Master of War (45 page)

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Jean de Harcourt said, ‘I’ll get the others. You tell them yourself.’

Blackstone heard de Harcourt move across the floor.

‘Jean! Wait. There’s a reason I needed to talk to you first. Black­stone, did he live?’

Blackstone could barely resist taking the few paces forward and calling down.
I’m here, Sir Godfrey
, he wanted to shout. There were questions tumbling from his mind. Who lived, who died at Crécy? Did any of my archers survive? He felt his heart pulse in his throat at the mention of his own name and what might be said about him.

‘Thomas? Yes.’

‘Is he strong? Capable?’

‘He’s a fighter. Crude, belligerent, and damned insolent. But he saved my life and I offered him my friendship. And you should tell your Prince and your King that the man he asked our family to protect is safe and well. We honour our pledges, Godfrey, even to our enemies. Let Edward mark that and remember us for it. For the future.’

‘His presence could cause your arrest. Philip is using mercenaries to root out Englishmen and Gascons who hold French towns. They’ll come here and they’ll want him. A man who saved the Prince at Crécy is a prize. He’s worthless for ransom, so they’ll kill him and make an example of him.’

Blackstone’s mind raced. Was that why Sir Godfrey had brought his men? To take him prisoner? Would he be offered as a sacrifice to the King of France to help Sir Godfrey save his own life? The voice in his head told him to calm down, but it fought the surge of anger that threatened to overtake him. Escape from the castle and back to the English lines was his only hope.

Jean de Harcourt said, ‘They have no idea he’s here. How could they know?’

‘Because he killed some of the mercenaries who hold Chaulion and sent a message warning them to stay off your land!’

‘Then so what? They’re bastard skinners who don’t need any mercy.’

‘Jean, those who hold Chaulion do so at the command of Philip.’

Both men fell silent for a moment.

‘He’s using them to keep the English from taking towns,’ said Sir Godfrey. ‘He can’t pay them so they take what they want with­out fear of being stopped. They offer protection to those who want it. It serves the King twice over. Why do you think I came here? To warn you. Blackstone let one of them live but he saw your men’s livery.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘We intercepted one of their messengers. He spewed bile and information before we killed him but the other escaped. They’ve sent word to Paris that you harbour an Englishman favoured by Edward. The King will send a warrant of arrest and he’ll have routiers riding for him. Those scum will be here, Jean. Be warned. They’re coming.’

‘I’ll not hand him over to mercenaries,’ said de Harcourt, ‘even with a royal warrant.’

Blackstone’s gratitude and relief nearly swamped him.

‘You do what you want, but you’ll have barely a few days to decide. Have you told Blackstone what role he was to play in our plans?’

There it was, Blackstone realized, the snare that held him was being tightened by the grand poacher himself.

‘Not yet.’

‘Then say nothing. If he’s taken he could have every one of you hanged. All right, get the others in here; I’ll tell them about Edward at Calais and try to keep them on the leash until fortune favours us again. But I wouldn’t count on them helping you to shield Blackstone.’

Blackstone eased away from the gallery as gently as he could down the stairs into the lower corridor. He had heard enough. There was a conspiracy between these men and he needed to find out what had been planned for him. He did not yet know how he would find out, but when he did he would take Christiana to Calais and serve King Edward again.

Sir Godfrey’s arrival caused a flurry of activity, but also unsettled the servants and the men who guarded the walls. That he had been allowed free entry into the castle showed that Jean de Harcourt was allowing the English King’s ally into the heart of his enemy.

Meulon saw Blackstone make his way through the colonnade. He raised his hand to attract his attention and, when he stopped, ran down to him. ‘Sir Thomas, can you tell me what’s going on? Are the English coming to attack us?’

‘There’s no attack, Meulon.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s family business.’

‘There are rumours that my Lord de Harcourt is in danger from our King. Some of the servants gossip that there’s a conspiracy between Sir Godfrey and the other barons.’

Blackstone gripped the man’s arm and turned him away from some of the soldiers who stood on the wall watching them. ‘You’re their captain. You know as well as I do that rumours can tear men apart. Keep them disciplined. Your lord will depend on you, as he has done in the past.’

