by David Gilman
‘My lady. It’s the boy who sought refuge before Blackstone attacked us. Who else could it be?’ he bluffed.
‘You have failed.’ Her calm words were as deadly as a judge’s sentence of death.
‘Then I’ll continue to search for him,’ he said hurriedly, desperate to appease her. ‘If Blackstone has left him for safekeeping in a convent or with others then I will find him. You have Blackstone behind the walls of Burgos. Search among his men, my lady. If there is a boy there, then he might be the one you’re looking for.’
‘If I must search myself, then I have no need of you.’
De Hayle swallowed hard. ‘What I meant was that the lad might be in plain sight.’
‘Then it’s a pity you did not see that for yourself.’
De Hayle struggled to control his nervousness. ‘I will do everything to find him. If this is not the boy, then he will be close.’
‘If you believe he is with the Englishman, then you know the way into the castle.’
‘My lady, that can entrap me. If there is a boy with him might you not recognize him?’
‘And if I did not? Would you have me kill him?’
De Hayle looked uncertain.
‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘I must keep my distance to avert suspicion. Once the boy is found he must be seized and questioned, then you kill him. Unless you would rather I end our contract?’
‘I beg you to give me another chance. I have lost most of my men. I have only these here and twenty more nearby.’
She considered the mercenary’s plea. He still had his uses. She saw two rings dangling from a leather thong around his neck. She held out her hand. De Hayle saw what she wanted and tugged the cord free.
‘I took them from a man whose hands were as small as a woman’s. They belonged to his wife.’ He hesitated, hoping to buy himself favour. ‘A Jew’s wife. They’re valuable.’
She turned them over in her palm. Jewellery a rich merchant or lord’s wife might wear. For once de Hayle spoke the truth. ‘A small recompense for your failure,’ she said and put them into the purse on her belt. ‘Keep searching for the boy. We leave the day after tomorrow for Seville.’
‘And if we cannot find the boy here, what would you have us do?’
‘Shadow our journey to Seville and beyond. The King’s fate is determined. He will desert his prized city. You should find your courage. Fear of death can kill a man before the blade enters his heart. The time is coming when you will fight the Englishman and he will die.’
De Hayle blinked. ‘How?’
‘It will happen. I have seen it.’
‘But I have not,’ he insisted. His uncertainty mingled with hope of gaining victory over Blackstone. ‘My lady, only God can determine our fate.’
‘God determines everything but the devil provides the means. Fate is inescapable. I do not determine it, I foresee it. The moment will present itself; Blackstone will be weakened. You will seize the moment. Trust me, you will know when that time comes.’
She turned away and walked towards the opening in the rock. De Hayle breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the back of his hand across his dry mouth. He looked at the man still holding the boy’s head. ‘Get rid of it. Put a rock in the barrel and throw it in the river. It mustn’t be found.’ De Hayle knew that if Blackstone discovered the boy’s head he would know they had murdered the old Jew and his rage would be unleashed on him. He watched the woman’s dark cloak merge into the darkness. There was no doubt she had the second sight. She saw the future and she saw into men’s souls. And she had no reason to lie. The fear eased from him. There was comfort to be had in that. He did not know when or where, but he would defeat and kill Thomas Blackstone.
*
Blackstone and Will Longdon reached the base of the well on the final turn of stair.
‘Two hundred feet down, Thomas, I reckon.’
‘Not far from it. I don’t hear the voices now.’
‘No. But whoever it was needed to be down here.’
Blackstone watched the lantern flame waver and turned his face to the incoming air. ‘Or out there.’ He walked along the flat rocks bordering the river until he reached the cavern’s opening. There was no sign of anyone. He stepped out.
‘The overhang would obscure anyone.’ He looked around. ‘Back there,’ he said, seeing the sloping pathway beyond where they had reached the base of the well and the river slid away out of sight underground. They found another passage and clambered up the worn incline. Blackstone led the way as the limestone walls twisted left and right, and as they climbed higher they saw steps cut into the rock.
