A Queen's Knight

by Sam Burnell

  Relations were stretched. The refusal to offer their protection to Mahdia two years previously had caused a deep diplomatic rift between the Charles V and the Order. The disappearance of the ship, supposedly returning the missing Italian arms, in Spanish waters had Charles V’s diplomats beating on the Order’s door, demanding return of the weapons they had seized at sea en route to Italy.

  So De la Sengle, and the Order, had already borne the cost of them in loss of diplomatic faith and honour. As a rich organisation with full pockets, payment for the consignment was a secondary consideration. As far as de la Sengle was concerned, he had already paid for them even if the currency had not been coin. Now he just needed to secure them. The fact that it now seemed he had two impudent men brave enough to try and sell these arms to the Order, left the Grand Master incredulous.

  †

  They woke him from his slumber in the dim storeroom after a few hours and escorted him to the Order’s barracks in Venice. Once there, he was shown into an empty barrack block, the door closed and locked. An hour later the door opened and a serving brother, backed by three capable men, armed and blocking the door, entered carrying a jug of tepid ale and food.

  He aimed his words at those behind the servant, who was standing in the doorway. “How long do you intend to keep me in here? I was travelling with two others. Where are they?”

  None of them replied, but they grinned, and he saw the nudge one of the men gave the other, a moment before the serving brother backed out and the door closed once more.

  “Well, that went well!” he said, under his breath.

  An hour later, the door opened again. This time there was no nervous servant, just the three armed men who he had seen before. “Brother Emilio would like you to come with us.”

  “At last!” He was stripped to a linen shirt in the stifling heat of the barracks. Grabbing his doublet, he shrugged his shoulders into it as he followed them.

  Brother Emilio was seated outside, under the shade of several clustered olive trees. There was a table, cups and an empty chair. He had obviously been waiting for his prisoner’s arrival, smiling broadly when the men opened the door to the small enclosed terrace, before closing it securely behind him.

  “Do you keep every door locked?” Fitzwarren asked, remaining standing.

  “Only when we don’t want to lose anything, and it would be a shame to lose you,” Emilio said. He extended a foot and pushed the chair out from under the table.

  Fitzwarren read the look on Emilio’s face, one he’d recognised before in others. Holding Emilio’s eyes with his own, he slowly, and with care fastened up all the loose buttons on his doublet. When he’d finished, his face expressionless, arms folded, he said, “Unless you have word of my release, or, of my brother or sister, I would prefer to return to my room.”

  Emilio sighed, then waved him towards the door. Applying his hand to it he found it swung open, and on the other side one of the guards waited to return him to the barracks.

  He recognised his mistake soon after he returned to the room. When the evening came and the serving brother arrived carrying food and drink for a second time, he informed the armed men behind him, that, if Brother Emilio wished it, he would like to eat with him. Five minutes later they came back and escorted him to Brother Emilio.

  †

  Clement’s heart was in his mouth, as soon as Marcus announced that Robert Fitzwarren was in his offices, demanding immediate access to his lawyer.

  Would the man ever leave him in peace?

  “Send him in,” Clement muttered, through clenched teeth. He might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.

  No sooner had Marcus left when the door, not yet fully closed, was yanked back open. Robert Fitzwarren in a furious temper filled the frame. Fitzwarren slammed the door closed. Clement jumped involuntarily. A satisfied smile twitched at the corner of Robert’s mouth as he watched the lawyer cower on the opposite side of the desk.

  “The de Bernay matter will take time.” Clement’s mouth had dried up, and the words squeaked from his parched throat. “The preliminary hearing was only last week, but I can assure you all the relevant papers have now been filed.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” Robert cleared the end of Clement’s desk of papers in a rapid sweep and perched on it, leaning forward.

  Clement cast his eyes to the floor and let out a sigh. It was going to take Marcus an age to put them back in order. Robert following his eyes, swung his boot in the direction of two of the files that had not disgorged their contents. A swift kick emptied them, papers spilling from them in a flurry to join the rest of the mess on the floor. “My father is ill. He wants to sign over his estates to me to govern now that he is no longer fit. Can you do this for him?”

  Clement nodded slowly. “I can do this. I would need to get from him details of his holdings and property and then we could draw up the relevant legal documents to pass control of them to you.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed as he realised there was a problem. Clement was not William’s lawyer. Robert did not know the full extent of his father’s holding’s. “It is just the main property he wishes to sign over. Those are the main burdens upon him.”

  “I am assuming your father has his own lawyer? It would be wise to consult with him as well. It may be that he has many of the deed papers in his hands,” Clement replied, his voice still trembling.

  Robert shook his head. “My father has no great trust of lawyers. A sentiment I am beginning to share. He keeps deeds and papers relating to his properties close to him, so there is no other lawyer involved.”

  Clement wrung his hands together nervously. “I can call and see Lord Fitzwarren. We can draw up a list and from that a power of attorney for you to act and the terms of that power that he would like to apply.”

