Shadow of the Hawk

by David Gilman

  ‘Keep him as a servant so he appears to have no importance. He has one thing on his side: the assassins who killed the Queen and all her servants – I’ll wager they wouldn’t recognize the boy even though they have learnt of his existence.’

  ‘The captain of the guard who saved him knows what he looks like,’ said Beyard.

  ‘But even if he is at Burgos instead of further south, he might not recognize someone after three years. And let’s say he does, then he has already risked his life by helping him escape. It’s the brute de Hayle who poses the threat.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Santos led the Navarrese fighters along a winding track that followed the contours of the rising hills, and beyond them the mountains. White cowls nestled on the high peaks, christened by the moonlight.

  Ariz and Saustin stared beyond the rolling haunches of Santos’s horse. The silver-lit river in the valley below meandered into darkness as it curved around the opposite mountain range. There was no threat of ambush as the grassland wavered in the night breeze.

  ‘Old man, how far?’ said Saustin.

  Santos did not turn in the saddle to answer. ‘As long as it takes.’

  The riders had heard the distant clang of the midnight bell from Estella’s church. The moon’s arc across the sky told them they must have been riding for three hours or more.

  ‘That’s no answer, sewer rat.’

  ‘It’s the only one you’ll get,’ came the reply.

  Saustin sighed with frustration. He turned to his companion. ‘Ariz, we should let the wretch go on without us. We can bed down here and wait for his return then go back to Blackstone.’

  Ariz looked up at the shifting clouds. ‘We have to, Saustin. We’ll soon lose the moonlight and then it’ll be only his stench to guide us. Let’s go on a while longer.’

  ‘I see no sign of damage from the rains on this track. Do you?’

  ‘It depends where there was flooding. Be patient. We’ll turn back soon enough.’

  ‘And that’s too long to wait,’ Saustin insisted and spurred his horse forward to draw up alongside the guide. ‘Santos, you’re leading us nowhere. If this is the route you’ve chosen then I see no reason to continue.’

  ‘We follow the track down and then I can check the bridge.’

  ‘Bridge?’ His eye followed the line of the river. In the distance was the unmistakable block of darkness across the glittering water. ‘That bridge? I can see it from here. There’s no need to ride any further.’

  Santos shrugged. ‘Do what you want; I need to check for myself.’

  Saustin snatched at the belligerent man’s reins. ‘The way is clear, I say!’

  ‘Piss on what you say. Go back if you want. Tell the Englishman you know better than a guide sent to him by the King.’

  Saustin tossed the reins back. ‘As far as that break in the hillside. Another mile, no more.’

  Santos heeled his nag, urging it into a shuffling trot far enough clear of the Navarrese fighter. Ariz caught up with his companion. ‘You always were impatient. You should let it go. Everything will be sorted out sooner or later. It can’t be far now because he promised Blackstone we would be back by dawn.’

  ‘Then we should wait here when he reports to him and save ourselves the arse ache of riding back this way again.’

  Santos disappeared from view around a rocky outcrop. The two men followed moments later and reined in abruptly when they saw another horseman in the shadows talking to him.

  Saustin’s sword was half drawn when Ariz laid a hand on his arm. ‘No need. Can’t you see who it is?’

  A cloud shifted from the face of the moon exposing the rider’s features.

  ‘Tibalt!’ Saustin said. ‘My God. What are you doing here?’

  Saustin dismounted as the one-armed Tibalt stepped down from the saddle. The two friends embraced. ‘What are you doing out here?’ said Saustin and cast a quick glance around. ‘Are you alone?’

  ‘There’s no one else.’

  Saustin stepped back. ‘I don’t understand. Why here? And how did you know we would travel this road?’

  ‘I paid the wine soak before he left the city. And he played his cards right.’

  Saustin shook his head. ‘What? You’re talking in riddles.’

  Tibalt laid his good arm onto his friend’s shoulder. ‘He told Blackstone that you and Ariz despised him. That made you both the perfect escort.’

  Tibalt unslung his wineskin and handed it to Saustin. ‘Let’s drink before he gets his filthy mouth on it and I’ll explain.’ He took a mouthful and handed it to Saustin, who hesitated.

