The King's Falcon (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 3) (74 page)

And that was when he saw it.

Two dark shapes cresting the low harbour wall and dropping silently some dozen yards behind Francis and Cyrano.
 
Drawing his sword and starting to edge along the buildings at his back, Ashley checked his instinctive shout of warning when he saw the sharp turn of Cyrano’s head.
 

He’d heard.
 
Thank God
.

But Francis’s attention was fixed in the other direction and, following it, Ashley saw two more bodies slithering into view some way further back from where he stood.
 
The resulting gap offered him a chance of getting to Francis and Cyrano before this second pair could close in – but only if he acted now.
 
He could see neither Will nor Jem which, though it was as it should be, wasn’t an especially comforting thought just at present.
 
Both Cyrano and Francis were drawing their swords, preparing to fight on two fronts.
 
Ashley pushed away from the wall and broke into a run.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jem doing the same but couldn’t see Will.
 
He wondered briefly where the fifth assassin was and hoped he was wasting his time looking for Jack Cardale.
 
Then he was skidding to a halt a couple of yards from Francis and immediately pivoted to parry an oncoming blade.

Earlier in the day, he had stressed that this would be no time for finesse.
 
They needed to incapacitate at least one of their opponents as fast as possible if they were to stand a chance of capturing any of the others.
 
Consequently, he met the attack with savage force and followed through with disconcerting rapidity.
 
Taken by surprise, the fellow retreated a few steps and then tried to stand his ground.
 
Not wanting to drift too far from the centre of the fight, Ashley let him.

On his left, Francis seemed to be holding his own against a tall fellow with an abnormally long reach while, beyond him, Cyrano was battling with the other two and apparently giving both of them a hard time.
 
Then Jem stormed up to join him.
 
There was still no sign of Will and Ashley hadn’t the time to look.
 

For perhaps three minutes, the fight eddied and flowed to neither side’s advantage until, becoming aware that Francis was being driven gradually back, Ashley re-doubled his own efforts.
 
He took a slash to the forearm but ignored it.
 
Seeking a particular opening, he delivered a swift flurry of moves until he found he wanted. Then he drove his knife through the fellow’s heart and swivelled to assist Francis.
 
Unfortunately, before he could reach him, another man dropped over the harbour wall and rushed down on him.

Where the hell is Will
?
 
thought Ashley, as he leapt to meet the unexpected attack. And, managing to turn his new opponent with a lightning riposte, found the answer.
 
Some two dozen yards away, Sir William was occupied with a fierce engagement of his own.

 
 
Meanwhile, left facing a single swordsman, Cyrano was able to drive the fellow back until his thighs hit the low wall.
 
A deep thrust to the shoulder was sufficient to send him plummeting backwards over it. Cyrano grinned and glanced around. Jem’s inexpert hacking and slashing was working well enough and he’d seemingly managed to inflict a couple of flesh-wounds with his knife; so like Ashley before him, Cyrano swung round to help Francis … and, again like Ashley, found himself facing yet another new enemy.

Aware of it but busy contending with a stronger and more cautious fighter than the previous one, only two thoughts got past Ashley’s concentration.
 
The first was that, presumably hampered by having only partial vision, Will was apparently making little progress; and the second was,
Christ.
 
Seven, so far.
 
Have they sent a bloody regiment?

Faces appeared at windows overlooking the harbour and then promptly withdrew again.
 
Lanterns on many of the boats were being extinguished, as the men on board disappeared below deck.
 
Unsurprisingly, no one wanted anything to do with what was happening on the quay.

Spinning on his heel, Ashley narrowly avoided a thrust to the shoulder. Blood was starting to drip down his hand but wasn’t yet impairing his grip. He parried and followed through with an immediate riposte.
 
His adversary jumped back and circled.

Damn
.

He tried to evaluate the situation.
 
Two down; one definitely dead – and five still standing.
 
For the moment, at least, the odds were even.
 
