Son of the Morning (25 page)

A German courtier came forward, bowing as he did, reminding Edward of a chicken pecking at grain.

‘Stephanus Tocker, lawyer,’ said Montgomery, ‘important man and a confidant of the Holy Roman Emperor. Fifty florins at least.’

‘Count it in.’

Montgomery dropped the money into a small purse.

‘Tocker,’ said Edward, acknowledging the bobbing courtier, ‘please accept this gift as a mark of our respect and love for your emperor!’

A clerk alongside translated. The courtier beamed as Edward took the purse and dropped it into his hand.

By God, Galahad found the Grail more easily than I come by a florin, but coins fly from my hands like so many birds.

Another courtier, another fifty florins. And another and another, each of them scraping his way in before fairly springing from the hall with his booty.

‘How much now?’

‘Given or to go?’

‘Given?’

‘Including the payments to the Emperor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fifty thousand florins.’

‘In God’s money, Montgomery – I can’t do the reckoning.’

‘£7,500. Exactly as much as we borrowed.’

‘Which leaves us how much?’

‘What you see on the table. About £40.’

Edward smiled at an approaching counsellor, dismissing the brief desire to put his foot into the man’s face. He gave him fifty florins and sent him on his way.

A fanfare sounded outside. The trumpets were coming from the direction of the river.
Let it be the Emperor.
He’d paid a third of his debts to Louis but he knew that representatives of the French court were in town, vying for the Emperor’s approval. The Pope in Avignon had excommunicated Louis, but the pontiff was ill and his likely successor was a French puppet. Louis’ right as the Holy Roman Emperor was respected by God and he’d kept his angels, but he would love a way back into the church. The French could offer him that.

If he had come all this way, made all this effort for nothing, then Edward would … What? Crawl home to Parliament like a feckless and wayward son to his father.

The doors of the hall opened and a herald shouted out, ‘Stephen, Duke of Bavaria, Vogt of Alsace and Swabia, beloved son of the Holy Roman Emperor Louis, God bless his name.’ In strode a tall young man dressed in a fine blue costume in a Hunnish style – wide trousers, a fur trimmed helmet and long split coat. Good sign or bad sign? Waltharius had tricked the Huns to escape them. Was Stephen joining in with Edward’s fancy dress or was he making a point? The man was accompanied by six knights and a host of brightly clad hangers-on. None of the retinue was in costume so Edward assumed the prince had travelled at short notice – no time to provide attire for them.

Stephen bowed, good start. Edward could think of some German princes who would disdain to bow to an English king.

Edward stood up and bowed himself.

‘We will talk alone,’ said the Prince.

Edward waved a finger to dismiss his courtiers. Stephen clapped and his own filed out too. In moments the hall was empty. Edward was glad the Prince had opted to speak informally. It meant he wouldn’t have to give him money.

Stephen picked up a sugared plum and sniffed at it. Then he put it back. ‘My father sends greetings,’ he said. ‘He is inclined to help you.’

‘He sees our cause is just.’

‘Well, that and he sees you can fight the French for him. While they’re attacking you, they’re not attacking him. He, well I, would like some clarifications first.’

‘Whatever you want.’ Desperation was not an emotion that became one of God’s holy knights, so Edward disdained to feel it.

‘I hear interesting gossip concerning England’s angels.’

Edward smiled. ‘In my experience it’s easy to hear interesting gossip about anything you care to.’

‘Do you have any angels?’ The prince thrust his face forward as he spoke and the king longed to thrust it back again.

Douce, Edward, douce! You need this man.
He imagined Montagu beside him – how would he deal with this impertinence? What would he say? Edward threw back his head and laughed.

‘Oh, what I would give for our English courtiers to have just an ounce of your German directness!’ said Edward. Then, ‘Am I not king?’ He could not keep the edge from his voice.

‘Not all kings can coax out their angels. The French haven’t put one in the field for years.’

‘Which in itself should tell you whom God favours. Stephen, please, one day you will be my guest at Windsor, I hope. There you will see the chapel we have constructed, see how the angel turns the sunbeams to harp strings.’

