The Fallen Sword Read online

  The Englishman rubbed his chin. ‘I was also expecting Zajíc, the Bohemia herald.’

  ‘He is with the king in Trier at the moment, preparing for the coronation,’ said Machaut.

  ‘I see.’ The Englishman rubbed his chin again. You can see him thinking, Vidal thought, absorbing news, planning. His mind works like the wheels of these automatons. Perhaps he is one himself.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me to join you,’ said Machaut. ‘May I ask what your purpose is, my lord?’

  ‘We intend to redraw the map of Europe,’ said the Englishman.

  Silence fell for a moment. The lion’s tail swished, and one of the gilded birds spat water from its beak into a pool at its feet. They must be hydraulic devices rather than clockwork, Vidal thought. Dear God, do not tell me I am becoming interested in these things…

  The Englishman was speaking again. ‘England and France are both vulnerable. France is still reeling from the disaster at Crécy and King Philippe is chronically short of money and men. King Edward of England has settled down to besiege Calais, where sickness and desertion are thinning the ranks of his army. He too is desperately short of money.’

  ‘When is he not?’ asked John of Hainault.

  ‘And now, King Charles of Bohemia has also been elected King of the Romans,’ said the Englishman. ‘A necessary step towards becoming Holy Roman Emperor. But of course, there is already an emperor, Louis of Bavaria, and he will not give up his position without a fight. There will be civil war in the German states.’

  He does love the sound of his own voice, Vidal thought. But Machaut was intrigued; two decades in the service of Jean of Bohemia had taught him a great deal about empire-building. ‘And you intend to profit from this, my lord?’

  ‘Exactly. We are going to break kingdoms,’ said the Englishman. ‘Then we shall control the power and wealth of the West. Those loyal to us will have whatever reward they wish.’ He looked at Vidal. ‘Does your master desire to be pope?’

  Vidal cleared his throat. ‘Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?’

  ‘Then pope he shall be. Machaut, does the King of the Romans truly wish to be crowned emperor?’

  Machaut glanced at Vidal. ‘Everyone knows he does.’

  ‘Then we shall put Charles on Emperor Louis’ throne. We shall have the power to do as we wish. We shall put our own candidate on the throne of France, too, and we shall bring together the squabbling states of the Low Countries and turn them into another kingdom for our friend here to rule.’

  ‘And what of England?’ Vidal asked. ‘Have you some special plan for the land of your birth?’

  ‘By the time we have finished, there will be no England, only smoking desolation,’ the other man said. ‘You will be welcome to scavenge among its ruins for whatever scraps remain.’

  The silence this time was longer. The mechanical king raised his hands and let them fall, slowly. ‘We have heard this before,’ Vidal said. ‘But your great scheme of last summer fell apart. Many of the plotters were killed at Crécy. Others walked away, vowing to have nothing more to do with you. And then, the disaster in Scotland. You made a bad mistake there.’

  ‘My only mistake was in my choice of agent,’ the Englishman said. ‘He exceeded his orders, and has paid the price.’

  ‘And Calais? Will the city fall to the English?’

  ‘If useful to our purposes, yes,’ the Englishman said calmly. ‘Otherwise, Edward will sit outside its walls until his army rots away beneath him.’

  ‘And the money,’ Vidal demanded. ‘Where will it come from, now that your bankers are dead?’

  ‘I have acquired new bankers. Part of the money is in Bruges, the rest will come from the Knights of Saint John.’

  Vidal’s eyebrows rose. ‘The Knights have agreed to rejoin us?’

  ‘Enough have.’ The Englishman regarded him with cold brown eyes. ‘Do I detect doubt in your voice, Vidal?’

  ‘Of course you do. My orders are clear. Cardinal Aubert and his allies will support you, but only if you keep your promises.’

  ‘Then assure them my promises will be kept.’ The Englishman looked at Machaut. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I need to consider my position,’ said the secretary.

  ‘Do you?’ The Englishman smiled a little, mocking him. ‘Fortune, whose will is never certain, has chosen to turn her wheel against me.’

