of forest to the other in his mind’s eye. ‘Too far for accuracy.’ He stabbed his knife point into the model. ‘Here. If I have a couple of bowmen at the very end of the forest and if they make a run for it, we could bring them down. The open ground narrows there.’

  ‘Pick three men, then take us to where you saw their tracks. I’ll take three others with me. Any more and there’s a risk we’ll be heard on our approach. If we flush them out you kill them. The moon will be up. You’ll have light.’ Blackstone left Will Longdon and strode to Killbere and John Jacob.

  ‘Will’s seen riders.’

  ‘De Hayle’s men?’ said Killbere, getting to his feet.

  ‘Probably – they’re close. A couple of miles beyond the ridge. I’ll take John and two others. If we can get a prisoner, we might learn more about the boy and why he is so important. Secure the camp. Let the fires burn down. Keep an eye on the breeze; it might veer. They’re upwind of us now but if the wind changes they’ll soon know we’re here.’ Blackstone unsheathed Wolf Sword and cast aside the scabbard. ‘John, pick two of the men. Make sure they have no wounds th
at will slow us down or put us at a disadvantage in a fight.’

  John Jacob turned on his heel to do Blackstone’s bidding.

  ‘Gilbert, have the camp ready for an assault. If the men Will saw are a scouting party then de Hayle’s men won’t be too far behind and we won’t know how close they are until we capture one of them. Saddle the horses and be ready to ride at first light, because that’s when they’ll come if we’re not back by then.’

  ‘We’ll defend the place should they come before then,’ said Killbere.

  ‘They outnumber us; we still have wounded. Send pickets out on night watch. De Hayle won’t come through the forest. That’s your way out. He’ll come up that hill on horseback hard and fast.’

  ‘And you? Where do we meet up if you’re not back by dawn and de Hayle attacks?’

  ‘I’ll find you.’ Blackstone grinned. ‘But I’ll be back before dawn.’

  ‘Aye, and if you’re not then likely you’re dead.’ He put a finger against each nostril and cleared the snot from his nose. ‘Leaving me the damned job of getting everyone back to the Prince. He’ll be pissing blood if the King’s Master of War dies in a skirmish. A damned useless fight to get a prisoner.’

  ‘I apologize now should my death cause you any inconvenience.’

  ‘Then make damned sure you don’t get yourself killed. Sweet merciful Mother of God, the Prince will never let me hear the end of it. He’ll blame me. My life on earth will be hell even if you’re sleeping with the angels, though I doubt they’ll put up with you as long as I have.’

  John Jacob returned with two men-at-arms. Blackstone led the way to where Will Longdon and his archers waited.

  Killbere called after him. ‘And if they have meat, bring it!’ He watched as Blackstone raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘A man shouldn’t have to fight on an empty stomach,’ he muttered to himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Will Longdon was as good a hunter as Blackstone and the stocky bowman led the men behind him unerringly through the forest, using narrow, twisting animal tracks. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, dusk was settling across the open ground. Four hundred yards across the undulating grassland, the forest opposite became darker as the light faded. Crows and rooks squabbled before settling to roost for the night. Blackstone and the men squatted beneath their own canopy and let their eyes settle on the distance, watching for any movement in the far trees. Further along the valley, nervous deer ventured out of the woodland to graze on the sweet, dew-covered grass.