The young man nodded. ‘I am satisfied,’ he said. ‘Will you be requiring the services of one of our angels or is just our blessing enough for you to rally and command your enemies? And reassure your creditors.’

This man’s impertinence knows no bounds.

‘I think the presence of your angel would at least send a message that men can understand.’

‘There would be no risk to it?’

‘Risk to an angel? I’m not sure I follow, old man.’

‘The Knights Hospitaller. They are a closed and silent bunch of fellows, even with those who protect them. There was talk among some of that dour lot that Hugh Despenser,’ – he crossed himself – ‘had found a way to kill angels.’

Again Edward laughed. ‘I was a boy when all that took place, not old enough to be my own master, but even I could see that Despenser was just working his familiar art of fear and lies. Despenser stood with my father, so why would he move against his angels, even if he had the power?’

The prince looked Edward directly in the eyes. Edward prayed that he could face him in a tournament one day. Then he’d knock some of the condescension out of him.

‘You keep your mother locked in a tower.’

Edward forced himself to wait before speaking. ‘Not so,’ he said, ‘my mother is not in good health. The tyrant Mortimer enchanted her to force her to rebellion. She was rescued by prayer and by angels. She is in the tower so that she may have the peace she craves to praise God and to recover.’

‘Surrounded by the holy knights, chanting day and night.’

Edward forced his eyes away from his greatsword that lay beside the table.
So this is what it feels to be a beggar. To stand affront after affront in the hope of small alms.

‘My mother’s peace of mind is dear to me. If the knights can ensure that, it is a small price to pay.’

The two men faced each other in silence. The prince spoke first.

‘Good, thank you for indulging my curiosity. The royal barge is here, and we would be pleased to convey you into Coblenz in three days’ time to ratify the alliance before God. Angels each have their powers. Perhaps you would like an angel of healing for your mother, though we had anticipated you would want a more martial spirit.’

Edward waved an indulgent hand. ‘I would not put the Emperor to the trouble of raising another. I know from experience how troublesome it can be to disturb them from their raptures. Whatever angel your father has brought with him, I will be pleased to have.’

‘Very good. I will lodge here until we are ready to sail.’

‘You will be my welcome guest. Please, let’s invite in our friends and celebrate our alliance.’

‘Indeed,’ said Stephen, ‘English food leaves much to be desired, but I understand you are using German cooks. Hey, ho, fellows, join us!’ he shouted.

As expected, courtiers had been pressing their ears to the doors to hear whatever might be to their advantage and now came streaming in.

‘Is a tournament planned to honour our happy union?’

‘It is,’ said Stephen. ‘I intend to have a tilt myself!’

‘Excellent!’ said Edward, ‘excellent. Montgomery, please help serve the prince!’

Montgomery led Stephen away. The king beckoned his squire.

The young man hurried forward, keen and keen to be seen to be keen.

‘Adam. Do you think if you send a messenger today you could get my jousting armour here within three days?’ asked Edward.

‘I took the liberty of including it in the provisions of things coming by barge.’

‘Good man, good man. And would you get the Margrave of Juliers in here? Now we’ve sealed this deal he should be willing to advance me some more money to feed this guzzling Frank for the three days until his father makes me vicar and I bash some manners into that upstart’s head to celebrate.’

13

‘You are a base and tattered man.’ Charles sat up in his bed in the Great Hall. The windows cut lattices of moonlight on the floor, the scudding clouds making the shadows seethe.

Nergal sat in the little room’s single chair. His robes were torn and scorched but it was his face that caught the boy’s attention. It too was loose, torn and patchy, like a worn mask on a scarecrow. The skin had shifted slightly on the skull, meaning the eye holes were askew on the eyes, and a gaping tear at the lips revealed the teeth were much too big for the head – great yellow spearheads that seemed to take up half the face. There was a smell of burning in the room.

‘You called my name?’

‘Yes. I want to talk to you.’

‘It took you long enough.’

‘It’s not easy to ally with Hell.’

‘Do you fear me?’

‘Yes. No. No. You protected me.’

‘As much as I could. I am weak and wounded.’ He gestured to his face. It was different from the one he had worn in the woods.

‘You stole a face.’