  “Were you not listening? My father is ill. He sits in a pile of his own shit and doesn’t know what day of the week it is. There is little point in consulting with him.” Robert spoke through tight lips.

  “I would still need his signature. He would still need to have a witnessed signature on the document,” Clement said, his throat still dry and his voice still sounding reedy and high.

  Robert leant across the desk, bringing his face so close to Clement’s that the lawyer could smell his fetid breath. “Prepare the documents and I will get his signature and you can take care of the witnesses.”

  Clement understood, and his head nodded quickly. At least he wasn’t going to have to go to the Fitzwarren house. That visit would have twisted his stomach with dread for days.

  “If you know the holdings that your father wants you to manage, then I can draft the documents you need,” Clement conceded rapidly. It seemed to be the quickest way he could get Fitzwarren out of his offices.

  A malicious sneer spread across Robert’s face. “Good. Have them delivered to me this week at the London house.” Robert pushed himself up from the desk using another pile of Clement’s papers, sending them to land with the rest on the floor, leaving the little lawyer alone, in the middle of a spreading sea of files and papers.

  Clement heard the door to the street slam, and a moment later Marcus was on the threshold of his office, his eyes taking in the mess he would have to clear up.

  “Damn that family to hell,” Clement said, with feeling. “Will they ever leave me in peace?”

  †

  William knew Robert was back. He had heard Ronan’s loud voice as he set them quickly to their tasks, then their footsteps as they ran to prepare rooms on the floors above him. William lamented that he was forgotten about. He might still be the lord, might still remain master of this house, but he knew it was in name only. The master the servants ran to obey was now Robert Fitzwarren. William sat and listened to the thud of feet on the boards in the room above, his temper beginning to boil. None of them would have dared make such a racket when he had control of the household. None of them cared now if his peace was disturbed.

  It was an ho
ur before the door to his room opened. Unannounced, and quite drunk, his son Robert entered.

  William’s face hardened. He waited for Robert to speak first, watching as he walked into the room, sat on the edge of the table, regarding his father through brown eyes hooded with slack lids.

  “So, old man, you’re still here,” Robert slurred.

  William regarded him coldly, but said nothing.

  “I need to know something,” Robert continued. He had a glass in his hand and in one quick motion he drained it. “Who else knows?”

  William watched him put down the empty glass slowly on the table, Robert’s eyes never leaving his father’s face. “Tell me.”

  William, knowing to delay any longer would just raise Robert’s temper, answered, “No one.”

  “If only I could believe you, old man.” Robert paused before he continued. “You have too tight a hold on the purse strings. I think it’s a hold you need to release. My lawyer is drawing up a covenant giving me control of your affairs so you need not bother yourself with the day to day running of the estates.”

  “I’ll not sign them. Not while I’ve a breath in my body. Do you hear me?” William raged, disbelief on his face. With both his gnarled hands he tried to push himself up from the chair, managing to raise himself, his arms shaking, but when his useless legs felt the weight of his body they crumbled beneath him and William fell back heavily in the chair.

  Robert howled with laughter. “How will you stop me? You cannot even stand.”

  “I will not sign away my life,” William spat from the chair.

  Robert slithered from the table top to the floor, leaving the empty glass and advanced on William, who glared up at him. “I’ll have what’s my due now. I’ll not wait until your stinking corpse breathes its last.”

  “It’s not yours to take!” boomed William.

  It was the first time William had ever refuted Robert’s birth, and it stopped Robert’s advance for a moment. “Ill advised words, father. Ill advised,” Robert said, menacingly. “If, in your dotage, you are to utter such ramblings then it is surely best for me to take over the running of your affairs? Juris has already attested that your illness has left you with less than a sound mind.”

  “Juris!” blurted William. Why would his own physician betray him?

  Robert sneered and answered the question he could read on William’s face. “Money. That’s why Juris attested that you are no longer capable of running your affairs.”

  William frowned, seething.

  “I have gone to a lot of trouble to secure this,” Robert continued, through gritted teeth. “It would have been a lot simpler to just still your breathing.”

  Taking two more quick steps towards William, he dropped his hands over his father’s wrists and pinned them painfully to the carved arms of the chair. Bringing his face close to William’s, he said, “You will sign, and then you can live out your last remaining days like a hermit in his hovel.”

  William’s mouth opened, then sense prevailed and he closed it immediately. Robert was drunk and dangerous. He knew him well enough to know that he wanted to exercise his temper; better that he did it on one of the servants than on William. So William just nodded, and kept his wary eyes on Robert.

  Robert’s mouth twitched into a smile, and, releasing his hold on William, he straightened. “So you can see the sense in that idea then. Good. Clement's clerk will have the documents for you to sign in a few days.”

  William was shocked, but not surprised, he supposed. It had not taken long for Robert to realise that he could easily take control of everything William owned without having to wait for his father’s death. Whoever was his lawyer was probably the one to blame for this. William was fairly sure his son would not have had the insight to dream this up on his own.

  What was William going to do?