‘What is this? It’s beyond the well,’ said Longdon.
Blackstone looked back at where they had started and then up at the hewn roof and walls. ‘It’s a siege tunnel. At some time in the past an enemy dug their way beneath the castle walls.’ The steps ahead were less curved than those built in a spiral around the well. Eight steps, a turn, a dozen more, a passage, then more climbing higher. Every cut in the stone showed either that the defenders had built a staircase to stop an enemy tunnelling or that those who laid siege had breached the castle’s defences.
They had climbed forty feet by the time they saw a dull glow at the end of the inclined passage. They looked up. Ten steps led to an opening. Blackstone took them two at a time and pushed against a stout wooden lid above their head. Blackstone cautiously lifted the trapdoor. It gave way with little resistance. They hauled themselves up. The tunnel led beneath the curtain wall and had brought them into the outer yard. They stood at the far end of the castle from where they had started and had come out beneath a stone canopy with wicker gates where barrels and sacks of grain were stored. It was clear someone had dragged a sack clear from the cover. Whoever had gone down had left it open, expecting others to follow. Blackstone strode out from under the canopy, turned and looked up. Sentries patrolled the battlements, their backs to the yard where torches and lanterns had been lit now that the sun was down. A hundred yards ahead a stout wooden canopied stairway led to a lower colonnade, and that ascended to one higher. These were the royal apartments. A door slammed closed at the end of the lower colonnade.
Blackstone passed the lantern. ‘Will, get back to the men. Keep everyone in the stables now the sun’s down. Stay cautious. If there’s a threat here it might come from outside the walls.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Up there,’ he said, looking to where a shadow glided across the face of a cresset lamp on the floor above.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Blackstone followed the same route as the shadowed figure to the upper tier of the castle’s colonnade. Cresset lamps lit the way every thirty paces. A figure moved at the far end of the passage: a sentry walking his route along the cross passage. Blackstone froze. Movement was the enemy. The Moor was a member of Pedro’s bodyguard. He moved out of sight. Blackstone knew that the far end of the passage was the approach to the King’s private chambers. A door closed somewhere ahead. He edged along the passage and saw a side corridor. It was darker than where he stood. There were no doors in sight so he followed the unlit corridor until a heavy door barred his way. He gripped the turning handle and raised the latch. Five paces beyond the door a dozen steps rose, twisting narrowly as they climbed higher into the castle’s tower. He followed them.
Embrasures opened in the castle walls, allowing cold air to sweep into the corridor. The evening sky turned a deep blue as the first stars forced their way through the darkening heavens. Moonglow threw its light across the landscape, shaping hills and mountains before gliding behind a sliver of cloud. The moon’s shift swallowed what light there was in the corridor. Blackstone stopped. Whomever he was pursuing could have gone into the labyrinth of passages and to continue was likely to be a waste of time. He was about to turn back when he heard a crow’s guttural cawing somewhere further on. There was sufficient light from the darkening sky to feel his way forward. More steps. Another turn. A longer passage. Narrow
openings in the walls forcing the breeze to whistle softly. Its sound took him back to childhood and the memory of blowing through a split piece of grass to impress his younger brother. A brother whose destiny took him to the battlefield at Crécy where he was hacked to death.
‘Sir Thomas?’
He spun around. The darkened opening was a deep doorwell where a door had silently opened and Velasquita now stood. The fine dress she’d worn in the great hall had been replaced by a modest, plain gown buttoned down the front with loose hanging sleeves that brushed her neck as she raised a hand to tuck back a strand of black hair. Blackstone wondered if she had been in a hurry and only just arrived in her room. In that moment he realized he had reached the room in the turret where he had first caught sight of her. He looked beyond the open door. The room was simple but warm with coloured throws over the bed. There was no sign of witchcraft or symbols of evil. It appeared to be nothing more than a woman’s bedchamber. Except for the raven on the windowsill that glared back, bobbed its head and then took off.
‘I heard what I thought was a crow and that it might have been trapped,’ he said. It was a lame excuse, and he regretted saying it.
