Son of the Morning (76 page)

‘I know why there are no angels.’

The king had been about to hold the wine cup to Montagu’s lips again but now he hesitated. ‘Yes?’

‘Your father is still alive.’

Edward’s tongue came to the tip of his teeth, but he said nothing, just waited for Montagu to continue.

‘He is in the east. I don’t know where. The Hospitallers have him. The French angel said he was in Lombardy. The answer may be in that casket.’

Edward looked where Montagu gestured. ‘What is in it?’

‘Evidence of House Valois’ dealings with demonic forces to obtain the throne. I took it from the Hospitallers’ most secret tower in the old temple of the Templars. Philip is a king killer and a usurper, and the history of it is within. There are also some certain spells that he used to do it. He traded with demons. You have enough to set before his allies to strip him of all support. You can bargain for lands in France. You can win what you want without bloodshed.’

Edward’s eyes lingered on the casket. Then they turned to Montagu.

‘What do you know of my father?’ The king’s voice was a murmur.

‘The Templars told me. Despenser was plotting to overthrow your father. He killed an angel to put certain ingredients into the hands of the Templars. They gave him a banner to help him stand against your father’s angels.’

‘The Drago?’

‘Not the Drago. Something far worse. The Evertere. It is Lucifer’s banner. The one he will use in his final rebellion against God. Despenser abandoned his plans to overthrow your father and tried to use it against you and your mother when you invaded. It drove off your father’s angels and destroyed them. Your father battled, along with his angels, to put it back in the casket that stores it. When he did, he went east with the Hospitallers. I believe they may have captured him and be using him for their own ends. The funeral we attended was a sham. Another man was buried.’

‘You are telling me I wept over the grave of an impostor?’

Montagu knew Edward well enough to tell he was feigning surprise. So Edward already knew. It was as bad as Montagu had feared.

Edward was a man famous for his rage but Montagu had never seen him so angry. All the blood drained from his face, his hands shook and his eyes stared forward into nothing.

‘Tell me that the Hospitallers deceived you – that you’ve only recently found out,’ said Montagu.

‘There was no deceit. They told me the truth.’

‘Yet you allowed yourself to be crowned?’

Edward let out a great funereal groan. In all the years Montagu had known him, he had never heard him express any weakness in the face of hardship. Now tears were in his eyes, though his knuckles were white.

‘I did not know until after I was crowned. Even then, for years I was uncertain but what other explanation could there be? The angels would not come!’ His voice was a low whisper and he glanced to the walls of the tent.

‘I have men seeking him out,’ said Montagu, softly.

‘If he is found …’

Montagu said nothing, just held the king’s gaze. For a moment Edward’s jaw set in rage as he understood what Montagu planned. Montagu knew his friend was capable of killing him in a moment’s temper – that he would spend a season of weeping and regret afterwards would be of no consolation at all. Edward clenched his fist. Then he put his left hand to his right and used it to pry the fingers straight, as if his war arm could not be brought to peace any other way.

‘Stop them,’ said Edward. He had to say that. To say anything else was to be complicit in a murder.

‘I will try.’

The king had said what he was required by God to say and the king changed the subject. ‘The Hospitallers are wise in magic. It is why I use them to contain my mother. Another devil’s bargain.’

At the mention of Isabella, Montagu eyed the letter by the chest. ‘Your mother is a holy woman. Mortimer enchanted and threatened her as he threatened you …’ Even as he said the words, Montagu didn’t know quite how he had come to that conclusion but he went on, compelled to represent Isabella to her son as he had promised to do. ‘I believe she would be a great asset to the country, were she released. She was strong enough to throw down your father. Why not use her strength against the French?’

‘She is the possessor of strange arts. If I want to rule the country in my own right and be free of her influence, I have no choice. She cannot enchant me, of the line royal, but weaker men fall under her spell. She would be a threat to my rule if I allowed her to be free. She would be queen and I a puppet once more!’ The king did not speak loudly, aware that only cloth separated him from the ears of the camp but his voice was full of passion.

‘I believe she has your best interests at heart.’