‘I am too weak to work the magic to fix it. I have had a terrible shock. I was lucky to survive and I need to recover in order to restore my former glory.’

‘It has been a year.’

‘An angel shining right next to you isn’t the sort of thing you easily recover from if you’re put together like me. I didn’t know the fallen could do it. They didn’t tell me that when sending me here for this mission.’

‘Are you not a demon?’

‘I am a devil. God’s servant. Hell’s assassin. Here to remove Lucifer’s stain from the world. I have been waiting for you to call for me. I have heard your anguish from afar and my soul is moved to pity. You would see all France burn?’

‘I would.’

‘That might be more to God’s favour. The angels don’t look in a hurry to defend it. I can help you.’

‘How so?’

‘The English would do it for you. But you could help the English. May I light your candle?’

Charles said that the creature could do what it liked. It quickly kindled a spark using the flint and steel at the side of the boy’s bed and got the candle going. Then it sucked at the flame, pulling it out into a long stream of fire, which it drank down.

‘I have been wounded,’ it said, ‘and I am in poor shape to bring my influence to bear.’

‘Who wounded you?’

‘An enemy of God.’

‘You are a devil. Surely that makes you an enemy of God.’

‘Not so. As I said, I am a servant, a despised servant – as the villeins who tend your fields are despised servants, or rather as the torturers who man your gaols. I am a gaoler. A devil. It is the prisoners of Hell who are his enemies – men often call them devils, but they are more rightly called demons. Follow me and you follow God.’

Charles sat straighter on the bed. ‘I should look to my soul.’

‘You would win favour with Heaven to ally with me.’

‘For burning the earth?’

‘It may be that the time of the enemies of God is coming on earth. Perhaps the demons are to reign. Perhaps God allows it as punishment to sinful man. Already one gate has been opened and they are thick in the air – but it’s only the lesser sort who lack enough purpose to rally. Other gates may open. It may be impossible to stop.’

‘God is all-powerful, my mama says so.’

‘Then why does he need to work through intermediaries? Why priests, popes and kings? God may be all powerful – I do not know. As with the angels, his mind cannot be fathomed. But it is certain that he lets men, demons and devils determine their own fate and rarely intercedes to help them. He helps those that help themselves.’

‘So what do you plan to do?’

‘If the fallen will take possession of this realm, then we must ensure it is not worth having. We must make a Hell on earth. This will please God, but it will expand Satan’s domain too.’

The boy nodded. ‘I like nice places. I like palaces and gardens. I would not live in Hell but according to my rank.’

‘There are gardens in Hell, fountains and beautiful lakes. Satan dwells there, servant of God, commander of legions of devils, rewarded for his toils. You would be rewarded too.’

Charles got out of bed. ‘Can I fetch my mama?’

‘Do.’

He opened the door to his room and ran down the corridor, a sleepy guard coming to attention as he did so. At his mother’s door a guard stopped him. ‘Back to bed, young man, the hour is late.’

‘I need to see mama.’

‘She is sleeping. Let her rest.’

‘I will be king one day, low man, and I do not forget easily.’

The guard laughed but something about the boy’s manner made him open the door. Charles ran to his mother, shaking her awake, trying not to disturb the ladies-in-waiting sleeping at the foot of the bed.

‘Mama, come and see. The cardinal has come to see me. The one I told you about.’

‘What?’

‘The one who breathes fire like a dragon. He eats candles. Come and see,’ he whispered.

‘You’re dreaming, Charles, go back to bed.’

‘No mama, please come and see. The cardinal is here. He says he will help us.’

‘The cardinal is asleep in his bed.’

‘No. This is not that cardinal. This is a devil, which you must not call a demon, he says. He wears the skin of a cardinal. When you go round the back of him you can see where it’s laced up, like that.’ The boy made a stitching motion.

Joan sat up. ‘If you are lying, I’ll have you thrashed,’ she said. She knew this was an empty threat. None of the guards would lay a hand on the boy – too fearful of what he might become, and his father was never there to do it. She, as he knew, loved him too much to ever lift a finger against him.

She walked down the corridor, shooting the guards a look that suggested they should have kept the boy in his room.