Son of the Morning (79 page)

‘No, Jesus removes our sins through his blood,’ said Montagu. ‘God so loved the world that he sent his only son to die for us. Sacrifice is a noble thing. I have seen it many times on a battle field and it is never less than inspiring. Self-sacrifice is at the heart of our faith.’

A great roar went up from the rear of the camp. Lord Sloth had been informed of his missing prisoners.

Greatbelly clung to the priest. Montagu didn’t know why he wanted to help these two paupers. Was it that he sympathised with them? No. Whatever happened, kings were kings and the toiling poor were the toiling poor. That was the immutable order God had ordained. Was it that his broader faith had been shaken? A little. But maybe the truth was a little less noble. He knew what awaited him in the morning – that Sloth would kill him in the tournament. He despised the Iron Lion’s coarseness even more than his brutality. Creatures like that had no place in ruling England. They were more suited to the German east. Yes, he could see Lord Sloth bashing heads for the Holy Roman Emperor; for sure, he’d fit right in. So, Montagu’s desire to help Greatbelly and the priest could have come from a simple wish to frustrate Sloth, to deny him a victory. In Montagu’s youth, that would have been motivation enough: he’d have set free his prisoners and told Sloth if he wanted to argue about it he could do so with a lance in his hand the next day.

Above all these influences, however, was simply that Montagu had seen enough suffering. He’d spent his whole life killing and maiming and now, hours from death, he wanted to do something magnanimous before he died. This comical pair, one thin, the other bulbous – he couldn’t regard them as a threat to anyone.

Montagu pointed to his cloak. ‘Do you know what that is?’

‘No.’

‘It is an angel feather cloak. It will transport you anywhere you need to go. Choose carefully because you will be as weak as I am when you arrive. Wrap it about you and wish earnestly to be gone.’

‘Why don’t you use it?’

Montagu sat tall. ‘My king commands me to appear in the lists tomorrow.’

Edwin stood up and staggered towards the cloak, Greatbelly waddling after him. Sloth’s roars were fairly blowing through the camp now, the boar men’s squeaks and grunts making a foul music behind them.

‘Take him,’ said Edwin to the woman.

‘No, my love!’

‘Take him! We have a captive, they have captives, take him. It doesn’t matter what happens to me, but they will not dare harm me while he is ours. We can get the release of all our people.’

‘Now hold on there …’ said Montagu.

Edwin bundled Greatbelly towards Montagu.

‘I’m scared, my love,’ said Greatbelly.

‘We are in the hands of the light bringer,’ said Edwin.

‘What’s this?’ Sloth was at the entrance to the tent, half the leg of a cow in his paw. ‘Grab them!’

Five boar men sprang into the tent but Greatbelly had the cloak around her and her arms about Montagu. Montagu grabbed for Arondight, but was too weak to draw. The tent filled with light and the boar men shielded their eyes.

Only Edwin remained.

‘I’ll have your guts for this!’ roared Sloth.

The priest’s thin face was impassive. ‘If you ever want to see that lord again, I think that would be very ill advised,’ said Edwin. ‘Now lead me to your king. I mean to negotiate.’

44

No one dared wake the king to tell him the news but at dawn a huge stoneskin gargoyle flew in on grinding wings to see him. It had a letter in its claws.

Edward saw his mother’s seal upon it. He took the precaution against any spell by making the squire Tom read it. The youth did so in a halting voice.

‘Son. My messengers tell me you have received Montagu’s letter. I hope that traitor is now dead. I am my own mistress again. The Hospitallers have ceded control of Castle Rising to me and the devils God has sent to aid me. I am your mother, son. I do not seek to control you or usurp you, only to love you. I seek only to help you in your rule and send you this gargoyle as a token of my good faith. Summon your magicians, bring your wisest men and let them ward you against all enchantment if you are worried about my loyalty. Though know that I am loyal. Send word to Nottingham Castle tomorrow. We will overthrow it as a demonstration of what we would bring to your war in France. All your troubles will be at an end if only you share them with me and let me, your mother, help you.’

