After Flodden (28 page)

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Louise’s bones felt as if they had been shaken out of their sockets, and rearranged in an order God had never intended. She worried how her pony was faring, yet his pace
never faltered, and after that stumble, he had been sure-footed as a goat. Borders horses, it seemed, were as hardy as their owners.

The night had no end. So long as the sky was dark, and the moon high, Crozier kept them on the trail. Only when a thin line of pale blue appeared on the horizon, and the first blackbirds greeted
the day, did he let them rest. A second night’s riding followed, as tiring as the first, and by the time Crozier called a brief halt Louise was dizzy from peering into the dark, her legs
unsteady as she dismounted. While the horses drank from a stream, the Borderer stood apart, looking into the thinning sky. They were still some miles from the hideout he had planned to reach.
Gabriel drew Louise to one side, and shared bread and ale with her, talking in a low voice.

At length, Crozier spoke. ‘We’ve passed far beyond Redesdale. This next stage will be the most dangerous. There is a place near the Packman’s Ford where we can lie up till
night, but it’s a good few miles from here. We risk being seen, but there’s nothing we can do about that. If you are ready for it, we must start now, and ride as fast as the track
allows. With luck, we will be there before full light.’

They came down off the hills without encountering anyone, covering the ground so swiftly that only the keenest observer could have given their description. As they reached the ford, and the
straggling settlement beside it, they slowed to a walk. Louise pulled her cap low, and Crozier and Gabriel kept their heads down beneath their leather brims. A man with a cartload of winter feed
was crossing the ford ahead of them. They waited on the bank. Only the horses’ foaming flanks gave a hint of their impatience.

The man’s wheel caught on the crooked stone causeway, and however much his mule pulled, it could not be dislodged. He cursed loudly and threw down his whip, his roars bringing a boy
running from the village. But the lad was puny, no match for the cart, and before he could reach the ford, Crozier dismounted, and approached. ‘Let me help you, my friend,’ he said. The
farmer grunted, and got off his cart. Together they wrenched the wheel free. With a lurch, the mule dragged the cart across the ford, and started off up the street, his owner chasing to catch up.
Not once had he looked at Crozier or his companions.

The three crossed without a word and passed through the village at a sedate trot, as if going no further than to market. Once they were out of sight of the cottages, Crozier turned off the road,
and into the hills. Some miles later he dismounted, and led his horse sharply uphill to a spindly copse of birches. Hidden by the trees, in the side of the hill was a mossy crack, barely wide
enough to allow a horse to enter. Beyond was a high-roofed cave, cold, bare, but dry. ‘A rustlers’ hideout,’ said Crozier, in answer to their unspoken question. His voice was loud
and unfamiliar in the enclosed space. ‘It was a place my grandfather used. He brought me here a few times. God knows how he found it, but it saved his skin on more than one
occasion.’

After unsaddling and feeding the horses, they spread their bedrolls on the hard earth floor. Gabriel and Crozier took it in turns to stand watch. Louise lay, with the vixen at her side, and
despite the lack of pillow or rug, was asleep in a moment. For the next few hours she gave no sign of life, other than a flicker of eyelids, as if she were still peering through the dark for shapes
she hoped not to see.

When she woke, the cave was in darkness. A flint was struck at her side, and in its light Gabriel loomed over her, with a flask of ale and a slice of cheese. ‘Take these,’ he
whispered, his hand squeezing her shoulder. ‘We will be setting off shortly.’ She got up stiffly, a palm to her back. She sensed a new mood. Crozier was tense, and Gabriel too.
‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Voices,’ said Gabriel. ‘Crozier has heard men on the hill. They have torches. Could be they’re looking for us.’

She joined them at the cave mouth. Their horses were saddled and ready, hooves scuffing the dust. Beyond the birches torchlights bobbed on the lower slopes of the hill. The group stiffened at
the sound of baying hounds. ‘Are they loose?’ asked Louise, her heart skipping. Crozier nodded. ‘They’ve let them off, to search. Most likely they are only hunting. Problem
is, they might pick up our scent.’

At their heels the vixen began a low growl. The horses tossed their heads. Peering into the dusk, the three scarcely breathed. Gradually, as the torches moved off across the valley, the yelping
grew fainter.

