‘The man who told the king about the Blanchetaque,’ said Nicholas Courcy. ‘He was remarkably willing to talk, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ the herald said. ‘He had been paid to do so.’
Around them the exhausted army was making camp on the edge of the forest, the last of the battered rearguard slowly straggling in. There had been hard fighting on the south bank; the Bohemian panzerati in particular were vicious opponents, and despite the best efforts of the king and Arundel, a number of baggage wagons had been lost, including most of the remaining food. Fortunately the vanguard had captured stores of bread and peas and salt meat in Noyelles and Le Crotoy. Both these small towns were now burning fiercely in the distance.
‘Who paid him?’ demanded Gráinne.
Tiphaine stirred. Her tunic was in rags, her hose worn through at the knees. ‘The conspirators,’ she said. ‘It was another trap.’
‘It was,’ the herald agreed. ‘And planned with care. They drove us deliberately towards the ford, paid that man to tell us where it was and lied about the number of men guarding it so we would be encouraged to make the attempt. Their intention was to bottle us up in the river until the tide turned and the water rose and drowned us all.’
He remembered the prince’s words. ‘Like rats in a sack,’ he said.
‘Just so,’ said Courcy. ‘Only they didn’t reckon with Hugh Despenser and his men, or the Red Company, our latter-day Myrmidons. Come to that, neither did I.’
‘We are not out of danger,’ Merrivale said. ‘As John Sully said, the time will come when we can run no longer.’
Courcy nodded. ‘Warwick told me that the king is determined to fight. Northampton has gone out to look for a battlefield where we can meet the French. I have been ordered to make the cannon ready.’
Tiphaine shivered. ‘I saw their army at Rouen. It is more powerful than you can imagine.’
The four of them, Merrivale, Tiphaine, Courcy and Gráinne, were seated on wooden benches outside the herald’s tent, smoke drifting around them in the falling dusk. As part of the Prince of Wales’s household, the herald’s baggage had not been abandoned at Airaines, and Mauro had somehow managed to get the cart across the Blanchetaque before the Bohemians closed in. He and Warin stood behind the herald; Matt and Pip leaned on their bows a few yards away, chewing on rinds of bacon.
‘Tell us about this conspiracy,’ Courcy said.
‘It has two parts,’ Merrivale said. ‘The first is the destruction of the English army and the death of the king and the Prince of Wales. Then I imagine the conspirators would attempt to gain control of Queen Philippa and the next heir to the throne, Prince Lionel. He is only eight years old, so they might push the queen aside and attempt to rule as regents.’
‘The queen would not give up without a fight,’ said Courcy. ‘Which could mean another civil war. What is the second part?’
Merrivale told him about the plot to overthrow Philip of France. ‘I am not desperately interested in what happens to him, but I prefer not to see England torn apart. I remember the violence of the 1320s all too well. I have no desire to see those days return.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ Courcy asked.
‘The conspirators have asked me to join them,’ Merrivale said.
The silence that followed lasted for quite some time. ‘And how did you respond?’ Tiphaine asked.
‘I asked to meet some of their leaders, and they agreed. The meeting is in Abbeville, tomorrow night.’
Gráinne snorted. ‘This is a trap.’
‘Not necessarily. I know some of these men.’
Courcy raised his eyebrows. ‘How?’
‘When the war began, I was sent to Savoy to support our envoy there, Brother Geoffrey of Maldon. Both England and France were trying to woo Savoy to their side, but the French had the upper hand. They had enlisted the help of Cardinal Aubert and also of Jean de Nanteuil, the Grand Prior of the Knights of Saint John, two of the most powerful men in Europe. Count Aymon was promised a kingdom. With support from France and the Knights, Savoy would annex all of its neighbours, Geneva, Dauphiné, Montferrat, Provence, Monaco, even Genoa, and form them into a single state under Aymon’s rule.’
‘Wait a moment. Wasn’t he the fellow known as Aymon the Peaceful? He doesn’t sound like a builder of empires.’