  ‘That is a line from one of my songs, of course,’ said Machaut.

  ‘Yes. It shows you the reality of your position. At the moment, you are a Frenchman in a German court. If fortune’s wheel should turn, even only a little; for example, if there should be a rupture between King Charles and King Philippe of France, you might be caught in the middle. I once saw a man executed by being ground between two millstones.’

  ‘If I agree, what would be my reward?’ asked Machaut.

  The Englishman held up a hand. ‘Let us see what service you perform first. If you are faithful, and successful, you can name your price. Gold, castles, lands, whatever you want. There will be more than enough spoils to go around.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I want you to spy on King Charles. Keep us informed of his plans and movements.’

  Machaut looked at Guy of Béthune. ‘My lord, you are King Charles’s brother-in-law. What could I possibly learn that you do not already know?’

  ‘I am often away from court,’ Béthune said. ‘I need eyes and ears when I am absent. Secretaries see and hear things that other people miss.’

  Vidal gathered his cloak more closely around himself. ‘Do you wish me to spy on my master also?’

  ‘Yes. The cardinal looks after his own interests first, as do we all. But if he should decide to make his own deal with the pope or the Knights of Saint John, I want to know about it.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No, there is one more thing. Tell the cardinal to open negotiations with the Queen of Navarre.’ He turned to Hainault. ‘I want you to meet her, as soon as possible. Find out whether she is willing to rejoin us.’ Hainault nodded.

  ‘Very well, gentlemen, that is all,’ said the Englishman. ‘Guy, escort them out, if you please. Make sure no one sees them depart.’

  * * *

  After the others had gone, the Englishman turned to John of Hainault. ‘That was a good suggestion about Machaut. He will be useful.’

  ‘Yes. Even so, making Charles of Bohemia into an emperor will not be easy. Guy will need the strength of Hercules to carry out the task you have set him.’

  ‘Guy has two important qualities: greed, and ambition. They will serve him well.’ The Englishman studied Hainault for a moment. ‘You still look unhappy, my friend.’

  ‘Vidal has a point. Many died at Crécy. We need new allies.’

  The Englishman looked irritated. ‘No, we don’t. I have been too trusting, John. I thought we could rely on others to do our work, but it turns out we cannot. Rollond de Brus’s betrayal in Scotland was the last straw. From now on we do this ourselves.’

  ‘And the herald?’

  ‘Zajíc?’

  ‘You know who I mean. The Prince of Wales’s herald, Merrivale. The man who wrecked last summer’s scheme, and destroyed your hopes in Scotland. He remains a danger.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘We need to deal with him. Kill him, or buy him off. One way or another, get rid of him.’

  The Englishman shook his head. ‘I have a better idea. We set false trails for him and throw him off the scent. Even if he does learn the truth, it will be too late.’

  ‘Risky,’ Hainault warned.

  ‘Not really. Merrivale is actually quite gullible, you know. He’s just a rustic from Devon in a shiny tabard.’

  ‘And if you are wrong? If he outfoxes you once more?’

  ‘We have another weapon to use against him,’ said the Englishman.

  Hainault looked around, lowering his voice. ‘Is Béthune aware of this?’

  ‘He’ll know when the time comes. Don’t tell me you are squeamish, John.’

  Hainault hesitated. ‘No piece is too big to be played,’ the Englishman said. ‘Anyone can be sacrificed.’

  ‘Even me?’

  ‘Do you really want me to answer that question? I have been working on this plan for two decades, John, ever since we killed the old king. Nothing will stand in my way.’

  Hainault nodded slowly. ‘Very well. I shall take my leave. If you need me, you can find me with Burgundy. Philippe may blame me for Crécy, but Duke Odo has made me welcome.’ He paused. ‘If we fail, we will not get a second chance.’

  ‘We will not fail.’

  The Englishman listened to the sound of Hainault’s footsteps receding. As silence fell he walked over to the mechanical king. Reaching up, he removed the painted wooden crown and set it carefully on his own head, turning it to find the best position.

