by David Gilman
‘You should come back at another time.’
‘I will wait here until I can stand no longer and that is a length of time in which you will grow old and die.’
The Prince entered through the far door, a gaggle of gowned advisers in his wake. He moved slower than usual and lacked the burnished look of a man used to riding and hunting and enjoying tourneys. Perhaps, Blackstone thought, John Chandos had been correct when telling Blackstone that there were days the Prince suffered from a mystery illness.
Blackstone followed the chamberlain’s example and bowed. Edward of Woodstock, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine, settled himself in the upholstered chair. He fussed with the sleeves on his robe without raising his eyes to Blackstone.
‘We offer our congratulations for the victory at Auray. You and Sir John Chandos gave our father the desired result. John de Montfort will be an ally in the north-west. It is as hoped.’
‘Thank you, highness,’ said Blackstone. The Prince’s tone of voice held little enthusiasm in making the compliment.
When the Prince’s eyes met Blackstone’s his face hardened. ‘They tell us you hanged fifteen prisoners. This causes us distress. The King’s Master of War who is seen to fight for this duchy is expected to honour the rules of war. Those who surrender are spared and ransomed.’
‘Your information is incorrect, highness,’ said Blackstone.
The Prince looked at Sir Nigel Loring, who blanched. It was his responsibility to ensure that information he passed to the Prince was accurate. ‘Sire, I have it on good authority from merchants who travelled under escort from Poitiers that they saw fifteen men hanged on a makeshift gallows at the crossroads.’
‘Not so. You should get your facts straight, Sir Nigel. Our Prince depends on it.’
Loring smirked. ‘A piece of cloth was pinned to one of them declaring that Sir Thomas Blackstone was responsible.’
‘I hanged eighteen,’ said Blackstone.
The confession was enough to get the Prince’s full attention and a look of triumph from his chamberlain. ‘Condemned by your own admission,’ he said.
‘Thomas?’ said the Prince.
‘They were routiers. They were not prisoners of war. They rode with Ranulph de Hayle, an Essex knight pardoned by the King to fight during the war. A foul creature who calls himself Ronec le Bête. His men raped and murdered their way across Brittany. We saw the towns and villages they destroyed. Sir John banished him from fighting on our side against Charles of Blois. I rescued my Gascon captain, Beyard, and other prisoners from the castle at Auray, held by de Hayle. Those are the facts.’
The Prince smiled. ‘You see, Loring, Blackstone is correct: we would have condemned him unjustly.’
The chamberlain was about to offer up a defence but the Prince dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Leave us. And everyone else,’ he said.
Sir Nigel extended his arms like a farm girl herding geese and ushered the courtiers away. When the door closed, the Prince smiled. ‘Thomas, you cause upset with little effort.’
‘Highness, it took some effort to save villagers from de Hayle’s men. I am sorry if my actions kept me from your presence.’
‘We kept you waiting so long, Thomas, because we were unwell.’
‘I’m grieved to hear of it. Did you take part in the tourney? I heard they unhorsed you.’
‘And what do you believe?’
‘I doubt it. I couldn’t unhorse you at the Windsor tourney all those years ago.’
‘You were inexperienced at jousting, Thomas, but you came the closest. It took weeks for our bruises to heal after you near battered your Prince to his knees. No, it wasn’t the tournament here. We spend our time travelling to every town to give constant reassurance to the Gascon lords. We are impatient, Thomas. Protocol and diplomacy are better suited to others. But we have our duty. The constant journeying aggravates the malaise. It is nothing.’
‘One of my captains was wounded fighting de Hayle’s men and that led me to another town where I paid ransom for a Jewish physician. Halif ben Josef served your friend and ally the Captal de Buch. The man has great skills. Will you allow him to attend you?’