Merrivale nodded. ‘Aymon was not particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but his chief councillor, Louis of Vaud, was very much in favour. But then we discovered Aubert’s real aim. Once this new kingdom had been created, France would depose Aymon and take control, annexing Savoy directly to the French crown. Just like Normandy.’
‘And what did you and Brother Geoffrey do?’
‘We made a counter-move. We persuaded Aymon that he could remain independent by joining forces with Genoa and the other states, forming a confederation of allies rather like the Swiss cantons. We then bought the loyalty of the other states, including Genoa and Monaco. Our master stroke, or so we thought, was to recruit the Count of Rožmberk, Jean of Bohemia’s chamberlain. Bohemia was trying to establish its own empire in Italy at the time, and would have made a useful friend. With all the other pieces in place, we then bribed Cardinal Aubert and the Grand Prior to abandon their own plot and walk away. But the one man we could not corrupt was Louis of Vaud.’
‘An honest man,’ said Courcy. ‘How rare and refreshing.’
‘It was unexpected, yes, and it was the rock on which we foundered. When Vaud refused our offer, Aubert and Jean de Nanteuil reneged on the deal and turned the Bohemians against us. The entire scheme fell apart, and Geoffrey and I were very lucky to escape with our lives.’
‘And now, you will be betrayed again,’ Tiphaine said. She rose to her feet. ‘The entire French army is camped around Abbeville. Lady Gráinne is right. This is a trap.’
‘I must take that chance,’ the herald said. ‘I know I can talk to Louis of Vaud, and to Doria and Grimaldi. They can tell me what I need to know.’
‘Which is?’
‘The names of the Englishmen who are part of the conspiracy. The men who worked with John of Hainault twenty years ago to use Mortimer and Isabella to bring down the crown of England. They came within a hair’s breadth of destroying the country then. I believe they are about to try again.’
Courcy wrinkled his brow. ‘Where does Hainault fit into all this?’
‘Back in the ’20s, he and his friends controlled Mortimer, not the other way around. When the king launched his coup and arrested and executed Mortimer, that knocked the bottom out of Hainault’s plan. He tried to curry favour with the king, with some success, but his Grace already had his own friends, Salisbury, Northampton, Rowton and the others. The king liked Hainault and admired him, but the young men always had more influence. Hainault couldn’t break into that circle.’
‘Didn’t Hainault go back home and try to dispossess his brother?’
‘He did, but that also failed. Now he is in France, where he is influential, but once again he has risen as far as he can. My guess is that the coup they are now planning is aimed at giving him power in both England and France, far beyond what he already has.’
‘So you are going to meet these men in Abbeville tomorrow night,’ Gráinne said.
‘I am.’
‘Well, you’re not going alone,’ said Courcy. He glanced at Gráinne. ‘We’re coming with you.’
‘So am I,’ said Tiphaine.
‘You know what will happen if the French capture you again.’
She shivered. ‘I know. But I am coming all the same.’
Pip flicked the last of the bacon rind over her shoulder. ‘Our orders are to go wherever you go, sir,’ she said.
‘And you cannot expect Warin and me to remain behind, señor,’ said Mauro.
Merrivale sighed. ‘I am quite capable of going to Abbeville on my own,’ he said. ‘I am going openly, as a herald and ambassador. I will be perfectly safe.’
Courcy nodded. ‘As I said once before, I’m sure you can get there quite easily. But you might need a little help getting back again.’
It was late when the herald returned from the prince’s table. Tiphaine was waiting for him in the tent. ‘Where are the servants?’ he asked.
‘I told them to sleep outside. The night is warm, and they will not be uncomfortable.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Can you not guess?’
They looked at each other in the shadows. Merrivale tried to read her face. ‘Tiphaine,’ he said. ‘It has been a very long time.’
‘You are not the only one. I have been in prison for two years, remember.’ She paused for a moment, ‘You wear that tabard like a suit of armour, but I know that underneath it you have a soul. I was hoping there might be a place for me within it.’
She stepped towards him, and before he could move, took his hand in hers. ‘I am not Iseult,’ she said. ‘I am not Morgana or Blanchefleur, and I am not the lady you lost.’