But Francis was tiring; Jem, an inexpert swordsman, was still trying to disarm his opponent so he could close in with his knife; and Will, now much closer and limping badly, was gradually driving his attacker back towards the rest of them.
 
Cyrano was still fighting like a demon and had inflicted some damage but, like himself, had so far failed to bring his current foe down. As far as Ashley could tell, all five of them were now bleeding – some more seriously than others.
 
So if they were all to get out of this alive, it was going to be up to either himself or Cyrano to adjust the numbers in their favour.
 

Francis, meanwhile, had given up thinking at all.
 
There was cramp in his hand and his shoulder was on fire.
 
In desperation, he tried one of the deceptive moves that Ashley had taught him and knew, even as he launched into it, that he’d mistimed it.
 
His reward was a savage thrust to his right bicep – which would have been quite bad enough even it if
hadn’t
been in precisely the same spot as the wound he’d received at Worcester.
 
His blade clattered to the cobbles and, swearing, he dropped to one knee, a hand clamped hard over his arm.

His attacker grunted with satisfaction and booted him in the chest.

Francis went sprawling. His hat rolled away, taking the blond wig with it.

The tall fellow stared for a second and then, apparently without thinking, blurted, ‘That’s not York!’

Into the tiny hiatus that followed, Ashley snapped breathlessly, ‘It’s not the King, either. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.’

 
For a split second, all five assassins froze – which proved to be the undoing of two of them.
 
Cyrano sent his adversary’s sword flying from his hand and kicked him in the groin.
 
Ashley locked blades with his own opponent, forced a disarm and knocked the fellow out with a blow to the jaw using his sword-hilt. Then he swung round and, positioning himself in between Francis and the man who’d wounded him, said, ‘We can finish this or you can accept your failure and withdraw.
 
Either one is fine by me.’

For an instant, the tall man seemed completely nonplussed.
 
He looked around at the bodies on the ground and those of his comrades still being threatened by Jem and Will.
 
Finally, he said warily, ‘If the King isn’t here – why are you?
 
It makes no sense.’

‘That depends on your point of view,’ replied Ashley.
 
‘Well?
 
Do we battle on?’

‘To what end?’
 
The fellow drew a long breath.
 
‘A truce, then – while my colleagues and I collect our fallen friends?’

‘You can take most of them,’ came the cool reply.
 
‘But these two …’ He gestured to the man writhing at Cyrano’s feet and the one still out cold at his own, ‘… go with us.’

‘I can’t agree to that!’

‘You prefer the rest of your men to die? Because they
are
your men, aren’t they?’
 
Shooting a brief, meaningful glance at Cyrano, Ashley swept the point of his sword downwards to rest on the throat of the fellow on the ground. ‘As I said, it’s all one to me.’

The tall man started forward and then stopped abruptly when he felt an icy blade feathering his neck.
 
Forcing the words through clenched teeth, he indicated the man Ashley was threatening and said, ‘That is my brother.’

‘Is it? Then I imagine you don’t want to see his throat cut. But since, like you, he came here to commit regicide … and since I really only need one of you alive, you’ll appreciate that I really couldn’t care less whose brother he is.’

‘You cold-blooded bastard!’

Francis was still sitting on the ground, breathing raggedly and watching blood seep through his fingers, but the words spoken only two nights ago by Cyrano made him look up. He couldn’t see Ashley’s face – but he didn’t need to.
 
That light, negligent tone and allied with the unwavering sword-point was chilling enough. Since the night they’d disposed of d’Auxerre’s body, Francis had been aware of the streak of icy ruthlessness that would let Ashley do whatever he thought necessary.
 
He also suddenly recognised that he was less dangerous when he let his temper loose than when, as now, he kept it under rigid control.
 
Francis had glimpsed The Falcon before but never quite as clearly as at this particular moment … and it sent an unpleasant little shiver down his spine.

‘Indeed.
 
But what does that make you?’ said Ashley.
 
