The waters of the marsh had frozen, a thin translucent layer of ice over the mud beneath. The church of Saint-Médard stood on a low island, surrounded by trees white with frost. Under the trees were long mounds of piled earth, the mass graves of English and Welsh soldiers who had died during the siege of Calais; sometimes by violence during the assaults on the town, mostly of cold and flux. Men brought the bodies here to Saint-Médard in the deserted hamlet of Oye, far enough from the English camp to prevent corruption spreading into the water, and dug long trenches and laid the corpses in them; when each trench was full, they covered it with earth and dug another.
A line of frozen reeds marked the line of the river Aa crawling its way through the marshes to the sea. Other islands could be seen in the distance; the burned-out castle of Saint-Folquin, the monastery of Saint-Marie, and beyond them the walls of the Flemish citadel at Bourbourg, protecting the vital port of Gravelines. Oye and its church lay in the debatable land between armies, and no one ever came here except to bury the dead.
‘Which makes it an excellent place to meet,’ said the man from the north. He looked at the others, four men cloaked and muffled in the cold dawn light. ‘I assume you all took precautions to make sure you were not followed.’
The others nodded. ‘No one in their right mind would follow anyone into this wasteland,’ said Raimon Vidal. ‘I preferred Hesdin.’
‘You know the rule,’ said John of Hainault. ‘Never meet in the same place twice.’
The Englishman nodded. ‘Yes. Every time we do meet, we take a chance. You are only here now to receive instructions.’ He turned to another member of the group. ‘Allow me to present our banker, Master William Blyth.’
Protected against the wind by a fur-trimmed cloak, Blyth bowed. If he had suffered during his rapid flight from England, or missed the wife and children he had abandoned there, he did not show it. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. You must tell me how I can serve you.’
‘Where is the money?’ demanded Guy of Béthune.
‘The coin and bullion are safely in my strongroom. The bills of exchange I brought from England are proving difficult to negotiate.’
The man from the north looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘Someone told Oppicius Adornes about my dealings in the dark exchanges. As head of the bankers’ guild of Bruges, he has taken steps to suppress the exchanges. All bills must now be negotiated through the official bourse, with records kept.’
‘What can we do about this?’ asked the Englishman.
‘I will need to use intermediaries. I also need to shift them slowly, one at a time, so Adornes and his informers don’t notice any large transactions. I won’t have the money before Easter, that is certain.’
The man from the north nodded. ‘Take no risks,’ he said. ‘Move only when it is safe to do so. We have time in hand now, and money too. We’ll be ready by Easter.’
‘Money?’ said Béthune. ‘From where?’
‘The Knights of Saint John have moved more quickly than anticipated. The attempt to assassinate Philippe of France played into their hands.’
Crows cawed in the distance. ‘But the attempt on the king did not succeed,’ said John of Hainault. ‘Nor did the attack on Philippa. At Hesdin, you said you would not fail.’
‘Nor have I. Be patient, John. If one of those crossbowmen had managed to kill Philippe, well and good, but the attacks alone have added fuel to the fire. Edward of England is more suspicious than ever now, and convinced one of his inner circle is about to betray him; which, of course, they are.’
Hainault said nothing. The man from the north looked around the group again. ‘Our task is simple. We keep Edward pinned at Calais, and let dysentery and low morale tear his army to pieces. We bankrupt Philippe and paralyse him, unable to raise troops, unable to move. When we are ready, we kill them both.’
Guillaume Machaut, the last member of the group, stirred a little. ‘Ready for what, exactly?’
‘Ready to seize power,’ said the man from the north.
‘In England and in France, I understand. What about the Empire? You must have some plan for it. You would not have recruited me otherwise.’
‘Of course. The collapse of France will rob the pope of his only important supporter. It will be easy to replace him.’ He nodded at Vidal. ‘We have already suggested that Cardinal Aubert would make an excellent pope, and the cardinal agrees. That will give us a hold over the King of the Romans, whose support depends on the German clergy. He will comply with our wishes, or we will turn his supporters against him.’
He looked at Machaut, his face challenging. ‘Do you agree?’
Machaut shrugged. ‘You are paying me well. You can put the devil on the papal throne, for all I care.’
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ warned Vidal. ‘You said you had instructions for us.’
