Dacre's War (12 page)

‘Crozier’s Keep,’ Barton replied, moving a wad of dried beef to the other cheek.

‘On what business?’

‘That’s for Crozier’s ears, no yours, lad.’ Barton kicked his horse on, and Hob was obliged to fall back. Some minutes later he and the limping mare caught up, Barton having reached the gatehouse and its suspicious guards.

With a backward look at the stranger, who returned his stare with a yawn, Hob led the mare into the keep. The guards were calling for Crozier, leaving Barton to warm his hands at the brazier that lit the gate, its glow his only welcome.

Louise looked at the man who stood before her. He had been stripped of his sword and knife, but she gathered her shawl as if feeling a chill. She forced a smile, but did not offer her hand. Barton bowed, so clumsy a gesture it was obviously rare. He too smiled, but the effect was cheerless.

He brought with him the tang of the German Sea, its open skies and salted winds written on his chapped, chestnut face. Son of one of her father’s seafaring cousins, he had the barrel build and square jaw of all the Barton clan. The smell of his oiled cape brought Louise’s father into the room, his face alight with merriment, as it so often had been when she was a girl.

She gestured to the servant by the door, who took Barton’s cloak and hat. His garb was no grubbier than any traveller’s, but when she looked closer she saw a brand of puckered livid skin on his neck, ill concealed by his ponytail. A piece of string bearing a silver crucifix was tucked into his shirt, though his look was not that of a godly man, more one who tempts the fates. As a child she had heard about his branch of the family. They had rarely met, her mother Madame Brenier disapproving of the fisher Bartons, who were poor and, to her mind, rough. For once, her genial husband agreed. Nothing was ever said, but it was understood that their relatives from lower Leith were trouble. Also trouble, but far from poor, were the merchant Bartons, who were hand in glove with the king. They were not just rough but vicious, but for them, with their feathered hats and golden rings, Madame was prepared to open her doors.

As Barton bowed, his ribboned hair curling around his shoulder like a rat’s tail, Crozier moved closer to Louise’s side. Their eyes did not meet, but they sensed each other’s unease.

‘Your cousin, ma’am,’ said Barton, spreading his hands as if baring his soul for her to examine. ‘Auld Jock’s youngest. I remember ye well, though from the look on your face, you think you’ve never seen me afore.’

‘I believe you,’ said Louise. ‘I have so many cousins, it’s no surprise I don’t recall them all. Please,’ she gestured, ‘have a seat.’ She spoke again to the servant, and shortly a platter of bread and cheese was laid by the fire, with a jug of ale to follow. In the next half hour, from his place on the bench, Barton’s eyes strayed often towards the hearth, but he understood what was first required of him. It was as well he had eaten before leaving the tavern that morning.

‘What brings you to us?’ asked Crozier. ‘You’re a long way from your usual haunts.’

The sailor gave a sheepish grin. ‘If you’d not been so hellish landlocked down here, I might have claimed I’d been shipwrecked. But it’ll have to be the truth, ugly though it is.’ He rubbed his oilskin knees. ‘As you can no doubt see, I’ve had my run-ins with the law.’ He twisted to allow them a better view of the stamp on his neck. ‘I’m no proud of that, but it’s what happens when you make your living from the high seas, where the rules are nae like those on dry land. Then, last spring, when we sailed back into Leith from Dieppe, my captain’s ship was impounded, and all us crew thrown intae gaol. We were accused of thieving from the French, of sinking merchant ships to fill our own. No true, of course, but try telling that tae the judge as he locks you away for ten year. Onyways, there was a pardon of sorts for most of us. We were let out of gaol early, I do not know why. A sudden burst of remorse, perhaps, or mibbe they needed space for real criminals. I couldnae say. All I know is, we got out on one condition: we were never to return to the city, nor set foot again on a ship.’

His eyes were empty of feeling as he spoke. ‘In some ways, I wish they’d just hanged me and been done. What life can I have now, without the sea? I’m good for nothing else . . .’ He shook his head with a dry laugh. ‘Well, almost nothing. But I’m strong. I can use an axe, build a wall, or even plough a field, if I’m shown.’

He fixed Crozier with his stare. ‘This comes hard, man, but I’m begging here. Take me in, and you’ll no regret it. Work me all day and half the night, and I’ll no complain. Just gie me a berth.’ Drawing a deep breath, he stared between his boots, and slowly let out a sigh. ‘I knew what a kindly man your father was, ma’am, God bless his soul. I could think of nowhere better to go.’

