Son of the Morning (66 page)

‘Yet that does not make us allies. My allies are here, the poor and the starving. My enemies are high men like you. Not just the Valois – it was House Capet that overthrew my order.’

Montagu knew why too – for the worship of demons, for allying with Hell, free or not. ‘Those men who attacked me were working for you? Were they Templars?’

‘Hardly. They just called me when the rumpus started with those things that were attending you.’

‘Nothing was attending me.’

‘I think in the short time you have known me you must have come to the opinion that I am not a liar.’

‘Did the demons defend me?’

‘They were not demons, far from it. They were devils, gaolers from Hell. Soldiers of Hell now. You know you killed an angel?’

Montagu felt very cold, suddenly aware that he was soaking wet. ‘I killed nothing.’

‘That’s not how Hell sees it. They are pouring as many devils into the world as they can – using whatever gates are open to them. There must be one near here, I should say. How were the devils summoned that freed you from the prison?’

‘I don’t know. A low man. A pardoner.’

‘Did he destroy the circle when he had done with his summoning?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Likely he didn’t. It is much easier to summon a devil than a demon – you only have to open a postern gate and you might persuade one of the guards to do that if you know its name. To get demons out you’d either have to be very lucky or possess a key to the main gates.’

‘It’s easy to summon devils?’

‘Easier but still very hard. I have seen one devil in my life before today. Around you there were three.’

‘I have not traded with devils.’

‘They are trading with you.’

Montagu thought of the lion in Le Châtelet. It seemed to know him, to think it was on the same side. ‘What are they here for?’

‘One of them asked which way was England.’

England. Home. Apples in the orchards, the heavy bees bending the stems of the wildflowers, the dogs crazy to see him. He had always thought of himself as a Norman, not an Englishman. But in this stinking French swamp, far from home and help, he felt English indeed.

‘Why would they want to go to England?’

‘Ask your king. He trades with Hell.’

‘Edward?’

‘Yes. He.’

‘That is a French lie.’

‘How did you get into Nottingham Castle, my lord? I’ll tell you – a demon revealed to Edward what to do.’

‘I saw no demon.’

‘Because it wasn’t there. I summoned it. One of the excluded, shut out of Hell at The Fall, living eternally in the upper airs. Of course, the demon couldn’t open the way itself. It needed an ingredient. On its advice I used an angel’s feather to open the way – it revealed that it has that power if you know how to use it. The demon told me little I did not know, but it was important for your king to make his vow face to face with the infernal powers. The Hospitallers thought so too. They wanted to tell Philip they had compromised Edward without revealing that they had his old father.’

‘How did you obtain the feather? That was Despenser’s booty.’

‘The Knights Hospitaller had it.’

‘Why did they pass it over? They were of Mortimer’s party.’

‘They had sided with no one. They had agreed to help Mortimer but for their own purposes. They dealt with Despenser too but played him false. He gave them the angel’s body, they gave him the Evertere knowing he could not control it. At Orwell it drove off the angels and condemned Despenser.’

‘What is the Evertere? Is that Latin?’

‘Yes, not very good Latin but Latin. The downthrower – Lucifer’s banner. The one he used in his fight with God. Despenser got hold of it.’

Montagu crossed himself. ‘That was the Drago.’

‘Not so. A different banner. Mortimer and Isabella had the Drago – lent to them in lieu of angels. You can hardly use angels to help in a rebellion.’

‘How in the name of God did Despenser come by something so unholy?’

‘I gave it to him,’ said Jacques. ‘We Templars had charge of it.’

Montagu could not understand this. ‘You are a declared enemy of the rich.’

‘As were all the Templars, secretly. Well, not so secretly. What is our crest after all? – two knights, one horse: we were the declared champions of the poor.’

‘And yet you give a weapon like that to Despenser, the living embodiment of everything you despise.’

‘Yes. Despenser was very useful to us.’

‘How so?’