  ‘Something’s not right.’

  Tibalt laughed. ‘Drink! When have you ever refused good wine?’

  Saustin handed back the wineskin. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’

  Tibalt sighed and tossed the wineskin to Santos. ‘The boy. We seek the boy.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I sought out Ranulph de Hayle. He’s paid good money to tell him where Blackstone rides with the boy.’

  Uncertainty clouded Saustin’s mind. ‘This makes no sense. The bastard held us captive. He tortured and killed our comrades.’

  ‘And I lost my arm to the Jew butcher. Saustin, I sold him the boy, or his whereabouts at least. De Hayle is ten miles away. He’ll ambush Blackstone and seize the lad once Santos here guides him.’

  Saustin staggered back. ‘You’d betray the man who saved us!’

  ‘For money. Yes. A lot of money. We won’t have to fight for pay any more.’ He turned to the saddle. ‘I have yours here.’

  Saustin drew his sword. ‘I’ll have no part of this and you and your whoreson friend will—’

  The horses shied as a mace-wielding Ariz clubbed him down from behind.

  Tibalt and Ariz stood over their friend’s body. ‘I knew he wouldn’t go along with it,’ said Ariz. ‘You have the money?’

  Tibalt reached into his saddlebags and pulled out two leather drawstring purses. He tossed one to Ariz, the other to Santos. The purses’ weight was enough to tell them they had been well paid.

  ‘Is he dead?’ said Santos before raising the wineskin again to his lips.

  Tibalt grabbed it from him. ‘No more! You stay sober. You need your wits to convince Blackstone about the route.’ He looked at Ariz. ‘Is he?’

  Ariz grabbed a dirt-encrusted rock and smashed it down onto the mace wound. ‘He is now.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Santos and Ariz rode back in at dawn. Blackstone and the men had struck camp; the horses were saddled. Saustin’s body was draped across his horse.

  Blackstone and the captains gathered around them.

  ‘His horse stumbled and he fell,’ said Ariz. ‘Caught his head on a boulder. It was treacherous out there no matter what this foul-smelling drunk told you.’

  Meulon held the horse’s reins as Will Longdon looked at the back of the dead man’s head. ‘Caked with blood and dirt.’ He looked at Blackstone. ‘Must have been a hell of a fall.’

  Blackstone examined the wound. There was no evidence to contradict the story. ‘We’ll bury him and then ride on.’

  ‘Sí, my lord,’ said Ariz and heeled the horse away, followed by Santos.

  Blackstone grabbed the startled guide’s reins. ‘The route?’

  ‘Clear, lord.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Lord?’

  ‘When Saustin fell did you stop and turn back or did you go on to check the bridge?’

  Santos licked his lips. ‘I saw the bridge in the moonlight. It was a bright enough for me to see it. Like daylight. All is well.’

  ‘Did he fall before you saw the bridge or after?’

  Santos’s face creased with uncertainty. ‘We reached a turn in the track, we saw the bridge, as I said, and then his horse stumbled and he fell. So we did not need to ride on further, which is why we turned back. With your man.’

  ‘Then how did his horse stumble? Were you r
iding hard?’

  ‘No, lord. I... I do not understand the question.’ Santos looked from one face to the other as Blackstone and his captains stared at him.

  ‘Bright moonlight, the horses at the walk, an open track, it’s hard to see how a horseman like Saustin could fall.’

  Blackstone saw the panic in Santos’s eyes. ‘There must have been a rockfall. There were boulders and stones in our path.’

  Blackstone nodded, a look that said he accepted the version of events. Santos relaxed, convinced he had said all the right things to the scar-faced knight whose expression still frightened him.

  ‘Then you will take us back along the same route where the rockfall caused his horse to stumble?’

  Santos clamped his jaw tightly in case Blackstone noticed his trembling lip. He nodded a bit too energetically.

  Blackstone smiled at him and patted the horse’s neck. ‘Thank you, Santos, you’ve done well. Get some food and we’ll ride on.’

  The look of relief on Santos’s face was clear to the men. He urged the horse away.