Louise looked at Crozier, who nodded. She rose. ‘I will have Hob make a bed for you in the outhouse, with the other men. Please, cousin, eat your fill.’ Her skirts swept the floor as she crossed the hall.

Crozier stood staring down at the seated man, his hair so lank it too looked waterproofed. ‘You can stay until you are back on your feet,’ he said. ‘My brother will find work for you. There’s more than enough do be done.’

Barton rose, and held out his hand. Crozier gripped it hard. ‘Mind this well,’ he added. ‘I can tell the difference between the wronged and the rotten. Your past is your past, but if you bring it here, you won’t last long.’

Hand burning from the borderer’s hold, the sailor straightened. ‘Aye, aye, cap’n,’ he said, his eyes alive at last.

In their chamber, the Croziers lay staring at the blackened beams above their bed. The place was quiet, all asleep but the guards. Down the valley, a dog barked. Night closed in around the keep as the couple doused their rushlights. They drew the bearskin up to their chins, and Crozier put his arm round his wife. Neither was in the mood for sleep. ‘What does he want?’ Louise said, speaking low. ‘Did you believe him? He has the sleekit face of someone who’s telling lies, and thinks you’re too stupid to know.’

‘He’s not an honest man, whatever else he is,’ Crozier replied. ‘I trust him as little as you. Could be he is only fallen on hard times, as he says, but his arrival is curious. It seems remarkable that no sooner have I approached Ogle, Ellarcar, and the rest, than he suddenly appears.’

‘They sent him?’

The straw-filled bolster rustled as Crozier shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps. It makes no sense, but the man is not here for work, I’d lay money on that.’

‘What do we do?’ Louise’s voice was tight. The sight of Barton had brought back memories of her father’s corpse, laid out on the family table, killed as he and his pirate cousins tried to climb aboard a Portuguese merchant ship. It was the first she had known of his other life, and it sickened her now, as it had then. Barton brought that misery back to life. Worse, his arrival promised more of it.

Crozier kissed the top of her head. ‘We watch every step he makes. Don’t be afraid, you will be quite safe. He knows my eye is on him. But first, my love, we sleep. It is late.’

Louise turned in his arms, and ran a hand down his chest. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘First this.’

Lord Ogle of Bothal had received Crozier in the entrance hall of his drab Norman castle, making it plain that such a visitor would not be shown farther. At his back stood his armed guard, a burly threesome with the blank faces of men who carry out orders, whatever they be. It was late morning, but the castle was dim. When the high doors closed behind Crozier and Tom, birdsong died along with the light.

‘Your message was cryptic, Crozier,’ said Ogle, his words like a drumroll under his Northumbrian tongue. ‘You said we might work together, to bring peace to these parts. I am interested to know what you meant by that.’

Crozier nodded towards the guards. ‘I will speak to you only in private, not before a public gallery.’

Ogle’s face hardened. He gave but never received commands. This Scottish chief had no title, was no lord, but acted as if he were born of noble blood.

The silence lengthened, and Crozier drew on his gloves. ‘Very well,’ he said, preparing to leave. Ogle jerked his head at his men, and they marched off down the passageway with a clatter of steel-capped boots. His lordship, unused to being without his guard, touched a hand to the dagger in his belt.

‘We can talk here,’ he said, taking a seat on the stone bench that ran the length of the hall. Crozier sat some feet from him, but Tom stood. Three crows on a perch were too many.

‘From what I’ve heard of you and your men, this sort of visit is rare,’ said Ogle. ‘Usually, they say, you come knocking with your swords drawn, and the head of your latest victim in your hand, as if it were a hanselling gift.’

‘I had not imagined you to be a man who would listen to gossip,’ said Crozier, with a hint of scorn.

Ogle gave an unconvincing laugh, as if his mind was elsewhere. ‘Even so, unsure as you must be of your reception, your coming here is reckless, young man. Scots of your kind are more usually found swinging from Redesdale oaks than in polite conversation with the likes of me.’ There was a swagger in his lordship’s voice, the sound of a man uncertain of the situation he found himself in. ‘But I presume you are well aware of the risks. You must deem them worth it. So explain yourself, and fast.’