  William stared at the glass Robert had left on the table. The firelight glinted through the cut crystal. The decision, when he made it, was one he realised he’d known he would make for a long time. A withered hand reached for the bell chain on the table and Edwin, summoned from the corridor, quietly opened the door and stepped into the room.

  “Come here, man.” William beckoned the servant to him. Edwin moved towards him obediently. “Master Carter, do you remember him you took a message to him before?”

  Edwin nodded, remembering the message he had delivered the previous year.

  “I want you to tell him to come and meet with me here. If anyone asks you about this tell them is it to order wine for my cellars. Do you hear me?”

  Edwin nodded in silent reply

  “I also want you to send a message for my lawyer, Gladstone, to visit me, after Robert has left. Mark my words. After Robert has left, so you hear?”

  “Yes, my Lord, “ Edwin confirmed, nodding again.

  William waved a hand in dismissal and slumped back in the chair. He had tried once before to use his younger son to bring Robert to heel and it had failed. This time he was going to have to make the bait a lot more attractive. What other choice did he have?

  Chapter 10

  The Journey Begins

  He was released the following day from the dark barrack room, emerging blinking into the harsh white light of the Mediterranean morning, the sun rebounding from the limestone walls and cutting harsh hard shadows where it could.

  Brother Franco was there, unsmiling and sweating in the heat. “We will take you by ship to Malta. Your brother and sister, I have been assured, will go with you.”

  When they arrived on the Order’s ship he was taken straight below the decks. The steps down to the cabins were narrow and steep. He waited until they were clear before he made his descent. Not, he noted, with the same speed and confidence displayed by the man leading him. A narrow wooden door was opened, and he was bid to enter. As soon as he stepped through, it was closed quickly behind him.

  Lizbet launched herself at him, forcing him to stagger backward, her arms around his neck, her head pressed to his chest. “You fool, you bloody idiot, Jack. I thought they’d killed you.”

  It had never crossed his mind that they’d think he had perished after they had taken him from the room to the interview with Brother Franco.

  “I’m still here.” Jack wrapped his arms around her and looking over her head met the eyes of his brother sitting on a bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, regarding him darkly.

  Jack gave Lizbet a squeeze and let her go, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to his brother. After a moment he said, “I had no choice. You know that, don’t you?”

  Richard nodded, but his face remained expressionless.

  Jack continued. “How are you feeling?”

  Richard tipped his head back against the wooden wall and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Like a fool’s fool,” he said quietly.

  Jack switched his gaze to Lizbet. “How’s he been?”

  Lizbet paled. “I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t have a choice. I tried not to give him any but he was so bad and he started raving and saying things he shouldn’t so I thought it best to quieten him down.”

  “It’s alright, I understand,” Jack said, although disappointment showed clearly on his face. “I found out Andrew is calling himself Fitzwarren, we suspected as much.”

  “What happened?” It was Richard who had spoken. “I’ve had my name stolen twice in as many weeks. You might as well let me know if I made a good account of myself.”

  Jack regarded him with cool blue eyes. “You gave me no choice. All I know is they are taking us to Malta, and there is a meeting with the Grand Master which I am not looking forward to.”

  “The current Grand Master is Claude de la Sengle,” Richard supplied quietly, “a soldier at heart and a knight second. Appealing to his desire to ensure the Order remains at the top of the military tree should not be too difficult.”

  “It might not be for you,” Jack said hotly, and then casting his eyes over the wreckage of his brother, he amended his words. “
It might not have been too difficult for you once.” Then to Lizbet, “how much have you left?”

  “Quite a lot, he got me to buy more in Venice after he got the money from Chester Neephouse,” Lizbet said.

  Jack’s face was grim, and he held out his hand. “Give me it here.”

  “Jack, you can’t take it away, I’ve seen what he’s like. Please,” Lizbet said, her hand tightly wrapped around the jar. Jack’s expression was enough, and sighing she dropped it into his palm.

  “He gets half of what he has been having. Are you listening to me?” Jack said, and Lizbet nodded. “We can’t get any more.” Then turning to his brother, he said, “And you. If you press Lizbet for this, I’ll throw it over the side of this ship. Do you understand?”

  Richard nodded.

  Jack could hear occasional shuffling footsteps that told him there was a guard outside their cabin. Done with pacing, unable to see much from the tiny window, he gave up and let the Santa Fe rock him to sleep. He was woken when the ship lurched. There was a creaking groan that seemed to run through the very core of the ship and then, leaning, the wind took her. The Santa Fe had been rowed from her berth by the galley slaves, now the canvas had been unfurled and the wind had caught the sheets, pulling her south.

  Soon after this, the cabin door opened. He was collected by one of Brother Emilio’s men whom he recognised, and escorted onto the deck.

  The ship was fast, the crew experienced and skilled. When he asked, he was told it would take them only six days to sail the length of Italy, then another four to round the coastline and head past the Island of Sicily. From there it was a short journey to the rocky isle where the Knights had retreated to after their loss of Rhodes. There was always the danger of running into Turkish ships so they would sail close to land, the gleaming coastline of Italy remaining on their right hand side.