The Duke looked up without releasing Sauce’s hand. ‘Tom, do you know that some people could find your sense of humour offensive?’
‘Really?’ asked Bad Tom. He sank onto a camp stool, which groaned. ‘Jehan, as usual, thinks you are selling us down the river. Could you pat him on the head?’ The big man chuckled silently at Sauce’s discomfiture.
Sauce glared at Bad Tom like an angry cat. ‘You can go fuck yourself,’ she spat.
‘Does the truth hurt, baby?’ Tom asked, and his eyes were hard as flint.
Sauce took a breath and smiled. ‘Jealous? You just want him for yourself,’ she said.
Tom’s right hand shot to his sword hilt.
Their Captain had gone back to work, and ignored their exchange.
Master Random,
If you would be so kind – I need a loan of a hundred thousand ducats and two Master shipwrights. Also a table of values for brocades, silks, and northern furs on the dock at Harndon. In haste-
He tended to stick out his tongue slightly when he wrote too fast, and he sucked it in and clenched his teeth as he finished.
Toby returned as if summoned, sanded the finished document and laid it on a side table.
‘You two done?’ the Red Knight asked.
Bad Tom tore his eyes away from Sauce. ‘You paying the archers after mass on Sunday? Also we need a cleric of some kind. A priest.’
‘We have two priests, I believe. Father Peter from Albinkirk and the mendicant friar-’
‘He’s wode – clean mad, lost his wits.’ Tom crossed his arms.
‘You ought to like him, then,’ said Sauce.
‘A regular chaplain. It’s been mentioned a fair amount by the lads.’ Tom looked at Sauce. ‘And the lasses.’
‘I’ll look into it.’ The Captain went back to writing.
‘I gather we’re to call ye Duke.’ Tom’s voice was itself a warning.
‘Yes. I like it. My lord Duke.’ The Captain sat back.
‘You ain’t our lord. Y’er our Captain.’ Tom shook his head. ‘I mislike it.’
The Captain met his eyes for a moment over his pen. ‘Your reservations are noted,’ he said coldly.
‘Like that, is it, boyo? Don’t get to big for yer braes.’ Tom got up and leaned over the table.
‘I’m not. I’m tired and injured and listening to two posturing idiots puts me in a foul mood.’ The Captain paused. ‘I had enough of it at the palace.’
Tom shrugged. ‘Aye. Well. So you’ll pay the lads on Sunday?’
The Captain met his eye. ‘Perhaps.’
Sauce shook her head. ‘Of course he’ll pay them – Tom? What are you on about?’
The two men were staring at each other.
‘He gave all our money to the fucking Easterners. We don’t have ten silver leopards together. Do we, my lord Duke?’ Tom put both hands on the table. The action was threatening.
The Duke smiled. ‘Tom, it is ten o’clock in the morning, and I’m tired and pissed off. Yes – if that’s what you want to hear – I spent all our money to buy the Vardariotes. It’s no matter. I can get more.’
Bad Tom shook his head. ‘For once, my lord Duke, I’m with Jehan. This is a tom-fool contract with no gold and no gain and too many enemies. Let’s go back to killing monsters.’
The Captain leaned back and put his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and stretched a little, favouring his right hip. Then his eyes opened. ‘Want a good fight, Tom?’
Tom smiled. He looked at Sauce. ‘Anytime, baby.’
‘Would you settle for catching the spies in the palace?’ he asked.
Tom’s smile came more slowly.
‘Look around you, Tom. This is the richest city in the world. The diamond cross on the princess’s neck would pay the company for a month.’ The Duke stretched again. ‘I have the right to tax this Empire for our pay. Think a little bigger, Tom. There’s never been a contract like this.’
‘Best pay the archers on Sunday then,’ Tom said. He grinned. ‘Christ’s skinny knees, you bought me with hunting spies. Will there be fighting?’
‘You can kill anyone you catch, but Tom, how about we extract a little information from them first, eh? Gelfred will have the bulk of the fun but, before Christmas, we’ll have a good fight.’ He rose. ‘Friends, I have to go to bed.’ He handed three scrolls to Toby. ‘See these placed on the birds. Yourself.’ He turned back. ‘And while I’m handing out tasks: Sauce, I want you to learn everything you can about Aeskepiles. Start with the Nordikan, Derkensun. Do not ask anyone connected to the princess.’
Toby nodded gravely.
Sauce raised a dark red eyebrow. ‘We don’t trust the princess?’
The Red Knight sighed. ‘We absolutely do not trust the princess.’
Tom put his hands on his hips. ‘Sweet Christ, Captain my Lord High Duke Commander! We don’t trust our employer?’
‘I need sleep, sweet friends,’ the Duke said. ‘Our employer, for good or ill, is the Emperor. Not the princess. That’s our legal and quite possibly our moral stance, as well.’
Bad Tom caught his Captain’s arm. ‘I can’na wait to see how this comes out. But – you know I have to go in the spring.’
‘And drive the cattle? Of course you do, Tom. I’m counting on it.’ The Captain smiled. And vanished through the curtain to his sleeping room.
Tom turned and looked at Sauce. ‘He’s counting on it? What the fuck does that mean? I hate it when he does that.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t really mind that he’s smarter than most folk,’ she said. ‘I just hate it when he rubs my nose in it.’
‘Amen, sister,’ Tom said.
Chapter Eight
Jarsay – Jean de Vrailly
The Captal arrayed his little army on the hilltop and watched the Earl of Towbray’s retainers form up on the opposite hillside. He’d sent his defiance to the Earl and then burned a swathe a mile wide down the Earl’s principal valley; looted four of his towns and wrecked his ripe crops, and killed more than a hundred of his peasants. And that night, his angel came again.
He fell on his face. The angel was even brighter; like sapphire and emerald fire.
You will defeat Towbray, his angel said.
‘Of course,’ de Vrailly said into his prayer carpet.
Do your best to take Towbray alive, the angel said. Later, he will prove useful.
De Vrailly was human enough to feel that he didn’t need angelic visitation to see these truths.
You desire to be the best knight in the world. Your triumph is at hand. At the spring tournament, all will be as we have said.
De Vrailly smiled, even under the oppressive fear of his mighty ally. ‘Ah, the tournament,’ he said.
But there are other ways in which this kingdom must be brought to orthodoxy. The Queen must fall. She is a pagan adultress. You must have no pity on her or her people.
De Vrailly bridled. ‘Not even for the wrath of heaven would I make war on a woman.’
The angel could be heard to sigh. You are the most arrogant mortal I have ever known.
De Vrailly smiled into the carpet.
Very well. You are my chosen servant, and I will allow you your will. But you must not stop her fall. The angel sounded insistent. Almost wheedling.
De Vrailly shrugged. As to that, I care nothing for the witch.
Good. Let us add some religious discipline. There is a monk – a pious man – in Lucrete. It is the will of God he become Bishop of Lorica. And restore these heathens to the way. He is a true apostle and he will stamp out the heresy of their witchcraft.
De Vrailly sometimes found talking to his angel was tiresomely like bargaining with a merchant for a horse . . .
In the full light of dawn, armed and mounted, he turned to his cousin Gaston. ‘He won’t soon defy the King his master,’ he allowed, and laughed.