The Prince dismissed his malaise with a brush of his hand. ‘No need. We suspect it results from too much rich food on too many occasions with too many members of the Gascon aristocracy trying to impress with the weight of food on their table.’ He paused as if considering the offer. ‘We are pleased your men accepted a Jew among them; our father granted the Jews safe residence here these twenty years past.’ He allowed a smile of regret. ‘It was to annoy the French more than anything but their payment of eight pounds of pepper every year to the Archbishop is a price worth paying for them to escape persecution.’ He shook his head. ‘Thomas, I am a prince of the realm and it would be unseemly for me to have anyone other than a Christian physician in attendance.’
‘Even privately?’ said Blackstone.
‘Even then,’ said the Prince with a look of regret. ‘Now, what of this other matter you have waited patiently to bring to us?’
Blackstone recounted how he had rescued Beyard and Lázaro and then the boy’s story of what he had witnessed.
‘After they murdered the Queen, the lad escaped to the coast. The captain of the guard who played no part in the killing was a man from a noble family who abhorred what they had done. The boy worked on galleys for three years and then came ashore. He went inland with the supplies destined for Charles of Blois and was caught up in the fighting at Cocherel and captured. From there he was sold to Ranulph de Hayle. I questioned one of de Hayle’s men and he told me they had been in Castile. It seems a stroke of ill fortune for the boy and the opposite for de Hayle but I think the lad was being hunted and had been for the past three years. I believe the boy’s survival confirms King Pedro’s complicity in his wife’s murder.’
‘But why was the boy held captive by de Hayle and not slain?’ said the Prince.
‘Because Ranulph de Hayle was going to sell him to the French.’
Realization dawned on the Prince. ‘Of course! She was King Jean’s niece and the boy’s evidence would give the new King added impetus to his desire to attack Castile in support of Pedro’s half-brother.’
‘And that will draw us into war because of our treaty with Don Pedro,’ said Blackstone. He took a small pouch from his belt and emptied out a beautiful crucifix, too exquisite to belong to a servant. ‘The Queen gave the boy this to protect him moments before they murdered her.’
The Prince fingered the delicate gold filigree. ‘She wore this moments before she died?’
‘Aye, lord. She had only a few breaths left in this life after she gave it to him. Once he had made his escape, he stitched it into the seam of his hose.’
The Prince made the sign of the cross. ‘The boy’s story can be challenged, Thomas. These past years King Pedro of Castile has denied any involvement in Blanche de Bourbon’s death. The Pope brushed aside the notion that such a devout woman would take her own life. Pedro laid the blame on others.’
‘But the lad is a witness. We have coached him to give a false name if he is questioned by strangers but his life remains in jeopardy.’
The Prince nodded. ‘And in your care until we can find a means of using his testimony.’ He handed the crucifix back to Blackstone. ‘Return it to the boy. It was gifted with affection by a grateful queen. We pray it gives the lad comfort.’
‘There is one problem we cannot solve, highness. She gave the boy a ring. The Queen told him to sell it to a moneylender, but where was a cabin boy going to find one of those outside a city? Besides, he was terrified he would be accused of theft – something the Queen would never have anticipated. What would a queen know of a servant’s life? De Hayle took it from him when he was captured. The last I heard he was riding for Paris. And if the ring is recognized and the story of the witness is believed, then we are drawn into a war in Spain because the French King will strike at Pedro in revenge.’
The Prince stood, his height matching Blackstone’s, the spark of the fighting man reignited. ‘Years ago when you were still recovering from your wounds after Crécy and then gaining your fighting skills our sister Joan travelled to fulfil her betrothal to Don Pedro. He was to be our brother-in-law. Our father needed Castile at his back even then. When she died in the plague he lost his alliance − until this recent treaty. History binds us, as it does you and me, Thomas.’ He paused in thought and then realized that everything Blackstone had told him now fell neatly into place. ‘The French King has already betrayed his hand. The Pope sent emissaries to me. He proposed a crusade.’
‘Against the Turks?’
‘No, against the Kingdom of Granada. The French have always wished to rid themselves of the brigands that flood the Rhône Valley and Charles has sided with the King of Aragon. They have raised two hundred thousand gold florins to pay them. The Pope has committed a hundred thousand more from the Church’s purse. They intend to rid Spain of the Moors. The Pope thought we would take the cross and join a crusade against them. Perhaps he did not look beyond the desire to seize a Muslim kingdom. The Pope has unwittingly showed us Charles’s plan.’