‘We must leave now,’ said Crozier, ‘before they return. They’re heading south, the way I had hoped to go, so we’ll have to take a different path, but we cannot stay
here any longer.’

He scooped up the vixen. ‘She can ride with me until we’re beyond the reach of the hounds.’

They crept out, leading their horses downhill to the trail. There was still light enough to be seen, and with a hunt at large, they felt uncomfortably exposed. Quietly but quickly, they turned
east. The hills here were high but flat-topped, and for many miles Louise could see the hunters’ lights, dancing across the land they had left. Only when they were beyond sight did she give
her full mind to the ride ahead.

As before, the night stretched on forever. In the rising wind, the moon’s light was fitful, veiled by scudding clouds that blotted out the stars. Progress was slow, Crozier less sure of
his road than before, and the horses spooked by the memory of the hounds. Yet by dawn they were far on their way to Durham. The landscape was changing, from broad hill plains to a rougher, rockier
warren of small hills and vales. On a few occasions they rode through a settlement, setting dogs barking as they passed. The vixen, under Crozier’s firm hand, did no more than growl in
reply.

This deep into enemy territory the Borderer took no risks. As soon as the night lightened to grey he found cover, heading off the trail and into a pinewood that even in daylight would be
secretive and dim. Their horses’ hooves were muffled by drifts of ancient brown pine-needles, and with this as a mattress, their bedrolls felt like eiderdown. With the trees swaying above
them, hushing their thoughts, they slept.

When they woke it was late afternoon, and there was time to kill before they could set out. Sharing their food, they talked, as if they were ordinary folk taking a break between chores.

‘How much further?’ asked Louise.

‘I reckon we are only a few hours’ ride from the city,’ Crozier replied, biting deep into one of his mother’s pies. He spoke through his mouthful: ‘We should be in
place sometime after midnight.’

Gabriel nodded, wiping crumbs from his mouth with his handkerchief, and swallowing before he spoke. ‘A fine cook, your mother, may I say. Nothing could be more welcome after these long
days than provender like this. No wonder you Borderers can stay on the road for so long without tiring. She is a marvel.’

Louise looked up at him, grateful at the effort he was making with a man he did not trust. In their pride and quick tempers, and above all in their courage, these two were more alike than they
would care to know. The courtier, however, with his fine accent and clothes, his flashing ring and golden hair, was like a creature from a higher plain, somewhere between the earth and heaven.
Crozier, meanwhile, might have been a woodcutter or herdsman, so well did he blend into the trees and hills in his weathered leather jerkin and leggings. Louise lowered her eyes, but not before the
Borderer had caught her admiring glance, and the unguarded warmth with which Gabriel returned it.

When they had eaten, Crozier laid out his plans. They would find a secure place in the hills outside the city, leaving Louise hidden while he and Gabriel made their way there in daytime to scout
out around the castle.

‘I think not,’ said Gabriel, cutting him short.

Crozier looked at him in surprise.

‘I go alone,’ Gabriel explained. ‘You will only hinder me.’

Crozier was incredulous. ‘How so? You cannot possibly do this on your own. It would be madness. This expedition is folly enough without you running such risks.’

‘I go alone or not at all,’ said the courtier, his voice as harsh as if he were issuing a command to recalcitrant troops. A startled pigeon rose from a pine, flapping its way through
the trees.

Louise was almost as alarmed. ‘Sir,’ she began, touching the courtier’s cloak.

‘No.’ Gabriel ignored her, but spoke more quietly. ‘It surprises me, Crozier, that you would be so heedless. I cannot, and I will not allow Louise to be stranded out here
without protection. Better that we leave empty-handed than that she is put in such danger.’

Crozier began to speak, but Gabriel raised his hand.

‘Sir, if you insist, then go to the castle yourself. I, however, shall remain here with Louise.’

Crozier was terse. ‘You know very well I cannot pass myself off as a courtier, not in this garb – not in any. You have the manner of one born to command the lower orders.
That’s the only chance we have of getting past the guard.’

Gabriel shrugged. ‘It is your choice,’ he said. ‘I will not seek out danger, but I need hardly tell you, nor do I run from it.’