‘Think how strong God is. He threw down Lucifer, Lord of Creation. To go against him requires powerful magic, powerful ingredients, almost unobtainable ingredients. An angel’s heart, for instance. The final ingredient we needed was the blood of the worst. The blood of an angel killer. Every time you kill a king, you need more difficult ingredients. There have been many angels. How few angel killers? To kill the last Capetian, to curse his line, we needed the blood of such a man. Despenser did not just provide us with ingredients in our spell. He became an ingredient.’

Montagu crossed himself. ‘You used magic to kill the Capetian kings?’

‘Yes.’

‘That is sacrilege, against all holy law.’

‘Half right. Sacrilege, as I understand it, involves the violation of the sacred. Well the line of kings is not sacred to me. Unholy? While God is in Lucifer’s Heaven telling us what is unholy then I concede, “unholy”. But unholy to me is good.’

Montagu felt like blocking his ears. The Templar’s views were filth to him, twisted things, hiding falsehood within truth. ‘You spited God.’

‘Yes. Because of me, God’s intention, that the weak Philip should be enthroned, was effected. I cast the spell that killed the Capetian kings. God did not interfere, so presumably he was happy to see them go.’

‘So you admit God appoints kings.’

‘Of course. We only challenge his right to do so.’

A big crow flapped onto the roof of a little lean-to, and picked through the piled straw for insects.

‘But the Knights Hospitaller took the Hanley angel’s body.’

‘They did. There were only four Templars left from the inner circle. Two were captured. I escaped – the other is still in their sway.’

‘How can they make you do something like this unwillingly?’

‘Good rivers must sometimes mingle with foul waters if they want to reach the sea. You don’t understand our purpose do you?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Chaos. The high men at each other’s throats, England without angels, France compromised, the flower of chivalry stained with blood. A new day is coming. A man is coming who can lift and control the Evertere and so oppose the high men. With angels dead or gone, with so many brave knights slain, his task will be easier. The man of perdition is coming, lifting up the poor, downthrowing the rich, downthrowing you, my Lord Marschall, who carries enough in his purse to free ten thousand from hunger but prefers to spend it on finery and horses.’

‘That is my God-given right; you are a heretic.’

‘I cannot argue with you. Your right is given by God, as that of the poor is denied. But the right of the poor will be asserted nevertheless. Given by Lucifer, or his friend here on earth.’

‘Why am I not dead? Why have you not robbed me and killed me?’

‘Because, Lord Montagu, devils attend you. Because you are an able man. Because it is in your interest to prove what I say and present it to the king of England, so he may use it to shake the faith of Philip’s people, make them see that their king is a murderer and a usurper. So you may open the way for Lucifer, whom you call Devil and we call friend.’

‘Who called you to help Edward?’

‘The banker Bardi. Indirectly – he asked for aid from the Hospitallers, they asked the French king and he gave the mission his blessing.’

‘Why?’

‘So that Edward might be damned.’

‘Then Bardi is a snake.’

‘No. The snake has only one kind of poison.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Montagu didn’t know what to say. He stood in the cool grey night trying to absorb the information, trying to think where it left him, his loyalties, his plans. Exactly where they were before. Loyalty is not loyalty that is never tested. He was Edward’s vowed servant. He had risen with him and, if need be, he would fall with him. But fall to Hell?

‘There is a correspondence. A magical record. Philip will not have disposed of it: it contains the keys to the control and summoning of demons. He is afraid of them and fears that he did not honour his bargain, as your king is not honouring his. It’s not above your wit to edit it to your purposes is it, my lord? Half your people consider your king a usurper anyway for overthrowing his father and killing him, as they believe, though they were glad enough to welcome him when he threw off the old man’s tyranny. And there is a limit to his offences against God isn’t there? He won’t kill his father.’

‘Where is his father?’

‘Does Philip know old Edward lives?’

‘No. There was no profit to the Hospitallers in telling him. They have great sway in England. No point spoiling that.’

They said nothing for a while. Jacques built a fire and toasted some dry bread on it. He offered Montagu a piece. He took it.

‘Why have you not used this information yourself? You have enough to cause all the chaos you want.’

‘Who would believe a poor knight? And the evidence is hard to come by. Philip has guarded it well.’

‘Where?’