‘It is unlike a soldier to care about a crow’s welfare,’ she said.
‘It is.’
‘And yet.’
‘And yet I was drawn to it.’
‘Only the crow?’
Blackstone recognized an invitation when it was blatantly offered. ‘I stumbled my way here as I was searching.’
Velasquita made no overt sign of enticement. She didn’t have to. Blackstone already desired her.
‘There are many crows and ravens here. They settle in the high towers. They demand attention by their insistent calling. And...’ She studied him, holding his gaze, unwilling to yield from it. ‘And they are portents of a man’s character and fate. An Arab astrologer once made a prophecy about our King. He compared him to a crow: one who steals from his subjects and lusts for shiny objects. Our King covets gold. He seizes what he wants with impunity. Such actions show his place in the hierarchy of creatures, yet a life of such misdeeds can only end in a painful death. Who would think a King would be compared to a crow?’
‘I prefer hawks, falcons and eagles. They fly high and strike fast.’
‘Which are you, Sir Thomas? Falcons kill with their beaks and hawks and eagles snatch with their talons.’
He stepped closer. ‘How much longer are we going to spend talking about birds of prey?’
She smiled. ‘My knowledge is already exhausted,’ she said and closed the door in his face.
*
Lanterns burned low in the stables. Men bedded down as comfortably as their horses. Pedro’s wealth extended to his stabling and the deep straw and thick walls offered a sense of security to men who spent their lives sleeping rough with a hand clasped on sword hilt or knife. All the men snored and turned in their blankets except the captains on guard and Killbere, whose shoulders were propped against his saddle as he drank from a leather-clad flask. His boots stood next to the remains of his meal.
‘You missed your food,’ said Killbere as Blackstone approached. ‘The kitchens here are generous. We’d all look like pregnant sows if we stayed much longer.’
‘Then thank God we move soon.’ Blackstone’s blanket had been laid out, his saddle ready as a pillow. He settled down next to Killbere and scraped a finger around the bowl, lifting what remained of the grease to his lips.
‘Will told me what you found.’
‘A damned army could get beneath these walls.’
‘Or a king could escape.’
‘And if we delay beyond another day Calveley might be the one forcing him to use it.’
Killbere offered the flask. ‘Spanish brandy. Sharp on the tongue but fire in the belly.’
Blackstone shook his head. ‘I want an eye half open tonight, Gilbert. There were men at the bottom of that tunnel. And who in these parts is it likely to be? Who could have returned?’
‘Ranulph de Hayle.’
John Jacob appeared with a pewter plate covered in a cloth. ‘I saved your meal, Sir Thomas. Cold mutton and bread with cheese.’
Blackstone took it. ‘I’m starving. Thank you.’
The squire smiled as Killbere glared at him. ‘John, I told you he would not be eating tonight. That he was chasing shadows and would end up in the spectre’s bed.’
‘A man needs his strength, Sir Gilbert, no matter what challenge he faces,’ said John Jacob and returned to the comfort of his stall.
‘You think I was chasing a woman?’ said Blackstone with his mouth full. ‘I did not follow a woman.’
‘And yet I smell her scent on you.’
Blackstone shrugged. ‘I bumped into the man-eater.’
Killbere nearly choked. His glare was more damning than words.
‘By accident,’ Blackstone added.
‘No such thing with a woman whose beauty could turn a man to stone. You propositioned her? Or she you?’
‘We talked about birds.’
Killbere corked the flask. ‘Any more of this and I’ll think I heard you say you talked about birds.’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Blackstone and went back to eating.
*
Blackstone walked along the stables to where Beyard and Lázaro shared a stall. Beyard’s men were bedded down in side stalls as protection. Beyard and the boy were awake; the boy jumped to his feet.
‘Sit down, Lázaro, eat your food.’
‘Sir Thomas, is there trouble? I heard about the men below,’ said Beyard.
‘We’ll stay vigilant. I want to talk to the boy because I have to decide how we travel onward with him.’