‘I know you saw her. You were lucky to get away, Montagu. A weaker man would have been made her servant.’ Edward’s levity was a veneer on his anger. Montagu was thankful for it. The king was trying to keep his temper. That was what decades of service bought you – the king would try to remain calm. There was no guarantee he would succeed.

‘Yes. She wants to be by your side, Edward; she would help you.’

‘Because it was you, I overlooked that you had betrayed my command. I said no one was to go anywhere near her, and did not expect to be disobeyed, least of all by my closest friend and confidant! I thank God your noble heart allowed you to resist her.’

‘Welcome her back, Edward. England needs such a powerful ally.’

Edward was stone, the last reserves of his will stilling his anger to utter immobility, as if any movement risked shattering his control.

Presently, he spoke, very quietly. ‘You have fallen into her snares.’

‘I have seen what she can offer the realm.’ Montagu wanted to be silent, but he had longed to talk of Isabella with someone, to have his passion recognised. Like Edward, silence, stillness, was his only option. He said nothing but Edward read his eyes. His friend the king knew him far too well.

‘You love her.’

Montagu, who could stare down any man in a fight, could not meet the king’s gaze.

‘That woman has overthrown kings by taking men to her bed. How has she charmed you, you the strongest, the best?’

‘She …’

Edward’s voice was a murmur. ‘You have lain with her.’

‘Edward, I swear I did not.’ Montagu expected his tongue to swell, the gaping pit of Hell to open and for him to fall in. He was a coward. He had denied her. He had lied to his king.

Edward nodded. ‘Then any offence is forgivable. You’re my friend, William. You act only for my good and you love me as a son loves its father, for though I am young that is the station God set us in. Like a son you stray, but the wise father knows that you are full of filial duty. You have laboured greatly on my behalf and any hurt you have done me is as nothing.’ Edward knelt at William’s side. ‘Embrace me, friend.’

‘My lord!’ A squire came running into the tent.

‘Do you not get announced before you enter?’

The squire dropped to one knee. ‘My lord, I am from Lord Sloth. There is a riot in London. The devils are outnumbered and are facing blessed weapons. He requests you send some of the tournament knights.’

‘Send them! Now get out!’ He threw the wine cup at the squire’s back as he went. ‘Good God, so much for being king of France, I’ll be lucky to be king of England by the end of the year! I can’t go cutting down my own bowmen: I’ll have nothing to fight with. We need more of these devils – they’re the fellows to do it!’

Montagu crossed himself, silently asked forgiveness of God but stopped half way through his prayer. Did he want forgiveness? He had dishonoured her memory, dishonoured himself with a filthy lie. He would at least complete the quest his lady had set him.

‘I swore to your mother I would deliver this letter.’ He gestured to the letter on top of the casket.

‘I will not touch it. You don’t know her tricks, William.’

‘I swore I would deliver it to you and persuade you to read its message. King. I have suffered greatly for you. I have given my eye, my arm and my blood. Allow me to fulfil my oath.’

‘You are an innocent, Montagu, for all your strategy, bravery and guile. Armies fell down at my mother’s feet. My father ignored her, sported with his favourites. He treated her badly, yes. He took her jewels and gave them to Despenser, I know. He left her to the mercies of the Scots, they who have no mercy.’ He glanced left and right. The noise of the camp was all around, horse hooves, cries, songs and squabbles but still he reduced his voice to a forceful whisper, leaning close into Montagu. ‘But she lay with his enemy! That was an offence against God and against me! My father a cuckold! How do you think that made me feel? She unmanned our whole line and then she overthrew him. I locked her away because I will not add matricide to my other crimes!’

Montagu felt shame building up in him. ‘She is gentler than you think,’ was all he could say.

‘She tried to bewitch me,’ said Edward, ‘to confuse me and shape me, and she managed it for a time. When, by my royal right, by prayer and devotion, I saw through her guiles, I acted.’ He drove his fist into his hand.

Montagu feared to speak, though he did. ‘You raised Hell.’

‘Bright rivers must mingle with dirty waters to reach the sea,’ said Edward.

Montagu crossed himself. Edward had repeated Jacques’ phrase almost word for word. ‘Did you know, the man who helped you – he killed the Capetian kings, released the Evertere and, in the end, overthrew your father?’