  ‘How easy it is to make a crown,’ he said aloud to the statue. He spoke English now, with an accent that came from somewhere north of the river Trent; exactly where, only someone very familiar with the dialects of the region could have said for certain.

  As if obedient to his command, the king raised his arms again. The Englishman smiled. Lifting the crown, he held it high above his head, and then hurled it down onto the flagstones. The crown smashed to pieces and the fragments skidded away across the floor, spinning and sliding to a stop.

  ‘And how easy to break one,’ he said.

  3

  Bruges, 15th of November, 1346

  ‘We are utterly appalled,’ said Coudebrouc. Both he and Metteneye looked as if they had not slept. ‘The thought that the queen might have come to harm… We can only beg for her Grace’s forgiveness.’

  Outside the rain had stopped. A wate
ry light seeped through the lead-paned windows of the burgemeester’s office. ‘It remains to be seen whether she will grant it,’ Merrivale said. ‘She was fond of young Basset, the man-at-arms who was killed. Four others of her loyal servants died too.’

  ‘Full compensation will be paid to their families,’ said Coudebrouc.

  ‘Of course. I would expect nothing else.’

  Merrivale surveyed the two men for a moment. Tiphaine sat to one side, her hands resting in her lap. Brother Geoffrey had intended to come with the herald, but the blow on the head he had suffered last night had left him with a headache and blurred vision; the queen had ordered him back to bed. Tiphaine had volunteered to come instead.

  ‘Have you recovered the bodies of the boatmen?’ he asked.

  ‘We found the last one this morning in the Groenerei,’ Metteneye said. He frowned. ‘There is a curious thing. Unlike the others, who were shot, this man had been strangled before being thrown into the water.’

  ‘Strangled how? By hand?’

  ‘There were no fingermarks. The killer used some sort of ligature, I think.’

  ‘A wire?’

  ‘The cuts on the skin were not deep, which I would expect with wire. It might have been something like catgut.’

  Tiphaine stirred. ‘The musicians,’ she said.

  Lutenists used catgut strings for their instruments; so did viol players. Merrivale looked at the burgemeester. ‘Where were the players from?’

  ‘It is difficult to say.’ Coudebrouc looked helpless. ‘Men like these drift around the country, looking for work wherever they can find it. Marcelis and his fellows are known for their music, but no one knows much about them.’

  ‘I would like to speak to them. Can you track them down?’

  ‘We can try,’ Metteneye said, doubtfully.

  Which means he can’t, the herald thought. Or won’t. ‘And the men who attacked us? Did you catch them?’

  The watch captain looked uncomfortable. ‘No. We picked up three bodies and found some bloodstains, but that was all.’

  Merrivale looked at him sharply. ‘Are you still hunting for them?’ And when Metteneye did not answer he said, ‘You know who they are, don’t you?’

  ‘They call themselves the Pilgrims,’ Coudebrouc said.

  ‘And who might they be?’

  ‘They are a secret society. They first emerged during the Peasants’ War back in the ’20s, and reappeared when the cities rebelled seven years ago.’

  ‘They have allies among some of the bandit gangs in the countryside,’ Metteneye said.

  ‘So these Pilgrims are mercenaries for hire,’ the herald said. ‘Where do they come from?’

  Coudebrouc raised his hands. ‘We know very little about them. They might have come from anywhere, or everywhere.’

  ‘Even from Bruges itself?’

  Metteneye shook his head. ‘The watch at the gates saw them enter the city yesterday, by the Ghent road.’

  Merrivale stared at him. ‘The watch saw them? And didn’t try to stop them?’

  ‘The officer in charge was too frightened. He thinks some of his own men might be in league with the Pilgrims.’

  ‘Is he right?’

  ‘Probably,’ Metteneye said with reluctance. ‘The watch was drawn from the fullers’ guild.’ He paused. ‘According to rumour many of the Pilgrims are fullers, driven out of their cities after conflicts with the weavers.’

  ‘Some of them might have come from Bruges after all.’

  Metteneye looked down at his hands. ‘It is possible.’