  Blackstone looked at the men. Their doubt was as obvious as his own.

  ‘The wretch is lying,’ said Killbere.

  ‘And unless his horse stumbled with a slope on one side, then I don’t see Saustin falling,’ said Beyard. ‘He rode with me long enough – he was a good horseman.’

  Meulon’s voice could boom like a war drum but he spoke softly. ‘There was no dirt on his shoulder. His beard was caked with it. It looks as though he fell face down.’

  Will Longdon nodded his agreement. ‘When a man falls from a horse he reaches out with his arm or he strikes the ground with the back of his shoulder first.’

  Beyard saw where the conversation was going. ‘Sir Thomas, those men shared a cell with me. Ariz and Saustin fought side by side at Cocherel. They helped each other stay alive in that stinking pit. It makes no sense thinking Ariz and Santos killed him.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Blackstone. ‘Santos would sell his own children for a drink, but why would Ariz be involved? Unless we are wrong, then someone paid them.’

  Beyard shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. They were like brothers, those two.’

  Killbere placed a comforting hand on Beyard’s shoulder. ‘My friend, I’ve seen family squabbles cause wars. Killing a brother is nothing.’

  ‘We say nothing,’ said Blackstone. ‘Let their story stand for now. We’ll find out the truth.’

  Killbere’s gaze followed Ariz and Santos’s journey through the camp. ‘Santos would break with a knife at his throat.’

  ‘And if we’re wrong about them? Accidents happen. Horses are dumb beasts; they shy at a rock’s shadow. A sudden lurch and a man falls. It’s happened before. We’ve all seen it,’ said Blackstone.

  ‘We’ll see for ourselves when we get to the spot where it happened,’ said William Ashford.

  ‘You believe them, Sir Thomas?’ said Renfred. ‘I’ll ride with my men along the same route and see where this rockfall is.’

  Blackstone thought on it but shook his head. ‘Ready the men. If there’s trouble waiting for us on that road then we’ll be prepared. I have a plan in mind. Captains, stay with your men. I’ll tell John Jacob and he will tell Meulon, and he the next captain. It is to be done quietly and Ariz and Santos must not learn of it.’

  *

  Halif ben Josef and Andrés were ready to leave for the physician’s vineyard. Blackstone clasped ben Josef’s hand. ‘I wish you happy days growing your grapes, Master Josef.’

  ‘And I wish you a long life, Sir Thomas.’ He glanced past Blackstone’s shoulder. ‘One of the Navarrese is dead?’

  ‘Yes. A fall from his horse.’

  Ben Josef’s eyebrows raised.

  ‘My thoughts as well,’ said Blackstone. ‘He was too good a rider. Master Josef, translate for me so the boy understands.’ He turned his attention to the goatherd. ‘Santos said there were rockfalls on the road.’ Ben Josef’s gentle voice lilted and rose with the Navarrese dialect’s cadence.

  The boy nodded. ‘Perhaps. It happens, but on that road, I am not so sure. The rain came from the west but where he was taking you was the dry side of the hills.’

  ‘Can you give me another route to Burgos if I go the way Santos suggests?’

  The boy nodded. ‘There are two or three ways. Follow the river in the valley and that will take you there.’

  ‘Routiers are driving up from the south-east into Castile. If there is trouble, then we have the river at our back. Is there a northern route?’ Blackstone asked.

  The boy listened as ben Josef explained Blackstone’s need for a safe route.

  Andrés nodded; ben Josef listened and translated. ‘If you come down from where the man fell from his horse, you cross the valley and the river, and then go through the lower mountain passes; no one will attack there. It’s a road wide enough only for two or three horsemen. It will put another two days, perhaps three on your journey.’

  ‘Then that’s the route we take. Villages? Towns?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘A few but when you climb through a mountain pass, look for stones, high stones.’ He opened his hand wide and pointed to his outstretched fingers. ‘Sharp like wolf’s fangs.’

  They are the Sierra del Cordel,’ explained ben Josef.

