A Flight of Arrows by A.J. MacKenzie (mobi reader android .txt) 📕

‘You mean they are King Philip’s wishes,’ Merrivale said.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Oh, come, Raimon. It is a distinction without a difference. The Holy Father lives in luxurious imprisonment in Avignon, surrounded by French cardinals like your master who spy on his every move. When King Philip orders him to jump, he does not question the order but merely asks how high the bar is set. We have both been in this game long enough, my friend, to know what this visit is really about.’

Vidal smiled, lifting his wine glass. ‘Perspicacious as ever. The spy still lurks beneath the herald’s tabard.’

‘I was a messenger, not a spy.’

Vidal’s smile grew broader. ‘It is a distinction without a difference.’

‘Every hour we are delayed, more French troops arrive in Rouen and Philip grows stronger,’ Merrivale said. ‘But surely he has strength enough already. His army is far more powerful than ours. Why does he delay?’

‘Who knows what goes on in the minds of kings?’

‘Oh, come now.’ Merrivale helped himself to a piece of fish, considered adding sauce and changed his mind. ‘I think we can do better than that, Raimon. Philip is afraid of conspiracies, he always has been. He sees them at every turn. Only this time, he is right. This time, someone really is conspiring against him.’

It was a shot in the dark, but he saw Vidal’s eyes flicker. ‘Why do you say that?’

The real conspiracy is close to the French king, Tiphaine had said, right at the heart of power. ‘I have my own sources.’

‘I am certain you do. And who are the leaders of this conspiracy, I wonder?’

‘I think you know perfectly well who they are,’ Merrivale said.

‘Do you? You credit me with far too much wit.’

Up at the head table, Aubert was talking gravely with the king, both resplendent in red. Beside them Ceccano sat stuffing himself with chicken, almond sauce dripping from his ringed hands. The prince looked openly bored. He will need to work on that, Merrivale thought. He watched Vidal for a moment, and said, ‘I wonder where the Queen of Navarre is right now.’

‘Safely at home in Évreux, I should imagine. Hoping the barbarian English do not despoil her lands.’

Merrivale shook his head. ‘She is King Edward’s cousin. Her lands will be safe.’

Vidal lowered his voice a little, resting his knife on his plate. ‘Especially if King Edward still desires to win the allegiance of the Normans.’

‘Precisely,’ said Merrivale.

‘Hmm. Alone, the Normans are no threat to King Philippe. He has already shown he can deal with them. Your conspiracy will need to be stronger than that.’

‘I agree,’ Merrivale said. ‘But you asked who the leaders are. There are plenty of other candidates, are there not? Philip’s own nobles, who grow impatient with his failure to crush England. His brother, Charles of Alençon, arrogant and ambitious. The papacy, chafing in its Babylonian captivity and, like the Normans, desiring freedom. Jeanne of Navarre could ally with any or all of them.’

Vidal smiled. ‘You have an active imagination, my friend. But then you always did. It was what made you such a dangerous enemy,’ he added softly.

Merrivale nodded towards the high table. ‘What is Ceccano’s role? To secure the allegiance of the Italian commanders, Doria and Grimaldi?’

Vidal snapped his fingers. ‘Of course, you know them both, don’t you? You are right. The cardinal is here to hold them to their promises and ensure they remain loyal to France.’

‘That is not what I meant,’ Merrivale said.

‘I know precisely what you meant.’ Vidal picked up his knife again. ‘Will you try the duck? It is quite delicious, beautifully cooked. I had not realised English cooks were so skilful.’

‘You do not deny there is a conspiracy,’ Merrivale said.

‘My friend, there are always conspiracies. Even the cats and dogs are plotting, each seeking to overthrow the other. But I am only a humble Franciscan friar, and the secular world does not concern me. Now, I really do urge you to try the duck.’

Lisieux, 2nd of August, 1346

Midnight

‘Welcome,’ said the man from the north. ‘I must apologise for the humble surroundings. This is about the only building the peasants have not yet burned.’

While the king and cardinals feasted, the archers had scoured the countryside around Lisieux. A stiff east wind had blown most of the smoke away, and the embers of burnt-out buildings flickered like corpse candles in the moonlight. The farmhouse in which they stood was built of timber and cob, with a low-beamed roof, furnished only with a wooden table and benches beside the hearth. There were five of them in the room, four men in black cloaks and a woman with a hood concealing her face.

‘It does not matter,’ said Étienne Aubert. ‘Why have you summoned us here?’

‘To advise you that there has been a change in plan,’ said the West Country man. ‘We intended to confine Edward to western Normandy until the French royal army could arrive, but as you know, he defeated the French at Caen.’

‘Thanks to the Count of Eu’s treachery,’ said the woman with the hood.

‘That may yet work in our favour,’ said the man from the north. ‘Now Edward has broken out and is advancing towards Rouen, with the intention of challenging Philip to battle.’

‘Then he is a fool,’ said Cardinal Ceccano, picking his teeth. ‘Philip is mustering forty thousand men, with allies coming from all over Europe. Edward will be crushed.’

The man from the north nodded. ‘Precisely, monsignor. That is the new plan. Edward will be defeated, but not just yet. His army will reach Rouen in a few days’ time. When it does, Philip must refuse to give battle.’ He looked at Aubert. ‘We rely on you, your Eminence, to ensure that he does so.’

‘That will not be difficult. What is he to do instead?’

‘Block the crossings of the River Seine, all of them. Break down every bridge between Rouen and Paris, or else man the fortifications so that they are