‘Then Ranulph de Hayle reached Paris. They know about the boy,’ said Blackstone, immediately seeing the French King’s plan. ‘Charles will use the thousands of routiers and rid France of their threat in one fell swoop. They will not attack Granada, they’ll ignore the Muslims in the south and seize Castile to avenge the Lady Blanche. Not only revenge, my lord, but he’ll put Don Pedro’s bastard half-brother on the throne. Then you will have our enemy at your back.’
‘Exactly, Thomas. And the new French King has paid the ransom for Bertrand du Guesclin. He will command the army. You and your men must reach Castile and the King before them.’ The Prince paused, his voice no longer tinged with a sense of urgency, but more of concern. ‘We ask of you what I would ask of no other, Thomas. If the routiers are well organized, and I suspect they are, then you and your few men would be heavily outnumbered. You could not survive a fight against them.’ He hesitated again. ‘We would not wish to lose you, Thomas. A legend can die as easily as the next man.’
‘Legends are nothing more than tavern gossip. As long as men drink themselves senseless such exaggerations will go on – forever. Until the wine barrels run dry.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Blackstone made his way through the bustling streets. Pilgrims jostled with stallholders; robed judges accompanied by their clerks cut through the throng with a provost leading the way. Blackstone tagged on behind them past the courts into the narrower streets where tradesmen plied their craft. Blacksmiths and metalworkers, glowing iron, plumes of smoke, grinding stones casting sparks from blades being sharpened. The blacksmith raised his eyes and bowed his head to the Englishman who had paid him well to have his farrier shoe the men’s horses. All except one. Only the scar-faced man and six others who had roped the bastard horse securely could manage the savage beast. Sweet Mother of God, it bit and fought as if it were being sent back to its maker: Satan.
The acrid smell of smelting iron gave way to the tang of spice merchants on the next street as Blackstone strode briskly to the city walls and stables where Killbere and the men were quartered. Bathed, rested and fed, the men were restless. Meulon had already stepped in between two of his men whose argument had escalated via insults to a full-blown fight. Petty differences arise when soldiers are kept too long away from fighting an enemy.
‘Some of the lads are spending what’s left of their money in the brothels,’ said Will Longdon when Blackstone brought his captains together.
‘Then get them out, Will. The Prince has work for us and we leave immediately.’
Blackstone recounted the conversation with the Prince and the threat now posed by the French and the Aragonese King.
‘What threat can they offer?’ said Renfred. ‘Bertrand du Guesclin is their most capable general but they ransomed him to John Chandos. They have no one to lead an army.’
Blackstone took the food offered by John Jacob and began to wolf down the smoked meat and bread. He picked out a piece of gristle and threw it into the fire and then spoke, his mouth still full. ‘The new French King paid his ransom. As Dauphin he always longed to seize back France and ignore the treaties we made. Now as King he puts his longing into action.’
‘He has an army?’ said Will Longdon.
‘Paid for with the money his father had gathered in taxes for his own ransom to our King. When he died, the debt died with him. Events are turning decisively against the Prince.’
‘The French wouldn’t attack Aquitaine,’ William Ashford said. ‘They would bring down Edward’s wrath. They would be slaughtered in greater number than at Crécy and Poitiers.’
Blackstone drank from his leather flask, rinsing the meat from his teeth. ‘William, how best to separate a man from his strength? You cut off his right hand and then plunge a knife into his back. King Charles uses the pretext of crusade. The Pope has swollen his coffers.’
Killbere snorted. ‘A damned crusade? What poor bastards does he crusade against?’
Blackstone let the question hang and Killbere quickly saw the truth that lay behind it as Blackstone had done with the Prince. ‘I’ll be damned. The Muslim Kingdom of Granada lies on Castile’s southern border.’
