Relics (42 page)

Crunch, crunch. He was going to walk right past me. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Here he comes, I thought. I peeped over the root and saw him step past the nearest tree, short-sword in hand. I did not know his face. He was four strides away. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

I jumped to my feet, but my leg screeched beneath me and I staggered. There he was, right in front of me, frozen in surprise, but as I got my balance he recovered and yelled, swinging at me backhanded with his sword. It whispered past my face, weight carrying it wide. There was a dull twang and the sword flew off and thudded against a tree. The man was looking at me with deep concern in his eyes. The head of a crossbow bolt stood out just above his Adam's apple. Then he gave a whistling sigh and collapsed at my feet.

'Got the cunt! Didn'I?' One of the Balecester boys had the crossbow, then. He was a good shot after all.

Kervezey's voice, tight with rage, gave the man his answer, but I was not listening. I was a bit dizzy with elation and horror. Where had his sword gone? I could use his sword. Then I heard a crashing. I staggered round to see another white figure charging from the shadow of a thicket, sword raised. My first instinct was to lurch towards him, both arms out, and in two trance-like strides we met, both wrong-footed. I missed him with Thorn and just before we rammed faces I saw it was the pig-eyed man. I felt my eyebrow and lip split, and the pommel of his sword come down between my shoulders. I kneed him but missed and lost my balance as my bad leg gave way. I was sliding down his body as he flailed at me with the pommel. Before he could smash my skull I hugged him around the thighs and threw my weight sideways. Now he was off balance too and we crashed to the ground, my right arm pinned beneath him. I tried to turn Thorn in to stab, but he felt it and headbutted me, missing my nose but bludgeoning my split eyebrow. Blood burst over us and through one blurred eye I saw him rear up, pull back his sword and drive it down. I jerked my head away as it sliced my ear, but now he was cursing, trying to pull the long blade back out of the earth. I struck with my right hand and felt Thorn slide through cloth and air. I pulled back and the knife's hilt caught in the torn surcoat and held me fast. He felt it and, still cursing, pushed his left hand over my nose and mouth and bore down with all his weight as he worked the sword loose. In blind terror I kicked my legs and he pushed harder. I was suffocating and choking on my own blood. The sword came out with a jerk. Now my left arm was free, and I felt the haft of the chisel in my hand. As he pulled back with his sword I punched the blunt blade into the side of his head as hard as I could. He went rigid and fell backwards onto my legs, Thorn ripping out of his surcoat. I lay there sucking great racking breaths into me until I had the strength to drag myself free. As I did, one of his legs shot out and kicked convulsively. I scrambled back against the tree. The other leg jerked and, like something from the very farthest corner of a nightmare, he sat up and stared full at me. His once piggy eyes were bulging and glassy. Blood welled from them like tears and ran in thick cords from his nose. His mouth drooped as if pulled down on one side by an invisible finger. The haft of the chisel stuck out from the side of his head like the handle of a chafing pot. I cried out, but no sound came. He lurched to his feet and tottered, on stiff legs, to stand a few feet away, hands hanging uselessly, head slightly raised, as if he heard something in the trees.

'James! By the Baptist's wrinkled balls, what are you doing?'

Kervezey's voice shook me free of numbness. I dimly thought to shove Thorn into my boot before I was off, running — half hopping, half flailing like a madman - through the grove and onto the hillside beyond. I was well past caring who followed.

'There he goes!' It was Tom this time.

A bolt sighed past, and floated out into space over the sea. It was dawn now, and Hrinos was glowing pink. There was the place where I had climbed up onto the ridge. Another bolt rattled at my feet and made me glance down. Instantly I lost my balance and sprawled. I tried to stand but this time the wounded leg had stopped working. I could see the edge of the slope. I began to crawl, arm over arm, dragging the useless leg. Voices and footfalls were coming up fast. I was almost there. It was too late. There was turmoil all about. Someone kicked me hard in the stomach and rolled me over.