Crozier swallowed before trusting himself to speak. When he did, his voice was cold but calm. ‘I come about the Warden General, the Baron Dacre. It is well known you and many others have legitimate cause for complaint and redress against him. Yet none of you speaks. None dares raise his voice for fear of what Dacre could do.’

Ogle looked at him, but said nothing.

‘It is Dacre who makes much of the trouble along this border,’ Crozier continued. ‘It is his hidden allies, his private army of thugs, who destroy the people’s lands and steal their cattle, passing half the proceeds into his hands. Dacre claims he is a man of justice, but his courts make a mockery of the law. He is as much an enemy to his own people as to us Scots. More so, perhaps, since he’s like a raven pretending to be a wren.’

He leaned forward, growing urgent. ‘If Dacre was removed, my lord, this dale, and all the others around the border, could flourish once more. All it would take is a band of honest men to persuade your king that the baron is a cheat and a rogue. Even Dacre could not defend himself against the word of Henry’s highest-born subjects in the north.’

Ogle’s face began to redden, though whether with interest or anger it was difficult to tell.

The borderer pressed on. ‘I am offering to find out how many are willing to testify against Dacre. I will tell no one who the others are until I have their written deposition, and permission. It is not a selfless act, as you will have guessed. I have my own reasons to wish Dacre’s rule ended, but however glad I will be to see him brought to heel, the benefit for all the country, on your side of the border and on mine, will outweigh any private scores it may also settle.’

Ogle got to his feet, and Crozier with him. ‘I called you reckless,’ the lord said softly, ‘but I should have said unhinged. You are mad, to speak so to a man of my standing. Were even a word of this meeting to get out, Dacre could have my lands impounded, my heirs dispossessed.’ His eyes narrowed, and he gave a hiss of contempt. ‘You ask me to pit myself against the king’s man, for a filthy, grasping, power-hungry chieftain who is not worth a hair on Dacre’s head.’ He took a step towards Crozier, hands shaking, voice rising. ‘Damn your eyes, the pair of you. May the rooks pick them out like winkles when they are sitting on spikes on the border crossing – as I promise you, they will be one day.’

Crozier and Tom backed swiftly towards the doors. ‘Guards!’ yelled Ogle, bringing his men running into the hall with the sound of drawn swords. Before the advance of bristling steel they made their exit, Ogle’s roars following them, as did the stumbling guards. Reaching their horses by the trees, they leapt into the saddle and whipped them down the track.

Three days later, a messenger stood at Crozier’s gate. A small, redhaired lad from Redesdale, his fingers trembled as he gave the sweated paper into the gatekeeper’s hand. ‘He begs a reply,’ he said, but so quietly he doubted the guard had heard.

‘Wants an answer,’ said the keeper, passing note and message to a servant, who delivered both to Crozier, polishing hunting horns in the hall. The seal was unstamped and the letter unsigned, but the borderer knew, before he read it, who it was from.

Even the rats in Redesdale have ears,
it read, in a staccato hand, as if the words were also in disguise.
Find one good man willing to put his name to this matter, and I too will join you. I believe you are to be trusted.

Crozier tucked the letter into his belt. ‘Tell the messenger his lordship will be hearing from me before the year is out.’

He went back to his polishing, the row of horns gleaming storm grey and silver under his cloth. The charade in Ogle’s castle began to make sense. At the time, the borderer had been confused as well as angry. His lordship had received Crozier’s message the day before. Had he wished them not to meet, his guards would have turned him back long before he reached the castle doors. Ogle had thus wanted either to ambush him, or to hear what he had to say. Their escape told its own story. It would have been a simple matter for Ogle to send his men in pursuit, yet there had not been a single man at the castle gate to stop them as they fled.

Crozier’s expression was thoughtful. What had at first seemed like dross was now proved to be gold. A faint smile brightened his face. Tonight he was headed for Chillingham, on the border, where the chamberlain of Berwick was to be found. Ellarcar was known to be a loyal but shrewd servant of the crown. Like Ogle, he had a zealot of a son, who might make Crozier’s task more difficult. Crozier had been glad the younger Ogle had not been present, though it now seemed likely the mummery he had witnessed had been for the son’s sake, a tale to be passed from eavesdropping servants to a young man whose view of the world was more clear-cut and less far-sighted than his father’s.