John Jacob retrieved the tin plate from Blackstone and scrubbed it clean with a handful of coarse dirt before plunging it into a pail of water. ‘So he uses the pretence of striking down through Castile – and who is it that stands in the way? King Don Pedro himself,’ he said. ‘Sir Thomas, who else seeks to dethrone him?’
‘His bastard half-brother, who has sanctuary in Aragon. They favoured him from the start. As did a younger brother, but Don Pedro had him killed.’
‘He likes to turn the odds in his favour,’ said Meulon. ‘And is willing to kill anyone who stands in his way.’
‘Like his wife,’ Beyard said. ‘Lázaro saw the killer, Sir Thomas. If it was not Don Pedro himself then who?’
‘That we’ve yet to discover, but who would wager against him being the paymaster behind the assassin? Ranulph de Hayle was last known to be riding to Paris. He has the Queen’s ring he took from Lázaro. That, and the knowledge that there is still a witness alive, might be sufficient proof for the French to seek revenge,’ said Killbere.
Blackstone swept crumbs from his jupon. ‘There is no doubt in the Prince’s mind that they and the Aragonese will attack Castile. After Cocherel and Auray there are even more men joining bands of routiers. The Pope is worried they will attack Avignon. King Charles has convinced him he will turn the skinners away from the papal city and strike against Granada. The Pope has paid for a crusade, and the French pay the routiers with the Pope’s money.’
‘This new King is a shrewd businessman. He gets the Pope to fund much of his campaign in Spain,’ Killbere said.
Blackstone plunged his greasy hands into a bucket of water. ‘If they seize Castile our Prince will have an enemy at his back. And if we believe the boy, we now have to help a murderer,’ he told them, wiping his hands dry on the cloth offered by John Jacob. ‘We are obliged to be Don Pedro’s ally. It sickens the Prince but the treaty between us is binding.’
‘Not for the first time we’re surrounded by foul men,’ said Jack Halfpenny. ‘De Hayle murders Kynith and rapes and murders helpless villagers for sport and gain, and the King of Castile does it to satisfy his desire for power.’
‘You’re right, Jack. Our Prince loathes Don Pedro for his foul treatment of those who fall prey to his blood-lust. It’s a burden on him so he’s sending Sir Nigel Loring to England to seek guidance from the King.’
‘Then until the King decides there is nothing we need to do,’ said Will Longdon.
‘Not so. The French support Pedro’s half-brother. They want him on Pedro’s throne. If they do that they control Castile and Aragon. They’ve moved quickly.’
Beyard saw the reality. �
�We’re not ready. There’s no time to raise an army.’
‘The Prince has no choice. If any of Pedro’s enemies threaten him, then we must go to his aide. The Prince cannot allow a bastard to rule Castile, a bastard who is a French and Aragonese puppet.’
‘The Pope could stop this war if he knew the truth of the matter,’ Ashford said.
Blackstone shook his head. ‘William, we are caught in a trap. Pedro is already excommunicated. The Pope instructed him to break all association and alliance with the Muslim Emirate of Granada. He has not. He favours their women as mistresses. He has Moors as his bodyguard. He defies the Christian Church. The Pope would welcome him being removed. Do you see how this man stands for everything the Prince hates?’
Killbere poked the fire. ‘What would the Prince have us do?’
‘Routiers in their thousands are gathering ready to enter Spain. Until our King sanctions war we will not commit an army, but we cannot let Pedro be taken and killed. We’re charged with keeping the boy witness safe and then taking our men to Castile and helping Pedro escape to safety.’
He stood and looked across the encampment. ‘Gather the men; check our supplies. We leave for Navarre and then Castile as soon as we are ready.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Halif ben Josef packed his satchel and stepped gingerly down the narrow staircase from his attic room, careful the satchel’s weight did not cause him to lose his footing. Fear was never far from the old physician. His service to a Gascon lord had taken him to war and close to death, but even away from a battlefield he was at risk from those who hated his kind and might express their loathing in an act of violence at any time. The Jewish quarter was usually safe but even in his own community there were thieves and murderers: men who would steal for gain and kill for profit, and his medicines were of great value. He hugged the weight of the square satchel to his chest.