There was a ring of faces above me. Tom and the other man from last afternoon. Two others, shaven-headed Balecester men. And a slight man, with dark hair and a jutting beard, and one slate-grey eye.

What have we here?' drawled Sir Hugh de Kervezey.

'It's a bloody blackamoor!' spat one of the men.

Wipe his face,' ordered Kervezey.

Hard hands grabbed my hair, and Tom's companion spat in my face and rubbed, cursing as his palms came away black. He spat again and ground the warm spittle into my cheek.

'Fuck me, it's the lord from yesterday,' he croaked, drawing back in shock. Kervezey squatted down at my head and cocked his good eye at me like a great falcon.

'This is Lord Arenberg? I do not think so. Get him up.'

The man who had wiped my face caught me under the shoulders and dragged me to my feet. I felt like a dead bird in his grip. Kervezey pulled out a silk kerchief and rubbed off the last of the lamp-black.

Well met, Petroc of Auneford,' said Kervezey.

Now I could see his face properly. His right eye, where Saint Euphemia had stuck her finger, was sewn shut. But the left one had me pinned.

'Sir Hugh,' I said.

'It seems I taught you well,' he went on. 'If I had but realised you had such talent as a thief I would have kept you on. But now you lift coffin lids for Monsieur Jean de Sol. And you did a very nice job for us back there.'

'Thank you.'

'Ah, yes, and thank
you,
Petroc, for doing the truly blasphemous work for me, just like before. I don't really like pinching things from off the altar, you know. But you, on the other hand: no such qualms. I have the relic. But I also have business with Jean de Sol.'

'Of what nature?'

You
have
changed, Petroc. The nature of my business with Monsieur de Sol does not concern you.'

'But I know your business. I know who you are. I know what you want.'

You know who I am?'

You are the Bishop's bastard. And you are as greedy as that fat pig your father. You schemed to catch the man you call Jean de Sol for his wealth and for his business. You meant to trap him at Dartmouth, with me as bait. Now it seems you have failed to do so here.'

He had flinched at the word 'bastard', and I could see he was mastering his anger with difficulty.

'Not at all. The trap is already sprung. You played your hand early, but meanwhile we were watching you from the mountain top. Now I have the saint, and I am about to take your ship. Show him.'

I was yanked around to face the sea. There was the
Cormaran,
far below. She had put out from Hrinos and was half-way across the channel. And there, coming up fast from the south, a narrow craft like a giant water-boatman scurried on long banks of oars towards her.

'A galley. Very fast. Built in Venice and better in these waters than de Sol's barge. And a good English crew.'

I was too tired for this nonsense, and I was not scared any more. There was nothing left of me save hatred and contempt for the man who was making sport of the last minutes of my life. Perhaps if I taunted him back he would finish this.

"Yes, they've served you well so far. Your crossbowman made a miraculous shot in the wood.'

The man who held me jerked my arms almost out of their sockets. Kervezey winced. 'Poor Wynn. We had to finish James off too, you know. He was a standing corpse - still breathing. I made Tom do it. He needed some blood on his hands, that boy. But you are right. When I take the good monsieur's ship I will have his secrets, and his cargo, and his expert crew. I had even hoped to have his best thief, but that seems to be you and unfortunately I have long had other plans for Master Petroc.'

'I'm sure I can guess what they are. Please make it quick.'

'Oh no, I wouldn't dream of it. You have led me a merry dance, monklet. First Dartmouth, then Bordeaux, then Pisa. Did your friend - it
was
William of Morpeth I struck, was it not? I am a tolerably better shot than Fulke here - did he live? No matter. You are the one with the debt to pay. You owe me an eye, first and foremost. I will take it, and then its fellow. Then, I think, you will come with me to where I can winkle all the useful knowledge from you. If there is anything left of you after that, well yes, I might make it quick then. But for now, watch.'

You did not have to kill William.'