‘No,’ Merrivale said gently. ‘Be yourself, Tiphaine, as you have always done. That is more than enough.’
‘There’ll be a fight tomorrow,’ said an archer, sitting on the ground and carefully tying thread around the fletching of an arrow.
Clouds had rolled in from the west overnight, trapping heat and humidity under the canopy of the trees. The entire army was camped inside the forest now, protected from the prying eyes of enemy scouts. Mauro looked at the archer. His russet tunic was stained and faded, and his boots had worn thin. ‘You think so?’ the manservant asked.
‘Old Northampton’s found a field he likes. Crest of a hill just the other side of the forest. We’ll make a stand there and wait for the French to come to us.’
The archer held up the arrow, squinting along the line of the cock feather and checking the fixing of the broad barbed head. Satisfied, he laid it aside and reached for another arrow, this one with a long needle-like point.
‘Why the different heads?’ Mauro asked.
‘That one’s a broadhead. We use them at long range, to cripple or kill the horses. This here is a bodkin point.’ The archer touched the long needle. ‘That goes through the rings on a mail coat. We use them next, and when the enemy are good and close, we turn to these.’ He held up another arrow, this one with a cylindrical head ending in a sharp point like an awl. ‘At thirty yards, that will punch through armour,’ he said. ‘Nothing’ll stop it.’
‘Can we hold the French?’ Mauro asked.
‘Nah. Forty thousand men coming at us all at once? They’ll wrap around our flanks and roll over us.’ The archer looked down the shaft of the arrow, rotating it in his fingers. ‘Don’t reckon I’ll be seeing Wigan again.’
He looked up at Mauro. ‘I remember you. Spanish fellow, the one that gave us water at Sainte-Mère-Église. Don’t suppose you have a drink now, do you?’
Mauro tossed over the waterskin, and the archer drank deeply. ‘Thanks, mate. Fair parched, I was.’
‘I wasn’t sure you would still be talking to me,’ Mauro said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I am the herald’s servant.’
‘You mean because of Bate? Don’t worry about that. Batey wasn’t thinking straight, hadn’t been for a long time. That knock on the head he took in Prussia scrambled his wits, I reckon.’
The archer took another long drink, stoppered the waterskin and threw it back to Mauro. ‘Tell your master not to worry,’ he said. ‘We don’t hold a grudge. Nicodemus, now, that’s a different story. If we catch him, we’re going to cut his balls off.’
‘Have you seen him?’ Mauro asked.
‘No, but it’s said he’s still around. I knew he was trouble right from the first day, when we spotted him and Slade waiting by that road.’
A cold finger crawled down Mauro’s spine. ‘Jack Slade, the Somerset man? What road was this?’
‘The road from Quettehou to Valognes, the day we landed. He and Slade were crouched down behind a hedgerow beside the road. They had their backs to us, so they didn’t see us, but we saw them all right.’
‘The other man you mentioned, Macio Chauffin. When did you see him?’
The archer thought. ‘A little later, I guess. A bit further up the road too, towards Valognes.’ He frowned. ‘We thought Nicodemus and Slade were out looting, just like us. Do you suppose they were waiting for Chauffin?’
‘They were waiting for someone,’ Mauro said, ‘but it was not Chauffin. Thank you, señor. You have been most helpful.’
‘I think Nicodemus and Slade killed Sir Edmund Bray,’ he reported a few minutes later. ‘They were guarding the road, with orders to kill anyone who disturbed Señor Chauffin’s meeting with Señor de Fierville. When Sir Edmund appeared, they followed him and shot him.’
‘Come with me,’ the herald said grimly. ‘I may need a witness.’
They found Edward de Tracey talking with one of his vintenars, the rest of his archers scattered among the trees waxing bowstrings and checking arrows. ‘I need a word with you,’ Merrivale said.
Tracey motioned to the vintenar and the man walked away. He glanced at Mauro and the two archers waiting a few yards away, but the herald shook his head. ‘They stay.’
‘What do you want now?’ Tracey asked, his voice level.
‘When you landed, was Nicodemus with the rest of the company on the beach at Saint-Vaast?’