Edward simply tapped the embroidery on his doublet.
It is how it is.

‘I had no choice. I was a …’ He hushed his voice. ‘A neutered king. No angels. Perhaps even a usurper, God forbid. I was desperate. To find one’s way out of the dark forest it is sometimes necessary to go a little further in. Though there is a cost to the unrepentant man.’

‘I believe it is your soul,’ said Edward. He laughed dryly. ‘We should employ the Luciferians. They could use them for us – you can’t damn the damned.’

‘Perhaps you should write that on your doublet,’ said Montagu.

Edward pulled Montagu up from the bed and shook him.

‘If you were not who you are, you would be dead for that impertinence,’ said Edward. He threw Montagu back to the bed. ‘Though what you say is true. I must atone. This war, this stuttering, half-arsed excuse for a war. This is how I would atone.’

‘We must all atone,’ said Montagu. Nausea gripped him when he thought about his journey in the cloak. ‘But read the letter, Edward. I swore I would deliver the message. She has some ideas on how the war might be won. You must give your mother that, she’s a rare strategist.’

‘That’s one way of describing her. Fulfil your promise, Sir Chivalry, you read it,’ said Edward. He sat down on a camp stool.

‘I can’t get up.’

‘Boy!’

A page scampered into the pavilion.

‘Pass that letter to the lord. And then get out! Have the drums sound. I have private business and want no spies listening at the canvas.’

The page did as he was bid.

Montagu inspected the letter. There was that odd seal, still intact, the vellum stained but whole. He was proud to have done this for his great love and glad that he was now putting her out of his life. The drums beat, a thumping pulse slower than Montagu’s heartbeat but scarcely more powerful. Her words were in there. It was a connection to her, an evocation.

The seal broke with a snap and a smell of sulphur. He opened the letter and read:

‘Son and most high majesty of the English realm, rightful king of France, protector of the English people and vanquisher of enemies. The seal on this letter was a magic circle, through which devils have issued, bound by ancient lore and the names of God to serve you. They will help you with your war in France, need no earthly pay and will fight each as the equal of twenty men. There will be no more until I am released from this prison, though I pray to God I may have released myself by the time you read this. Deal with me, my boy, let me be your helper. Do not allow your temper or what has happened between us in the past to rule you. You must do this.’

Montagu put his hand to his mouth. He had been the source of the devils. He had carried a magic circle out of Castle Rising for her, one fashioned in wax. He read on.

‘Montagu …’ He read the words but could not quite say them.

‘You look pale, William,’ said Edward, ‘do not read anything you think I shouldn’t hear.’

‘I am sworn to deliver the message,’ said Montagu. No future now. No peace. No sunlit days with the children and Catherine on the river. It didn’t matter. The words of the letter made any thought of tomorrow impossible. But good, he would no longer be a liar. He read. ‘Montagu will kill your father or have him killed. God demands his death for such a sin. Should tender thoughts stay your hand, know that I took him to my bed. Your father is twice a cuckold. Destroy Montagu.’

Edward sat for a while staring at his boots. Then he stood. ‘Did you lie to me?’ said Edward. ‘I can believe my mother is a liar, though it shames me to say it.’

‘She speaks the truth. I am the liar.’

Edward sat for a while, his eyes moist in the candlelight. ‘You have betrayed my trust. And she is right. You have cuckolded my father into the bargain.’ He was silent again, still.

Montagu had no words. No thoughts.

The king spoke, ‘You have laboured greatly on my behalf, William Montagu. I reward you with the greatest honour. You will fight as my champion in the lists tomorrow.’

Montagu tried to sit up but he was too weak. His useless arm shot pain through his whole body and his head reeled.

‘It will take too long to send for your armour,’ said Edward, ‘you will wear mine.’

He clapped his hands. ‘Squires!’

Three men came into the tent. ‘Remove Earl Montagu from my tent and see to it that he is provided with comfortable quarters of his own. When Lord Sloth returns from London tell him we require that his name shall appear in the lists tomorrow. He will tilt against the king’s champion.’

‘Thank you,’ said Montagu.

The king nodded. He came close to Montagu so the squires could not hear. ‘I won’t take your honour, though you have taken mine.’