Nobody spoke. Gabriel stared at the Borderer, who was frowning. The pines swayed above them. A squirrel dislodged a cone, and it fell with a splash of leaves. Finally, Crozier spoke.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will keep guard here with Mistress Brenier. But I warn you. If you run into any trouble, you are on your own. We will wait till dusk, but no
longer.’

‘Perfectly understood,’ said Gabriel.

‘How will you explain travelling alone?’ said Crozier. ‘Will that not raise suspicion?’

‘I see no problems with that.’ Gabriel smiled. ‘Of all the questions I dread, that is the least troublesome.’

Crozier nodded, reluctant still, but unable, or unwilling to argue. His manner became brisk, as much like one born to command as the courtier, though without the flourishes of accent, dress or
style. ‘So then,’ he said, ‘if you can gain access to the cells, that would be an unexpected stroke of luck. But as I said before, you’ll need to pass yourself off as an
Englishman. Your strange tongue would otherwise have you put in irons.’

Gabriel put down his pie, tilted his hat to the back of his head, and turned from soft-spoken Irish Scot into a boastful Yorkshireman. ‘Happen I can deal wi’ the likes o’ that,
y’oul fool,’ he said, his brogue so thick they stared in astonishment. ‘From the Dales, I ahm, and reet proud o’ it,’ he added. He bowed modestly at their amazement.
‘The English court sends us ambassadors from all parts,’ he explained. ‘I can make a good fist of a Wiltshire gentleman too, but you wouldn’t understand a word of
that.’

Louise dug into the breast of her jerkin, and pulled out a folded paper, creased and splattered with ink. ‘I’m no great hand,’ she apologised. ‘This is a note for Benoit.
It says very little, beyond sending him love from me and my mother, and promising to do whatever is within our powers to make things more comfortable for him. There was nothing else I could think
to say that would not offer false hope, or put you in danger if this note were intercepted.’ She handed the letter to Gabriel, and bent her head. ‘I wanted to say we would help him
escape, but how can we do that?’

Gabriel looked grim as he put the letter in his shirt. He had not visited Durham before, but he had heard of its castle. Beyond the Tower of London, he doubted there was a stronger or more
heavily guarded fortress.

‘It’ll be difficult for you,’ said Crozier. ‘The city will be on high alert for trouble from the north. I am told they have sent additional troops there from
Surrey’s headquarters in Pontefract. Any stranger will be viewed with suspicion.’

‘I anticipate trouble,’ said the courtier. ‘I’d be a fool not to. But my hope is to bluff my way into the castle, and to see, if not the prisoners themselves, then the
record of their names. They will, surely, keep a roll of who they hold, and the charges against them. If that were possible, and assuming always that Benoit is actually in their keep, we will at
least know what his situation is.’

Louise grasped his hand. ‘You are too, too good, to do this for my family.’ Her eyes sparkled with tears. ‘I can never repay you. Either of you,’ she added, looking at
Crozier, who was picking stones from the soles of his boots. He did not meet her glance. She put her hand on his arm, and he looked up, his eyes a tarn of border grey. He stood, and her hand
fell.

‘I don’t envy you looking for a record book,’ he said to Gabriel.

‘Why – can you not read?’

Crozier ignored the jibe. ‘In times like these,’ he replied, ‘with the number of prisoners they will be holding, it’d be a miracle if a scribe was called in to help. My
guess is the cattle market will keep a closer account than the castle guards.’

‘You may be right,’ said Gabriel. ‘I can only pray not.’

As the last of the daylight faded, they packed their saddlebags. Crozier left to refill their flasks from a stream at the foot of the hill. As soon as he was gone, Gabriel took Louise in his
arms. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this for days,’ he murmured. He held her for a long time, before pulling away and looking anxiously down at her. ‘You must be brave,’ he
said. ‘Even more brave than you have already shown yourself. Tomorrow I may bring bad news of Benoit, or no news at all. This is the last throw of the dice. If he is not here, our options run
out.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘And I promise to be strong.’ She raised her face to him, and it would have taken a man of stone not to meet her lips. Gabriel was many things, but
passionless was not one of them. He pulled her roughly to him, and kissed her long and hard, until she thought her back would break from his hold.

When he released her, he kept an arm around her and pulled the ring from his finger. ‘You must have this,’ he said. ‘If I should not come back safely tomorrow, then it is
yours, in memory of me – of us.’