Tracey thought for a moment. ‘Yes. He went up to Quettehou with the rest of us, after the alarm had sounded.’
The herald shook his head. ‘But that is not true, is it?’
Tracey’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. ‘Are you challenging my word, herald?’
‘I have witnesses who saw Nicodemus and Jack Slade near the Valognes road at almost exactly the same time as Edmund Bray was killed. Why did you tell me Nicodemus was with your company on the beach?’
‘I thought he was. I didn’t keep an eye on him the whole time, I had other things on my mind, like organising my company and making sure they were armed and ready. Clearly I was mistaken when I spoke earlier. Don’t you ever make mistakes, herald?’
‘Frequently. But Nicodemus was no ordinary retainer, was he? You relied on him, and he had worked for your father, too. He was practically a family retainer. And yet on the day of the landing, you had no notion of where he was?’
‘None whatever.’
‘Take care, Sir Edward,’ the herald warned. ‘You know what Nicodemus stands accused of. It is more than just Bray’s murder, much more. The selling of innocent children into slavery at Southampton. The murder of Jake Madford at Pont-Hébert. The attempted poisoning of several members of the Prince of Wales’s retinue at the Lammas feast, and the much more ambitious attempt to poison the king and all his captains at Poissy.’
Tracey said nothing. ‘The king looks on you favourably,’ Merrivale continued, ‘and your banker brother has great influence. But if it is found that you have any connection with Nicodemus and his crimes, neither favour nor influence will save you. Hanging will be the kindest death you could face.’
‘I swear to God,’ Tracey said. His face had gone pale. ‘I swear on the bones of all the saints, I had nothing do with this. I employed Nicodemus because I thought he was reliable and had a good head for numbers. I had no knowledge of or interest in his other activities, so long as he served me faithfully.’
‘Oaths are easy to swear,’ the herald said. ‘Why should I believe you?’
‘For God’s sake, man! Why would I risk throwing my lands and wealth away for some insane plot to kill the king?’
‘I was wondering the same thing.’
‘Very well. If you think I am guilty, provide some evidence. I challenge you to do so. Prove a case against me if you can.’
‘I cannot,’ said Merrivale. ‘But you had better start making your peace with God, Sir Edward. Because if there is evidence, I will find it.’
‘Do you believe him?’ asked Courcy.
‘He lied to me about Nicodemus’s whereabouts, that is certain,’ Merrivale said. ‘And I find his claim of ignorance about Nicodemus’s activities unconvincing at best. But at the same time, I also find it hard to believe that he is capable of organising a conspiracy of this size and scope.’
‘And he is right about one thing,’ Courcy said. ‘He already has power and wealth. What motive would he have for getting involved in a plot like this?’
Gráinne was sitting on a bench beneath an oak tree, honing the blade of her sword to a glittering edge. She snorted. ‘Men who have power and wealth want only one thing. More of both.’
‘That’s two things,’ Courcy said.
‘Exactly.’ Gráinne stood up and tossed a feather in the air. She watched it flutter towards the ground for a moment, and swung her sword. The blade was a flash of light, faster than the eye could see, and the feather, cut cleanly in two, landed on the dead leaves at her feet.
‘Sharp enough,’ Gráinne said. She sheathed the sword and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Nicodemus could be threatening Tracey, or forcing him to pay blackmail. Perhaps he knows something about Tracey’s past to his discredit. Tracey does know what is going on, but Nicodemus is forcing him to keep silent.’
‘Possibly,’ the herald said.
‘You don’t think Tracey has the wit or ambition to be the kingpost of this conspiracy,’ Gráinne continued. ‘But your instinct tells you that he is involved somehow, or at least he knows what is going on.’
‘Yes. But I haven’t enough evidence to arrest him or question him further. He has already persuaded the king to order me to abandon the inquisition once again. I doubt I can persuade him to reopen it.’
‘And tomorrow, his Grace will have other things to worry about,’ said Courcy. ‘So this is our last chance. We go to Abbeville tonight.’
‘Yes,’ the herald said. ‘Are you still determined to come with me?’
‘Try stopping us,’ said Lady Gráinne.