Meulon nodded. He wasn’t happy, but he accepted the English­man’s explanation.

‘And if you hear anyone gossip, beat him. Protect your lord and his family from such rumours and keep the servants in their place.’ As Blackstone gave his orders there was a voice in his own mind.
You, a common man, telling a soldier to beat a servant
.
He dismissed the self-condemnation and turned on his heel. There was no sign of Christiana anywhere; she would be with the women, most likely the countess, so there was no point trying to find her. The barons had filed into the great hall and by the time Sir Godfrey came out an hour later the horses had been refreshed and food supplied for the onward journey. Once again Jean de Harcourt accompanied his uncle towards the main gate flanked by Sir Godfrey’s men. Blackstone saw Blanche and Christiana emerge from a side door and the lady’s call to Sir Godfrey checked his step.

‘Blanche, forgive me, there is no time.’

Christiana held back as Blanche de Harcourt stepped forward to question him. ‘Sir Godfrey, it seems you have always brought distress to my house – is my family in danger?’

‘Blanche,’ said Jean, aggrieved at her intrusion. ‘My uncle is leaving – don’t delay him.’

The feisty countess did not yield. ‘I have young children and there are other families as my guests. So if there is danger following on your heels I need to know just as much as my lord and husband.’ She tilted her chin slightly, as if declaring her own rank. ‘I have the right.’

Blackstone moved closer to the old warrior, eager to be noticed by him.

‘There is no danger for you or your family,’ Sir Godfrey told her, ‘I give you my word. I am the one in jeopardy and I came here to help Jean. You must believe me.’

She studied him for a moment and then nodded with gratitude. ‘Thank you.’

Sir Godfrey looked beyond her and saw Christiana. And, just as he did the previous time, Blackstone saw the hard man of war soften. ‘Child, come here.’

Christiana did as he commanded and bent her knee before him. ‘You have prospered since I saw you last, and I will tell you what I have told your guardians: you are safe here.’

‘Thank you, Sir Godfrey, for your kindness and your good wishes.’

‘I knew your father well, and although we fought on opposite sides, it was I who told him to send you to the countess for safety’s sake. So I’m pleased that at least one decision I made was the correct one.’ The comment had no meaning for her because she had no knowledge of the difficulties Sir Godfrey now found himself in.

‘Have you seen my father?’ she asked hopefully.

Blackstone saw Jean de Harcourt turn his face away. Sir Godfrey stumbled for a moment as he too was caught unawares. Black­stone felt his heart go out to her and a sickening sense of ill fortune clutched at him.

‘Have you not told her?’ Sir Godfrey asked his nephew in a low voice.

The look of quiet despair on the count’s face needed no further explanation. Christiana stepped back. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

Sir Godfrey nodded. ‘In the early days when we came ashore. He fought for his sworn lord Robert Bertrand. My enemy. I thought he might have escaped into Caen, but there was no report of him fighting there and we swept through all those early defences. I’m sorry, child.’

The marshal of the army climbed into the saddle. Blackstone hesitated as Blanche reached out to hold Christiana’s hand and comfort her. Tears welled in her eyes, but Blackstone knew she would not break down in front of the servants. His oppor­tunity to ask whether Sir Gilbert had survived the battle had passed. To approach now would serve no purpose. Christiana’s grief could not be usurped.

Instead he grabbed the horse’s bridle, steadying it as soldiers jostled to open the gate. The grey beard stared down at him.

‘Thomas Blackstone,’ he said, recognizing him despite his scar.

‘My lord.’

‘Your day will come, but whether I’ll be alive to see it is another matter. You owe a debt to your Prince and to the King, and you’ll honour my nephew’s commands. We don’t need a rogue Englishman in our midst thinking for himself. You can leave those matters to others better qualified.’ He nodded curtly and spurred the horse free of Blackstone’s grip. The soldiers followed and the gates closed behind them.

Blackstone turned, but Christiana was walking away. More than anything else at that moment he wanted to hold her and comfort her pain. But he could not approach her in public. She caught his eye as Blanche eased her away to the solitude of her quarters. He knew she would come to him, but the anticipation of being with her again was tinged with dread.