‘You think we should leave him at that monastery outside the city?’
‘Whatever chance he has, he has a better one with us. But we travel with the King and a handful of his courtiers and the Moors. I don’t want him to get separated from us if we’re attacked. But now that we are in the King’s court he might identify the assassin without the killer knowing he’s here. We cannot risk the lad taking fright and running, but if those who killed the Queen are part of the court, then best we are forewarned.’
‘What about the captain who helped him escape?’
‘The nobleman? I have had no word or sight of him. He has either left the court or was discovered and killed.’
‘You know the lad has no English. French is best. If he doesn’t understand I’ll explain to him in Spanish.’
Blackstone laid a reassuring hand on the boy’s arm. ‘Lázaro, it is time we talked more of what happened that day they killed your Queen.’
Lázaro’s reaction was less fearful than previously. He shuddered but nodded obediently. ‘Is my lady’s killer here, do you think, lord?
‘I don’t know. They killed her a long way from here, but we will keep you with us surrounded by Beyard and his men.’ He let his words sink in. The boy nodded, willing to help. ‘Tell us again what happened and what you saw.’
Lázaro spoke slowly; his effort not to stutter was noticeable as he recalled the terror of that day in Medina Sidonia. He faltered once or twice but then found his voice and whispered his account of the events. The final moments of the Queen’s death when the man held her and the assassin poisoned her brought him to a halt. His eyes widened. He realized something he had not known all these years.
‘I did not see his face.’
Blackstone and Beyard exchanged glances.
Lázaro shook his head. ‘The assassin wore a cloak and hood. The man who held my lady, I saw him. He was a ballestero. Perhaps I closed my eyes at the moment the assassin killed her. It happened quickly. And then she fell and I ran.’
‘You cannot describe the assassin?’ said Blackstone.
‘The man who killed her was small, which is why the soldier held my Queen and he killed all the servants. He cut their throats. My lady and I ran from him. I saw his face, but the man who poisoned her. Him I did not see.’<
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Beyard patted the boy’s shoulder.
‘Have I caused trouble because I did not see his face?’ said Lázaro, looking from one to the other.
‘No. You have made your life safer,’ said Blackstone. And then spoke in English. ‘It makes it more difficult now. If he can’t identify the killer and give us warning then every shadow might conceal the assassin. He might not have seen who did it, but the man who did doesn’t know that. And if he ever recognizes the ballestero he saw, then through him, we’ll find the killer.’
‘Sir Thomas, years ago Pedro slaughtered his younger brother and then ate dinner while his body lay torn and bleeding on the floor. A man that cruel and mad might kill the Queen himself. Is the King as tall a man as you or shorter?’ he said.
‘Shorter, by some way.’
Beyard nodded. ‘Then let us tread carefully, Sir Thomas.’
Blackstone got to his feet. ‘Nothing has changed, Beyard. They might still come for him.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Ranulph de Hayle faced his survivors of the battle against Blackstone. Some had deserted but men still fed by greed had stayed. Tibalt swigged from a wineskin as he pushed the toe of his boot into the fire. The woman in the castle was their paymistress. If they wanted gold, they had to obey her. Trouble was, who would dare to go into the castle and search for the boy among Blackstone’s men? No one volunteered.
De Hayle cursed them. ‘Listen, you snivelling bastards, I have led you these past years and put gold and silver in your purses. I say we must discover if the boy is in there.’
‘And do what?’ said Tibalt. ‘We cannot seize him; we cannot kill him. Why doesn’t the bitch in black go among Blackstone’s men and see for herself?’
‘A woman of the court does not go among scum, that’s why. And if she did, it would alert Blackstone. We seized the boy after Cocherel; we held him at Auray so we can do it again. We deliver him – we get paid. If he’s here, then we can take him on the road to Seville.’
‘Your plan is stupid,’ said one man. ‘Why did we kill the boy we found with the Jew? For what purpose? You risk our lives for a fool’s errand. I have enough money in my purse. I’ll not go into the castle.’