  God, what a mess, Merrivale thought. Factions within factions, and people as willing to fight each other as the French.

  ‘So, here we are,’ he said. ‘One of the queen’s favourites has been killed, four more of her retainers have been slaughtered like cattle, and all you have to show for it is a few corpses. This failure will not sit well, meneeren. When the news gets out, people will draw their own conclusions.’

  Coudebrouc and Metteneye looked at each other. ‘We have already offered compensation,’ the burgemeester said.

  ‘You will need to do rather more than that. Their Graces will wonder how the Pilgrims were able to enter the city so easily, how they managed to penetrate your own household, and how they managed to escape without a trace. Unless, perhaps, they had assistance from people in high places?’

  ‘Go on,’ said Coudebrouc. His usual smile had gone; he looked faintly sick.

  ‘England did you a great favour last summer, meneer. The old Count of Flanders was killed at Crécy, and many of his knights along with him. The count’s son and heir is your prisoner. How long do you think you can keep him in custody?’

  ‘As long as we wish,’ said Metteneye.

  ‘Or until some faction among your enemies – and God knows you have enough of them – manages to release him. If, or likely when, he is freed young Louis will call on French support, a French army will invade Flanders and you would have to fight for your lives.’

  He paused to let this sink in. ‘On the other hand, if the count can be brought over to the English cause through peaceful means, such as marriage to an English princess, your cities will be safe from attack.’

  The others waited, watching him. ‘But if the queen decides that elements within the League of Three have colluded in an attempt to assassinate her, the offer of marriage will be withdrawn and the English alliance along with it. And you, gentlemen, will be left to face France on your own.’

  ‘We have already decided to oppose the marriage,’ Metteneye said reluctantly.

  Coudebrouc put his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘Nothing is written in stone, meneer. We can reopen the discussion.’

  ‘The guilds would have to give their consent. And the other cities, Ghent and Ypres.’

  ‘I am certain you can persuade them to your new way of thinking,’ said Merrivale. ‘I shall inform the queen. That may appease her anger – for the moment.’

  * * *

  The canals were busy with boats and the streets teemed with people, weavers in dark coats, dyers in splattered aprons, country folk coming in to the markets with baskets on their backs, merchants wrapped in fur-trimmed cloaks, Beguines in dark robes with white wimples covering their hair. Earlier, the great marketplace next to the belfry had been so crowded they could barely force their way through. The stink of urine from the fullers’ workshops mingled with the richer scents of spices. Every language in northern Europe could be heard in the streets; Merrivale heard several people speaking in Scots dialect, and once he heard something that might have been Russian.

  The city was busy, he thought, but it was also febrile. War and revolution were part of the air they breathed; the tension was almost palpable. The faces around them were sombre, unsmiling.

  ‘Do you think they told the truth?’ Tiphaine asked.

  ‘Not all of it. They know more about these Pilgrims than they are willing to say.’

  ‘Perhaps they are a secret that everyone knows but no one talks about,’ said Tiphaine. ‘Who do you think was behind the attack? Could the burgemeester have paid the musicians, and the Pilgrims?’

  ‘You were watching him. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t think he hired the Pilgrims,’ she said finally. ‘He is not that stupid. He would not be mayor of Bruges if he was.’

  ‘Don’t count on that. But explain your reasoning.’

  ‘All of these men are walking on the edge of a knife blade. To the French and their supporters, they are rebels and traitors. If France regains control, they will lose their offices, their estates and their lives, not necessarily in that order. They need the English alliance if they are to survive.’

  ‘Which is why they will agree in the end,’ said Merrivale.

  ‘Unwillingly. I thought Coudebrouc looked like a man about to receive a singularly unpleasant suppository. You also did not tell the full truth, Simon.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’

  ‘No. You did not reveal that there is another plot here in Bruges. Which is why you sent me out like a pig hunting for truffles last night, to find out which of those rich old men was Oppicius Adornes.’

  ‘Yes, I concealed the truth,’ said the herald. ‘It is part of my trade. Just ask Geoffrey. I think this must be the house.’