‘In the Temple. In Caesar’s Tower or in the keep. All the Hospitallers’ secrets are there. They are both impregnable on the upper floors. There are no doors. If you want to get in you have to take a stonemason with you – which would tend to attract attention.’

Good Jacques studied Montagu’s face.

‘If they have written down the whereabouts of your old king, which they must to pass on if the present Prior dies, then it will be there.’

‘Well,’ said Montagu. ‘I’ll have to find a way to get it.’

‘Why not leave it alone? Go back to your war without angels?’

‘Because it is not right nor proper that a God-appointed English king does not sit on the English throne.’

Good Jacques smiled. ‘Which he would if the old man died.’

‘I’ll do my duty and find him,’ said Montagu. ‘Beyond that…’

‘You’ll leave it to others to do the dirty work.’

‘I…’ For the first time in his life, Montagu felt cowed. It was as if this man could see his rotten soul.

‘Well,’ said Good Jacques. ‘If you want to get into that tower it’s a bit of grubbing you’re going to have to do yourself.’

‘You’ve never tried to get in?’

‘No.’

‘Why not? You had an angel’s feather?’

‘That was only loaned to me. My life as a fugitive here would have been much harder if I’d taken treasures with me.’

Montagu took out an angel’s feather. It glowed faintly in the dark night. ‘Can you use this?’ he said.

Jacques leaned forward, extending his hand. Montagu withdrew the feather. ‘Well, well, my lord, you are full of surprises. It will help greatly,’ he said, ‘though we will need all our courage.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the Hospitallers are no fools and if they discover us they will work out why I, who am their enemy and you, who has asked so many questions in England – yes, lord, I know about that too – are at the tower. They will protect their secrets and that means no ransom, only death.

‘I cannot die,’ said Montagu.

‘No? Is God on your side like all the others?’

‘I think he is,’ said Montagu. ‘But more than that, I have made a promise to a lady and I will honour that, if I have to kill my way from here to Dover.’

Jacques smirked in response. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I was right to wait for you, lord. You are a killer true, all the Hell whispers it.’

‘Then I am pleased,’ said Montagu. ‘For there’s no truer compliment than an enemy’s curse. Let’s go.’ He picked up the sack containing the holy lance and the crown of thorns.

The Templar shook his head. ‘We wait,’ he said.

‘For what?’

‘For the night,’ said Jacques. ‘And for the fog.’

31

‘Mother, you exceed yourself,’ said Charles.

‘I aim to please, my boy.’

In the midnight solar the moon shone through the window, the shadows of the lead in the glass making a web of silver and black upon the floor.

Joan worked without candle or lamp. She needed none. The feathers themselves glowed with a moonish light, shining like a horde of silver in a miser’s dream. She was securing the feathers to each other with a fine thread, building them up layer upon layer.

‘These feathers are wonders,’ she said. ‘So fine and yet firm. It’s right they should be used to serve our cause, as the crown of thorns that tormented Jesus was used by the Valois to bolster themselves and draw down angels. It’s not wrong to profit from the suffering of holy things. There, finished.’

The cloak was long and it covered Charles from his shoulders to his feet. He pulled it about him, resembling some legendary creature of spikes and thorns, the feathers like a white bush on his back.

‘Will they really let me fly?’

‘I believe so,’ said Nergal. He was shivering, despite having spent the day sneaking from place to place sucking at braziers, smithies and fires across the town.

‘If they do, then there are a few people due for the chop,’ said Charles. He had his little dagger out and slashed the air with it.

‘It’s not for you to use, Charles, not yet; you’re too young.’

‘I could try it, though, mama. It wouldn’t hurt just to try.’

‘One of the men should try it.’

‘Can we put such a gift into the hands of a knave? Who knows what resentments our servants bear us? We could be putting a dangerous weapon into our enemies’ hands. What’s to stop someone flying to Philip or Edward or any king and selling this to them. Imagine what the Bardis would pay to have a means of disposing of their enemies.’

The boy swooshed the cloak about him.

‘Take it off now Charles; that is my final word.’

Charles jumped into the air. ‘I don’t feel any lighter,’ he said.

‘Take it off!’

‘Mama, am I not a clever boy?’

‘You are that.’