After Flodden (40 page)

Worse than Gabriel’s calculated deceit was her own vanity, which had led to her being tricked into a liaison that might, like her sister’s, have ruined her life. Had she not come to
her senses in time, she would not now be with Crozier. The thought that she might have thrown away his love made her eyes smart. She held tight to his hand, as if he were a shield behind which she
could take cover from these hard facts, but she knew that there was no-one to whom she was answerable except herself. Yet when her sleeping husband put his arm around her and pulled her closer, she
was comforted. He was no fool, even if he had married one. Eventually, she slept.

When she woke, Crozier and Tom were conferring at the door. They turned as she lifted her head, and Crozier’s face lightened at the sight of her sleepy eyes, the wayward curls that made
her look as if a gale had passed through her hair.

Day had barely broken, but Louise could tell that the snow had stopped. ‘Can we leave now?’ she asked. Crozier nodded. ‘Soon as it’s light.’

‘I’ll feed the horses and bring them round,’ said Tom, letting a blast of icy air into the cottage as he left. The chill woke them fully, but by the time Ella and Benoit were
dressed, and they had eaten a morsel of bread and dripping, and packed food for the trip, the sun was up.

In their bustle and relief to be setting out, none thought to listen for trouble. Tom tied his and Crozier’s horses to the post by the door, and went back to the barn for Louise’s
pony. While he was gone, the horses lifted their heads, ears pricked.

It was shortly after that Crozier asked, ‘What’s taking Tom so long?’ Just then, the horses began to shuffle. Crozier’s mare threw back her head and neighed, a
full-throated whinny. When an answering whicker came from the woods, everyone in the cottage froze. Louise felt as if a hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. She could not
breathe. In that moment’s silence, they heard a soft step outside the shuttered window. As Crozier leapt to the door and slammed the bar into place, the latch was raised. It clicked,
uselessly, and a shoulder was pressed against the wood with a sullen creak.

‘Benoit Brenier!’ cried Gabriel, thumping against the door as if he could batter it off its hinges. ‘Open up! I know you’re in there. You and the silversmith, by the
looks of it.’

Nobody spoke. Crozier motioned them away from the door and they crept to the rear of the room where they stood in a huddle, eyeing the latch as if the devil himself were behind it.

‘Come on now, Master Brenier,’ called Gabriel, ‘We need to talk, you and I. The business we started in the woods must be finished. Let’s make a deal, and be done with all
this. Then we can go our separate ways.’

Brenier seemed about to reply when Crozier put a finger to his lips and shook his head.

After another pounding, things went quiet. They followed the sounds as Gabriel moved around beneath the trees, a prowler who did not care if he was heard. The horses were restless, and at first
it seemed as if he were calming them, his voice low and gentle. Then he gave a shout, slapped a rump, and there was neighing and the slushy canter of hooves disappearing into the woods.

Gabriel’s footsteps crunched around the cottage. Its only windows were at the front, so there was no knowing what he was doing, though they could guess. The scuffle of his heavy tread, his
grunts and groans, lasted for what seemed like an age. There was a dragging, and a rustling. Crozier looked up at the rafters, his face grimmer than Louise had ever seen it. Then came the noise
they had dreaded, the rasp, rasp, rasp of a tinderbox, followed soon after by the smell of smoke.

Ella gave a moan, and sank onto the floor. Benoit gripped her hand, and rubbed it. ‘The thatch will be wet,’ he said, ‘it may not take light.’

But Gabriel knew what he was doing. He had lit tapers in the straw beneath the eaves, where it was dry, and in a matter of minutes, runnels of flame had burrowed deep into the roof, which would
shortly turn into a frying pan.

‘Will you come out now, laddie?’ he called wearily from the front of the cottage. ‘If you don’t want to save yourself, think about your family. Burned alive is not a good
way to go, or so the martyrs’ faces tell us.’

Crozier crouched beside Ella and Benoit. ‘This place will soon go up like a torch. It doesn’t sound as if he knows that Louise and I are here, though God knows what he’s done
with Tom.’ At the thought of his brother hurt, his hands turned into fists.

He looked from one to the other. ‘If you go outside, you might be able to distract him long enough for me and Louise to slip out. I can then attack from behind. It’s not a good plan,
but it’s our only option. Unless you can think of something better?’

But they could not. Hand in hand they rose, and stood by the door. ‘I am coming out,’ cried Benoit. ‘My wife is with me. Let her go, and you can have me.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ called Gabriel. ‘I knew you’d see sense.’