Edward tried to think straight. He had always known keeping her alive was a risk but now, with the death of another child imminent, perhaps it was time for desperate measures. He would not meet her, not expose himself in that way. But his wife might do it for him. Women were not as susceptible to her charms and Philippa was a holy, strong-minded woman. Nottingham to fall. No, he couldn’t afford that. He called for a scribe and told him to write a letter to Nottingham to tell them to open the gates to her. He wasn’t wasting his resources on civil war. Then he dispatched the gargoyle and stood outside the tent, watching it labouring up into the grey summer sky.

Anger rose up in him again – he felt the heat in his face. This time he would make her chastity a condition of any deal.

Ten yards away he saw the Iron Lion watching him, crossing himself. Clearly he was not bearing good news.

He turned back into the pavilion and waved to the lion to follow him in.

‘Bad news, lord. Montagu has left the camp.’

‘Montagu’s escaped?’ Edward felt himself trembling slightly and struggled to hold on to his temper. He looked to his table, where Clarent lay in its scabbard. Who to blame? Only himself. He’d never thought Montagu would be so dishonourable as to run.

‘No, majesty,’ said Lord Sloth, his mane rattling as he spoke, ‘he has been kidnapped. The Luciferians – I curse their name – made off with him by magical means. They mean to bargain for him. Their priest remains here. I say we let them kill Montagu – does my job for me – and we tear out all the prisoners’ guts as an example.’

‘We can’t do that. He’s an English nobleman. My God, he’s
the
English nobleman. We can’t surrender one of his rank to death at the hands of the poor. Where would it end?’ Edward kicked over a stool with such violence that Sloth actually took a pace back.

‘Of course he should die for what he’s done, Sloth, but now I have to ransom him before I can kill him.’

‘Let’s tear into the poor,’ said Sloth. ‘Let my devils get among the starvelings of London, rip a few to bits and keep ripping ’em until Montagu’s returned to be killed in the way you prescribed.’

Edward tapped his finger against his front teeth. He kicked the stool again. Sloth flinched as it sailed past him out of the tent.

‘No. Action against rebels and heretics can be understood by the people. Indiscriminate slaughter can’t. My father tried it – or rather Despenser did on his behalf. Mortimer tried it. It ends the same way, with the ruler swinging from a gibbet. No – this must be considered. Bring my advisers in here. And this priest of the poor. He’s some sort of magician, isn’t he? They can be useful, those Luciferian fellows.’

‘You need no adviser but me, sire.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that. Do as I say.’

‘Treat with your mother, sire. She opened the way for us to come here. She can furnish you with more legions.’

‘Get out and fetch my advisers!’ The lion bowed its head, offering Edward the deference he owed him as a king.

He looked down at his mother’s letter and thought of his children. He needed to conquer France. Otherwise, who would he lose next? Edward? – he was well warded, as were all the boys now. The expense of finding churchmen capable of performing the rite and maintaining the boys in the fresh clothing, the clean and perfect state required that they might dwell always in the mind of God, was considerable. Would it even work? It hadn’t worked for little William. God, he’d named the child after Montagu. How his trust had been abused!

How much easier it would all be if his father were to die and there was an angel to watch over his heirs. But he must not consider so grievous a sin. Better all this world go to ruin than break irreconcilably from God. Who else might be taken? One of the girls? Joan? Maude? He simply couldn’t afford to pay for the wards, or the constant replacement of dresses and shoes that would be required. Edward loved his daughters but he felt sure the demons wouldn’t take a girl. It would be the loss of a valuable trading commodity, a means of cementing alliances and a personal distress but nothing like the loss of a son. The loss of a girl was terribly sad and an inconvenience, the loss of a son a catastrophe.

How to do it, how to meet all obligations and protect his family? To play Hell off against Free Hell and hope all the time that the angels would forgive him? It is as it is. No use waiting on angels. He needed part of France to give to the demons. Gascony would do. But he couldn’t pay his soldiers and that was well known. He could use the devils to press people but what army can fight like that?

So what was the solution? More devils. He would have to trade with his mother. She would not be allowed at court, not allowed to start casting her webs of influence, but she would be recruited to use her skills for England’s good. But would devils be enough? Not if Philip managed to persuade his angels out of their shrines.