He let the inevitable pause linger for a moment and then said dispassionately, ‘I can kill your brother now … or I can take him back to be hanged. Or I might consider letting both him and the other fellow go … if you volunteer to take their place.’

The tall fellow’s eyes widened.
 
He said abruptly, ‘Who the hell
are
you?’

‘Someone you’d be wise to take seriously.
 
And you?’

‘Major Deane.’
 
There was an unpleasant silence while the Major waited in vain for Ashley to speak.
 
Finally, he said slowly, ‘And if I agree – you’ll leave the rest of my men alone?’

‘Provided the two still on their feet don’t do anything stupid – yes.’

‘I have your word on that?’

‘You have my word.’

The man shut his eyes, then opened them again.

‘Very well.
 
I agree.’

‘Excellent,’ said Ashley with something that sounded cordial but wasn’t.
 
‘And now you may order your men to stand down … and surrender your sword to the gentleman behind you.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

Pauline maintained her usual manner through the first two nights of Francis’s absence.
 
By the third one, however, she could feel the cracks beginning to show. She did her best to plaster over them for the sake of keeping Athenais in the dark, but managing to appear cheerful as well was more than she could manage.
 
Consequently, it was no surprise when – after hearing her snap at both Etienne and Froissart – Athenais said laughingly, ‘God, Pauline.
 
The sooner Francis comes home, the better.
 
And don’t think I won’t tell him how much you’ve missed him – because I will.’

Pauline looked at her sourly.
 
The glow which had been missing for so many weeks had returned to the lovely face and Athenais’s spirits no longer seemed weighed down by things one could only guess at.
 
These were good signs and would have been welcome if Pauline wasn’t living with the constant fear that the reason for this improvement might never come back from Honfleur.

She said reflexively, ‘And I suppose you’re not missing the Colonel?’

‘All the time,’ came the simple reply.
 
‘But perhaps that was what I needed.’

Pauline pressed her lips together and said nothing.

A further twenty-four hours went by, turning worry into serious alarm.
 
They’d been gone four nights now and, by Pauline’s calculations, should have been back.
 
Nightmares prevented her sleeping and, when she tried to eat, the food seemed to stick in her throat.
 
How she’d managed to keep it from Athenais for this long, she had no idea.

And then Athenais found her retching in the scullery and everything came to a head.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Athenais flatly.

‘Nothing.’
 
Pauline wiped her mouth and reached for the water-jug.
 
‘I think the fish might have been off.’

‘It wasn’t – and you scarcely touched it anyway.’

‘Something else then.’
 
She shrugged and declined to turn around.
 
‘I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you were thinking.’

‘I hadn’t got that far, actually.’
 
Athenais paused, thinking.
 
‘Clearly you’re worried about Francis.
 
Why?’

‘I’m not worried.
 
Why should I be?’

‘You tell me.
 
I know they’ve been away a bit longer than they hoped – but Ashley said that might happen.
 
The man with the letters was sailing from England and could be delayed by the weather – in which case, they’d have no choice but to wait for him. That must be what’s happened. They’re just kicking their heels and probably getting fairly annoyed about it.’

‘Of course.’ Pauline swallowed hard and kept her voice even.
 
‘It’s as you said yesterday.
 
I just miss him.’

Immediately and without a shadow of a doubt, Athenais recognised the lie. In all the years they’d known each other, she’d never once heard Pauline willingly admit a weakness.

She said, ‘You do, of course. But this is more than that, isn’t it?’
 
Without warning, she reached out and pulled Pauline round to face her.
 
‘You’re frightened.
 
Why?’

Pauline shut her eyes and said nothing.
 

Now thoroughly alarmed, Athenais gave her a little shake.
 
‘
Why?
 
Whatever Francis is doing, Ashley is doing it with him.
 
So tell me what it is.
 
Clearly, they haven’t merely ridden to the coast to collect some correspondence, have they?
 
Have they?
’

Opening her eyes and expelling a long breath, Pauline said, ‘No.’

‘What, then?
 
What
are
they doing?’