Crozier lifted the bar, and opened the door. He and Louise flattened themselves against the wall. They heard Benoit and Ella walking over snow, away from the cottage.

Already the room was growing warm. Smoke was curling from the rafters, but until Gabriel’s back was turned, they dare not leave. Louise put her hand in Crozier’s. He opened the
shutters an inch, and watched, unmoving. Then he gave her a quick hug. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s get on with it.’

They crept out into the snow. Gabriel stood side on to the billowing smoke. If he caught a movement in the corner of his eye as the pair slipped out, he thought it was only a flicker of flames
as they crept over the roof fast as tomcats, and leapt into the air with a whoosh that cast an orange glow over the snow, and shadowed their faces in crimson.

The courtier stared at Ella, as she clung to her husband.

‘This your fancy piece, is it, Master Brenier?’ he said, casting his eyes over her, from boots to cap, lingering on the bulge beneath her cape. ‘Have you perchance bitten off
more than you intended?’

‘Your quarrel is with me, fils de putain,’ Benoit replied, his voice stronger than seemed possible for one so whey-faced.

‘Indeed,’ said Gabriel. ‘Don’t I know it.’

There was a crack and a groan as timbers began to shift under the flames. Gabriel pointed his sword at Benoit, and directed him away from his wife. ‘On your knees,’ he said, as if
suddenly tired of conversation.

Crozier crept up behind him, sword outstretched. His footsteps went unheard in the crackling flames. Not until his blade was pressed between Gabriel’s shoulders did the courtier know he
was there. Crozier spoke loudly, over the blaze. ‘Don’t move or the sword will go through your heart. It would give me great pleasure to send it home.’

For a second time, Benoit was privy to the passage of emotions across the courtier’s face. Fury was uppermost, but this was swiftly overlain by cunning. An oily smile spread over his
features. He raised his hands above his head, and turned, slowly, to face the Borderer.

‘Drop your sword,’ barked Crozier. Gabriel did so, and Benoit quickly retrieved it. Only when Gabriel saw Louise did his face register something honest. The flicker of distress was
fleeting, however, rapidly concealed behind a smile that made Louise feel queasy. It was the very smile she had fallen for, a lifetime earlier. Only now could she see that it did not reach his
eyes, which glowed green and cold as an emerald in the fire-lit morning.

‘My sweetness,’ he said, ‘I have missed you.’

‘Quiet,’ growled Crozier.

‘Oh I will be, sir, I will, once I have had my say. But surely you can’t deny me the chance to say a last farewell to the woman I love? And who – dare I boast of it –
loves me? We were to be wed, you know.’

‘That is a lie!’ cried Louise, drawing closer. ‘I never once said I loved you. I never promised to marry you. I was just a stupid, needy little girl.’

‘But so soft and delicious, my sweet,’ he said, raising his eyes as if to savour the memory. ‘And, if I may say so, without lowering the tone too far, so terribly, delightfully
generous.’

‘Ohhh!’ With a cry Louise hurled something at him. It struck his face, and he winced. When he looked down, the emerald ring was bedded in the snow at his feet.

‘You return it?’ He sounded shocked, his mocking tone fled.

‘It was never mine,’ she said. ‘I told you I would not keep it.’

Gabriel met Louise’s eye. ‘I remember, but I did not believe you meant it. I wanted you as my wife. How could you not want to marry me, when I loved you so well?’

‘Your manner was not of love, sir, but of p . . . p . . . possession,’ she stammered. ‘I would have been another trophy, like your ridiculous ring.’

He looked perplexed. ‘But what is wrong with that? I would have been proud to have you as my wife and show you to the world. You are more beautiful than any jewel. I wanted to have you, as
mine.’ He paused. ‘It is not too late, even now.’

Louise turned away, sickened. Crozier’s lips thinned.

‘You’ve said enough,’ he snarled. ‘From now on, keep your mouth shut.’

‘But what about the ring?’ the courtier asked, his hands still aloft.

‘Pick it up,’ said the Borderer, which he was forever to recall as the most stupid thing he had ever said in his life.

The courtier bent, but as his fingers closed on the ring, he lunged headfirst for Louise, catching her around the waist in a tackle that threw them both to the ground. Before Crozier could
react, he had a knife at her throat. She had not had time to scream.