An ambush, an archer’s skill, and a dead knight bearing her father’s livery was a memory that would never be erased.

Where there had been some feeling of light-heartedness among the noblemen there was now tension, taut as a bowcord. For two days the men buried themselves in the small library, leaving the women to their own devices. Blackstone had no opportunity to approach de Harcourt, who was never alone, but always earnestly in conversation with one or other of the noblemen. On one occasion as Blackstone crossed de Harcourt’s path, he and Guy de Ruymont watched him for a moment and then turned their faces away, heads bowed in low-voiced conversation. What part in their lives was Blackstone to play, he wanted to know, and more importantly, when could he prepare to escape? If routiers were coming to arrest him on the French King’s orders then these barons could not refuse the command without placing themselves squarely in defiance. Blackstone regretted not taking Meulon’s advice to kill the mercenary. His own desire to send a warning, to raise his banner in a way, had blinded him to the possible consequences. His natural instinct now was to escape, even though de Harcourt had promised Sir Godfrey he would not hand him over, but he had risked much for Christiana and that held him.

On the second night Christiana slipped into his room, shivering with grief. He held her, calming her uncertainty and fear and made no attempt at intimacy. She slept like a child in his arms in front of the firelight. When she woke in the early hours he was not next to her, but was sitting on a stool in front of the flames, ensuring it stayed fed, keeping its warmth through the night. She whispered his name and he went to her. At first he did not understand what drove her hunger for his embrace or her demand for sex, but he quickly undressed her and lay between her thighs. She closed her eyes and it seemed to him that she had a desperate sense of pain and pleasure that forced her to move quickly against him, her hips thrusting hard, drawing him in, biting into his shoulder, her nails clinging to his back, gasping like a drowning child, afraid and desperate. She shuddered and wept when she fell into the void and felt his warmth seep into her. Blackstone realized her demands from him were nothing as simple as desire, but a crying need for their passion to exorcise her despair and grief.

When they were spent they lay without speaking, his hand resting across her breast, watching it gently quivering from her heartbeat. Neither spoke and he felt his own guilt torment him. Should he tell her? Would she ever find out if he did not? Was it not better to let the war take its own victims and bury them where they fell? Had he killed her father? Could he be certain the old man at the crossroads was her father? It could have been any of those who fought for Sir Godfrey’s enemy. Why did it have to be him?

The dawn would soon be upon them and she began to dress.

‘Christiana…’

She paused and looked at him, then kissed him tenderly. ‘Thomas, forgive me. I needed you more than I can explain. I’m all right now.’

Blackstone knew events were moving his destiny beyond his control. ‘Christiana, come with me. We need to leave,’ he said.

She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Why would I leave? We’re both safe here. The war isn’t over. No one has signed a truce yet. There’s nowhere for us to go. What do you mean?’

‘I want you to come to England with me.’

She stared at him as if she had not understood.

He said carefully, ‘I can go to the King and I can ask him to let me serve one of the English lords. I will have employment and you will be safe with me.’

Panic widened her eyes and for a moment she struggled to find the words she needed and when she did it was his turn to try and stay calm. ‘England? I could never go to England. How could you ask that of me? The English killed my father. I could never live with my father’s killers.’

His heart nearly choked him. It was a cruel twist of fate that had brought him to this place. He bowed his head and she reached for him.

‘Not you, Thomas, it’s not you, I promise. I know you fought. I know that. I prayed every night not to love you. I prayed that my guardians’ hatred of you would soften. And it has. You have shown yourself to be unlike any of them.’

In that moment Blackstone felt a gulf between them wider than the sea that had brought him to war. He could not tell her what he had overheard for fear that she might run to de Harcourt and challenge him. Then she would demand to know if it were true that the French King had ordered Blackstone be taken. Everything would unravel like a fallen bobbin of cotton. De Harcourt would have to tell her, and she would turn her back on them. And then what would happen to them both? How would they live if such a confrontation forced her to leave? If she would not go to England how could he stay?