‘Yes. Béthune, I want you to take soundings among the German bishops. Find out which ones can be bought. For those loyal to Charles, find out who might be prepared to rebel against them. Meanwhile, make sure you wife is at Charles’ court. Make sure she is seen, and noticed. Tell her to use her charms on those with power.’
Béthune stiffened but said nothing. The man from the north looked at him for a moment, and then turned to Hainault. ‘Write to your niece, the Empress Margaret and tell her France is having doubts about Charles. Suggest she and her husband the emperor approach France and open negotiations.’
Hainault looked dubious. ‘Do you think either side will agree?’
‘They might. And even if not, it will add to the uncertainty. No one will be certain where anyone’s loyalties lie. Except us. Blyth, you will receive the money from the Knights of Saint John. Be prepared to make disbursements when I send word.’
The man from the north turned to Machaut. ‘I will introduce you to some musicians I know. They already admire your music, and you will enjoy their playing. You will get along well.’
‘Why send them to me?’
‘They are also messengers. When the time comes, they will give you my orders.’
Machaut’s eyes narrowed a little. ‘You asked me to be a spy, nothing more.’
‘And as you pointed out, we are paying you a princely sum.’ His eyes bored into the secretary’s face. ‘Too late to back out now,’ he said.
Machaut was silent. The man from the north looked at Vidal, his eyes still hard. ‘When this is over, France will need a new monarch.’
‘You had one,’ Vidal pointed out. ‘Jeanne of Navarre. You let her slip through your fingers.’
‘I wanted to find out where her loyalties lay. Now she has declared herself neutral, which is perfect for our purposes. We can destroy her at our leisure. When Cardinal Aubert becomes Pope… What regnal name will he choose, do you think?’
‘He has already chosen it,’ said Vidal. ‘He will take the name of Innocent.’
‘Pope Innocent. Well, at least we know he has a sense of humour. We need someone on the throne of France who can work with him.’
‘And with King Charles,’ said Machaut. ‘When he becomes emperor.’
‘Of course. Vidal, tell your master to start thinking of names.’
‘I can give you one already,’ said Vidal. ‘Duke Odo of Burgundy. The king has accused him openly of disloyalty and exiled him from court. And he has taken Artois into his own hands and replaced Burgundian officials with French ones. Philippe is determined to stamp out the revolt.’
‘Good. He may as well squander his remaining treasure on that cause as on anything else. Odo is a useful prospect, but tell the cardinal to keep thinking.’
‘There is another possibility,’ said Machaut. ‘Why not offer the throne to King Charles? He could bring France and the Holy Roman Empire together, one and indivisible. With France, Germany and Italy behind him, he could unite the whole of Christian Europe, and you, my lords and gentlemen, would be the power behind his throne. He could be a new Charlemagne and bring you all unlimited power.’
The man from the north started to say something, then checked. Relaxing visibly, he put a hand on Machaut’s shoulder. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I shall give it some thought.’
A gust of cold wind whipped around them. ‘It is time we departed,’ said the man from the north. ‘Contact me in the usual way when you have news. Guy, a word before you go.’
The others mounted their horses and rode away down the causeway towards the river. Béthune turned to the Englishman. ‘What is it?’
‘What the hell were you thinking? We’re supposed to be sending Merrivale haring around the countryside chasing false leads. Instead you beat him half to death and then lock him up.’
‘I saw a chance to get rid of him, and I took it.’
‘Damn you for a liar. You found out he was coming to Béthune and you couldn’t stand the thought of him being with your wife. Control your emotions, Guy. Don’t let jealousy get the better of you.’
Béthune glared at him. ‘It will not happen again.’
‘No. It won’t. And Charles? The Germans are ready to play their part. Are you?’
‘Of course. But we need to watch Zajíc. He may be colluding with Merrivale.’
‘Let me worry about that. Do not let me down again, Guy.’
‘Again? When have I failed you before?’
With surprising power, the man from the north grabbed Béthune’s cloak at the throat and dragged him forward until their faces were only an inch apart. ‘You failed me in Scotland,’ he said, low-voiced. ‘You let Brus run wild, and very nearly jeopardised our entire venture. Are you worth the prize I am about to give you?’
‘Yes,’ said Béthune, with an effort.
‘Good. Because if I have even so much as a whisper of doubt about you, Guy, I will kill you. Remember that.’