It is as it is. Get the devils, make what bargains you need to and see what shakes out in the end. The poor would be needed to fight, devils would not be enough on their own – French chivalry owned so many swords with handles made from the bones, teeth and hair of saints that it was more unusual to find a conventional sword. And there were rumours Philip had devils of his own – along with the aid of a giant. Despenser back from Hell, the spies said. Well, one of the great disappointments of Edward’s life was that he had been too young to cut that dog’s throat himself. Now he’d have the chance.

That morning, at a convening of his top nobles Edward explained that his mother was to come to England’s aid, using the considerable leadership skills God had given to her in England’s favour. She would employ her God-given blessings to summon more devils to the English cause.

‘Hear, hear!’ Sloth was at the entrance of the pavilion, his voice like distant thunder.

Edward shot him a look to silence him. ‘I have sent her to Nottingham Castle. My wife Philippa will meet her there to discuss the terms of her new liberty. She is still to be kept from direct contact with men.’

‘She won’t be happy about that, sire,’ suggested young David Lafage.

Before Edward could stop himself he had punched the knight to the floor. Lafage was out cold, Edward’s knuckle already swelling from the blow.

‘Any other man making insinuations about my mother may expect harsher treatment!’ said Edward.

All the nobles looked at the floor.

‘I’m aware of the lady’s ability to sway the minds of men,’ said Edward, ‘and I can accept that – if it advantages us. But it is a courtly devotion she inspires, not base lust.’ He calmed himself. Feeling slightly ridiculous at this compulsion to explain himself, he persevered. ‘She is like Emaré in the romance – men fall in love with her. I’ll grant you she can manipulate that but it is a good thing, is it not, that knights offer their chaste devotion to a lady?’

The other nobles, mindful of the unconscious Lafage, agreed that it was.

‘Get that fool out of here,’ said Edward. ‘I am to tell you a plan that will go no further than this canopy.’

The nobles gathered in, Sloth visibly preening with the pride of being the king’s confidant. My, my, they looked fearsome, those devils, but they knew their place. If only all men did so.

The king continued, ‘We will offer the poor what they want – or part of it.’

‘No!’ Sloth roared and the plume on Sir Peter Lavalenet’s hat bent under the blast.

‘Quiet! We will offer them honey in the morning, so to speak. They will make concessions to us: we to them. The first is that the Luciferians will have part of some territory in France. We will give them their own state. Gascony is not covered by the truce. We will make war there and rid ourselves of these pests. That way they become France’s problem, not ours.’

‘If they made a paradise there then we would lose so many poor to them that England would crumble through want of labour.’

‘Is our faith so weak? Many of them will go but more will stay. The Luciferians win some battles for souls but lose more. Our churches are still full. And this state they envisage is contrary to the law of God. They would set it up without a king!’ Edward laughed at the very thought and the nobles laughed too, until Sloth’s guffawing gave them concern for the stability of the tent.

‘Men need masters!’ Sloth nodded his great head.

‘Now send in the Black Priest,’ said Edward, ‘and we’ll see if his sense departed with his soul.’

He sat back on his chair. Yes, he would offer the Luciferians what he had already offered free Hell. Gascony. And if he couldn’t, then what? Lose another child? No. Perhaps his mother’s escape was a blessing in disguise. She would bring more devils.

Edward was never a man to rely on one plan. He knew the importance of contingency plans in battle. And giving Gascony to Free Hell had become a contingency plan after Montagu had brought him news of his father. The angels were close. He was sure Montagu had put in place plans to kill his father. A man had been sent. Should he require help, Edward could not send it directly – but his mother might be able to.

Edward could use the revolutionaries of Free Hell to fight the French, with the promise of reward or their own lands. That would weaken them, cut their numbers. Then, with angels and devils combined on his side, he could annihilate them, set up angelic protection for his sons as Philip had done and make his peace with God. If the angels never came, well, Free Hell would have its lands after all. How that would sit with the devils was anyone’s guess, though he’d let them sort it out between them. Not an ideal situation but better than giving up part of England which he was charged by God to protect. He touched the embroidery on his jacket.
It is as it is.
Strive for the best outcome, prepare for the worst. These labyrinthine deals with competing forces were nothing new to any ambitious king in history.