‘I can’t … Ashley made me promise not to tell you.’

‘Bugger what Ashley said,’ snapped Athenais.
 
‘If he and Francis are off somewhere risking their lives, I’ve a right to know about it.
 
Is
that what they’re doing?’

‘Yes.’
 
Pauline watched the grey eyes fill with the same fear that was fermenting inside her own gut.
 
She said rebelliously, ‘God damn it. I should never have promised. You’d better sit down.’

Athenais sat and listened without a word as Pauline described the whole scenario from the beginning.
 
And even when Pauline stopped speaking, she still said nothing for a very long time.
 
Then, finally, ‘Have I got this right?
 
They’ve gone to catch some assassins who can’t assassinate the King because he’s not there.
 
Francis is pretending to be the Duke of York.
 
Ashley’s doing God knows what. And they’ve invited Cyrano de Bergerac to join the party.
 
Am I missing anything?’

‘No.’

‘Have they
completely
lost their wits?’

‘The Colonel apparently has,’ said Pauline bitterly. ‘I can’t speak for the rest of them – except to say they wouldn’t be doing this if he hadn’t talked them into it.’

Athenais let this pass.

‘And they should have been home yesterday?’

‘Yes. Today, at the very latest.’

‘So … so it’s possible something has gone wrong.’
 
Her voice quivered a bit and some of the colour faded from her face.
 
‘I wish you’d told me before.’

‘To what end?’

Athenais rose and put her arms around her friend’s shoulders.

‘So you wouldn’t have been bearing it alone,’ she said.

*
 
*
 
*

Neither of them went to bed that night.
 
Instead, they stayed in the parlour, dozing fitfully and hoping the prodigals might yet return.
 
They didn’t.
 
Dawn heralded the start of yet another day and the hours continued to crawl by.
 
At around noon, Athenais said, ‘If we went to the Louvre, do you think King Charles would receive us?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Pauline wearily. ‘But if he did?’

‘He might know something.
 
More than we do, at any rate.’

‘Not much if they stuck to the original plan.
 
And even if he did, do you think he’d share it with us?’

Athenais slumped in her chair.

‘No.
 
I suppose not.’

‘Speaking about this to anyone except the King wouldn’t be safe – and since he presumably doesn’t know that Francis and Ashley are living here with us like a bloody
m
é
nage
à
quatre
, he’s got no reason to trust us.’

‘I know.
 
I’d just feel better if we could do something.’

‘There’s nothing
to
do but wait.
 
And hope.
 
And, if you think it’ll do any good, pray.’

*
 
*
 
*

Despite everybody wanting nothing more than to go home, Ashley had decreed a day of rest and a further night’s stay in Honfleur.
 
On top of a sleepless and physically demanding night, all of them had injuries of one sort or another.
 
His own and those of Cyrano and Jem were largely superficial but Sir William’s thigh-wound had continued to bleed for longer than it should have done and Francis’s arm was giving Ashley severe cause for concern.
 
So the five of them patched each other up as best they could, got some rest in between taking turns to guard Major Deane … and planned to start their journey back to Paris early the following morning.

Since Francis and William needed to be made as comfortable as possible and their prisoner had to be kept secure, it was agreed that Jem would drive the coach while Cyrano joined the others inside it.
 
Ashley mounted Mr Cardale’s roan and rode alongside.

By the time they got as far as Louviers, Will was improving but Francis showed signs of incipient fever.
 
This, as far as Ashley was concerned, dictated another night’s rest while they found an apothecary who could supply them with some Peruvian bark and also treat Francis’s wound more efficiently than they’d been able to do themselves.

Francis, inevitably, argued.

‘I’ll live,’ he insisted.
 
‘And, if we press on, we can be back in Paris by tonight.’

‘Another day won’t make any difference,’ said Ashley.
 
‘And having made Pauline a promise, I intend to do my best to keep it.’

And so they lingered in Louviers for a further night; the fifth that they’d been away. Cyrano and Jem played dice and Sir William watched Colonel Peverell meticulously avoiding any contact with the captive Major.