  Andrés recognized ben Josef’s words. He nodded again. ‘That is what they are called. And then below you is a narrow valley and on the other side more hills and mountains, but not as high, yes? Keep following the sun as it goes down and the plain ahead and then the river, the big river.’

  ‘He means the Ebro,’ added ben Josef.

  Andrés smiled when he heard the name of the river. ‘Yes, that is the river. Follow the sun west and you will find a bridge or a ford. I have not been that far for a long time. My father took me when I was a boy, but I do not remember it clearly. Perhaps when I see it again. Shall I take you?’

  ‘Not that far but I want something more from you. On the road where my man was killed: where is there a place for men to hide?’

  Andrés thought and then squatted and drew a twisting line in the dirt; he pointed to the rising ground meaning the track that curved around it, then he drew an elongated shape. ‘El Talo.’

  ‘It is called the flatbread. It is open ground between two mountains,’ ben Josef said.

  ‘Then that is where Andrés must go.’ Blackstone spilled Spanish maravedis from his purse and pressed them into the boy’s hand.

  ‘Sir Thomas,’ ben Josef said in gentle admonishment, ‘that is too generous. It is a lot of money for someone like him.’

  Andrés looked disbelievingly at the coins in his hand.

  ‘It’s a small price to pay for safe passage,’ said Blackstone.

  ‘I will offer prayers for your safekeeping, my lord,’ the boy answered.

  Blackstone placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘And I for yours.’

  *

  After they buried Saustin, Blackstone told Killbere and John Jacob his plan and as they went to the captains, he beckoned Santos to him and explained that he had changed his mind about the route to Burgos.

  ‘North?’ said Santos. ‘That is a long way around. If we climb through the mountains it will take days longer.’

  ‘Once we pass where Saustin died then I cannot risk a column of men being caught in the open ground. We will ride for the Sierra del Cordel. You know them?’

  Santos was confounded. His lips moved but uttered no words until he had collected his senses. ‘I know them, yes.’

  ‘Good,’ said Blackstone. ‘You will lead the way.’

  ‘Lord, there is also another chain of mountains that runs from the north all the way to the Mediterranean. Are we to travel across all the peaks once we clear the Sierra del Cordel?’

  ‘No, we will go down into the valley and then ride west across the Ebro straight to Burgos. If the nights are clear we ride until I call a halt. Understand?’

  Santos nodded. ‘My lord,
it would be safe enough on my route. It would not slow us down. Ask Ariz, he will tell you the same thing.’

  ‘I did. He said you had a wine flask hidden and took them on the wrong track. I cannot trust you.’

  Santos looked panicked. ‘I did not drink, I swear it. Yes, when the accident happened, I took a mouthful from Ariz’s wineskin. Why would he say that? He’s lying. I am not in the wrong, Sir Thomas.’

  Despite the morning chill Santos’s florid face speckled with sweat.

  ‘As you said: he dislikes you. Perhaps it was not your fault. Did Ariz and Saustin make you ride downwind of them? Is that what happened?’

  Santos’s mind juggled with the excuse being offered. Blackstone could almost hear the wind whistling through ear to ear as a thought tried to find purchase.

  ‘Because if they were ahead of you on the track then you could not have known there was danger coming,’ said Blackstone. ‘You could not have warned them. And if Ariz does not wish to take any blame for the accident, then perhaps he threatened you to remain silent.’

  Blackstone saw the escape he was offering finally drop in Santos’s mind like a stone into a deep well. The wine-soaked guide bit his lip and cunningly held back from making such a confession.

  ‘I would rather not say, lord.’

  It was enough to shift blame without directly accusing Ariz.

  ‘I understand,’ said Blackstone. ‘Now, you must regain my trust and lead us on the best road you know through the mountains. Only half my men will travel at a time. Once we are through, then you will return and bring the rest of my men. Can I trust you to do that?’

  ‘You can, lord. I will do it.’

  ‘Then I will permit you a drink before we leave. Don’t let it cloud your judgement.’

  ‘Bless you, lord. I will not fail you.’

  Blackstone turned away to where Killbere waited.

  ‘Sow the seeds of distrust between two men and watch the poison take hold,’ said the veteran knight.