‘Idiots, the lot of you,’ he sneered, clasping her to his chest. With the knife point pressed to her neck, he slowly got to his feet. ‘And now, I have what I want. She’ll
come with me, won’t you, my sweetness, and we won’t bother anyone ever again. We’ll be out of the country before anyone hears a word of what’s happened here today.’ He
looked at Benoit, who was trembling. ‘That’s my deal to you, Master Brenier. I will take your sister in return for sparing your skin. The love of my life for yours. It’s only
fair.’

Gabriel was backing slowly to the woods, where his horse was tethered. His face was white with exhaustion, yet lit with an exalted expression that made Crozier feel ill. He was helpless. This
man would not think twice about slitting Louise’s throat. He dared not attack, not yet. He caught Louise’s eye, with a look that told her he would not let her come to harm. She nodded
imperceptibly, eyes bright with terror as Gabriel dragged her slowly into the trees.

Step by step they retreated. They were half-hidden in shadow when a figure appeared from behind the trees. It was Tom. With a roar, he brought down his cudgel on the courtier’s arm. As the
knife dropped from his hand, Tom yelled at Louise to run, before smashing his fist into the courtier’s face, and launching himself upon him.

But there was no fight left in Gabriel. His arm was broken, his nose bloodied. Worst of all, he was humiliated. That ruffians such as these should bring him down, and for Louise to witness it,
was mortifying. He closed his eyes, to block out the sight, and as he did so, a wave of tiredness hit him so powerfully it was as if he had been punched a second time.

‘What’s he muttering?’ asked Benoit, as they bound his hands and feet.

‘Sleep,’ said Tom, puzzled. ‘I’m quite sure he said “Let me sleep”.’

‘Where he’s going it’ll be eternal night,’ said Crozier grimly, tying the last knot. He dragged Gabriel to his feet. When the courtier refused to open his eyes, he
slapped his face. ‘Wake up! There’s a long walk ahead of you.’

The courtier blinked at him. There was a blankness in his eyes that was more frightening than any expression he had yet shown. From a distance, Louise and Ella watched. ‘I think he has
lost his mind,’ said Louise quietly. ‘I had not seen it before, but look at him. He is perfectly mad.’ The courtier caught her horrified gaze, but he might have been looking into
empty air. She was invisible to him now.

There was a shout from deeper in the woods, and Benoit limped into view, leading the Borderers’ horses. ‘They hadn’t gone far,’ he said. ‘Thank God they were
hungry.’

It was a sombre party that filed out of the woods and onto the Jeddart road. Behind them the fire was smouldering, the cottage sinking lower into the earth as if burying itself. Tom and Louise
led the procession, followed by Crozier on the courtier’s stallion. Lashed to the saddle by a leading rope, with loose shackles around his ankles, Gabriel shuffled through the snow. His eyes
were fixed on the white road ahead, where the hoof prints from his earlier journey were a reminder of the freedom he had lost. Ella sat on Crozier’s mare, which was no doubt grateful for the
dolorous pace.

The sergeant of Jedburgh gaol could not believe the prize that was handed to him. ‘Tell me all that again, like,’ he said to Crozier, taking off his steel hat and rubbing a hand over
his head, as if this would make everything clear.

By the time the man understood who his prisoner was, daylight had faded. While Crozier was detained by the sergeant’s never-ending questions, Tom found them cheap beds for the night, and
Benoit wrote to Paniter, to tell him the traitor was caught. It was a difficult letter to compose, but not as difficult as it was for Paniter to read.

It was several days later when the travel-stained document was put into his hand by one of the sergeant’s men. ‘I have been told to wait for your answer,’ said the messenger,
cuffing a drip from his nose. He could smell a rich broth, and hoped the secretary would offer him a meal after his miserably cold ride. But Paniter was too excited to notice the man’s
hunger. Expecting news from Gabriel, he eagerly broke the seal. When he saw the signature he was not dismayed, anticipating a confession of sorts. Then, as the message unfolded, he was filled with
disbelief, followed by molten rage, and finally the bitterest guilt.

With an imperious hand, Paniter dismissed the messenger, who was obliged to sit in the unheated hallway, so full of whistling winds and fluting draughts it was like a minstrel’s gallery.
Alone, the secretary dropped his head in his hands. At first he had wondered if this was yet another of Benoit’s tricks, deflecting blame onto the courtier when it was he who was the
criminal. If that were the case, he had been mighty clever, outwitting and overpowering the viscount, and handing him over to the law. Yet if Benoit had had Gabriel in his power, why had he not
simply killed him, and fled?