By dawn on the following day, Francis’s condition had improved and they took to the road again in high hopes of seeing Paris by mid-afternoon.
 
While they stopped to change horses, Ashley issued his final instructions.

‘When we’re nearing the city, I’ll ride ahead and warn Hyde that we’re bringing the chief assassin in for questioning.
 
Jem … take Francis home before you follow me to the Louvre. With luck, Pauline will be there to take care of him and he’ll be able to tell her that you and I will be back as soon as possible. Cyrano … blindfold the Major as soon as we enter Paris.
 
I don’t want him knowing where we live.’
 
Finally, he looked at Sir William. ‘How you explain your involvement in all this to Hyde and the King is up to you.
 
Unless it’s unavoidable, none of us will contradict you.’

‘Oh – I’ll make a clean breast of it,’ came the resigned reply. ‘In truth, there’s little alternative f I’m to continue working in the shadows.’
 
He paused and then added, ‘I don’t suppose I can persuade you to join me there?
 
You would be so very good at it.’

‘Thank you.
 
I already dislike myself quite enough without that.
 
But I wish you luck.
 
I imagine you’ll need it.’

*
 
*
 
*

In the Rue des Rosiers, Sunday – the sixth day of Francis and Ashley’s absence – dragged by on leaden feet.
 
With neither rehearsal nor a performance to distract them, Pauline and Athenais wandered the house like lost souls, nerves churning with an anxiety that they were beyond discussing.

It was Pauline who saw the mud-spattered carriage draw to a halt outside the house.
 
For a moment, she hardly dared hope … then Jem jumped down from the box and she knew.
 

Shouting, ‘Athenais!
 
They’re here.
 
Oh God, they’re finally here!’ she flew into the hall and threw open the door to the street.
 
Then, virtually tumbling down the steps, she looked into Francis’s face and gave an involuntary sob of relief.

He smiled at her and stepped from the coach to catch her in his good arm.

‘Do you know,’ he murmured, ‘that I’m indescribably happy to see you, too?’

Athenais arrived on the scene, scanned the occupants of the carriage and then, ignoring even the stranger with a blindfold round his eyes, said urgently, ‘Francis – where’s Ashley?’

‘He went directly to the Louvre and will be home later, once Jem has joined him and delivered our … guest.’
 
He turned to Cyrano and said, ‘It may not have been undiluted pleasure – but it’s certainly been a privilege.
 
Visit us when you have the time.’

‘I’ll do that.’ The Frenchman glanced briefly at Pauline, now clutching Francis’s coat as if she’d never let go and, with a grin, added, ‘But for now, you shouldn’t keep your lady waiting.’

As the coach rolled away, leaving Athenais staring after it, Pauline drew Francis into the house, saying tersely, ‘You’re hurt and you look terrible.’

‘I daresay.
 
But it’s nothing that won’t mend.’

‘The Colonel said he’d send you home in one piece,’ she complained, steering him to the kitchen in order to determine what needed to be done.
 

‘And he has,’ said Francis, sitting down with a sigh of relief and trying to unlace his coat with one hand.
 
‘We took another nights’ rest because he didn’t consider me fit to travel.
 
More to the point, he put his own body between me and that fellow you saw in the carriage.
 
So --’

‘He did what?’
 
Athenais stood in the doorway, her face pale and set.

‘He’s all right,’ said Francis quickly. ‘A few cuts and bruises … and, like me, in dire need of a bath.
 
But he’s perfectly fine and will be back soon so you can see for yourself.’
 
He didn’t add that, since that night on the quayside, a blanket of reserve had settled over Ashley or that he himself hadn’t tried to penetrate it. If Ashley came home still not comfortable in his own skin, Athenais would see it fast enough.
 
So, abandoning his attempt to unfasten his coat, he turned to Pauline and said, ‘Give me a hand with this, will you? I caught a blade in the same place as at Worcester and it aches like the devil.’