'No, I did not
have
to.' He sounded peevish. 'I could have shot you instead. Or old brother skin-and-bones, or indeed the Frenchman. But I was angry with William. I gave him his life, and he turned on me. Not a hard choice, in the end . . . And a killing shot, I gather! Now shut your mouth and watch.'

He put his arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear. 'See how my ship is gaining on de Sol? We will ram him and board him, and then we shall stroll down to the beach and deal with your friends. I would like you to watch with one eye at least.'

It was quite beautiful, the two boats like toys on the perfect water. Kervezey was right: his galley was faster than the
Cormaran.
It would catch them amidships any second. The men around me were craning their necks, and the thug's grip on my arms went slack for a moment. His hot breath played on my neck and I felt a sudden burst of hot anger. Every nasty trick I had reluctantly learned from Horst and Dimitri unfurled before my mind's eye like illuminations on a page, and surrendering myself to them I slammed my head back into his face. He gasped and let go. From the corner of my eye I saw Kervezey reaching for something, a knife surely, and with all my might I threw myself at him. We hovered for a long moment above the sea and then went over the edge together.

For an instant we were weightless, and then my bum hit gravel and we were sliding feet first down the almost sheer hillside, crashing through scrub. I could see a goat path below. We reached it, and the impact stood me upright for a moment. Kervezey had broken free but we were plunging down again, rolling this time. Then another path, and a big bush caught me. I lay on my back, the sky impossibly lovely overhead, and saw that Tom and the other men were dropping towards me like angels cast out of heaven, wreathed in dust and flying pebbles. I couldn't see Kervezey. Forcing myself through the thorny twigs I set off again, leaping down the scree, trying to land on my good leg. I could see the white of the cove down there, so near. Another goat path. I landed wrong on my wounded leg and it crumpled. I could hear clattering just above me and hurled myself over the edge. I tumbled, out of all control. Then an arm caught me round the neck and there were two dead weights hurtling through space, through a chaos of whirling sky, sea, rocks and leaves. I tried to fend the man off and caught hold of his collar. His face came round and it was Kervezey. Then we were lost again. I heard voices above and below us, muffled and lurching like music heard from a distant room. My head banged against something firm. A man's leg: I saw red garters crossed over white cloth flash past, then another pair of legs in green boots. Zianni was proud of his boots. We bounced, flew and crashed down again. I felt myself fly clear of Kervezey's grip. The sky flared silver and went out.

It was a scent that brought me back, sweet but stinging and distantly familiar. I opened my eyes. I was lying under a big bush with grey leaves. Small pink flowers with yellow throats shone about me. I could not place the smell, but it made me happy and I smiled, split lips leaking blood into my dry mouth. Then I felt round cobbles beneath me. I was on the beach. I sat up. My head was ringing and one ear was plugged with blood, but above me I could hear shouting and the peal of sword against sword. I looked up: a body was rolling wildly towards me. Slack limbs flailing, it fetched up against a boulder and lay still, shaven head at a grotesque angle. The duelling men were wreathed in dust and too far away to make out faces, but as I watched two of them crashed together and fell, and only one rose. I could not lie here and watch my friends fight for their lives, so I began to crawl back up the path. Then I remembered the ships and looked back. Between me and the water a ragged shape limped towards me. I saw the delicate, bloodied lips and one grey eye gleaming through a mask of white dust.

Kervezey reached behind his back and drew a dagger, a long, thin poignard. He held it loosely in front of him, hefting it as though guessing its weight. He was favouring his right leg, but he could still smile.

'Come here, Petroc,' he said. 'Come here! You can't get away. Time to pay up.'

I fumbled in my boot and pulled out Thorn. Kervezey's eye widened.

'Shauk! So you stole my knife as well, you little shit. Give her back.'

Blood from my nose was leaking into my mouth. The saltiness was reviving. I spat and wiped my face with the back of my knife hand.

'This is my knife. If you want her, take her!'

I hurled the words at him, and he lunged. I was barely upright, leaning against the sheer side of the path, and rolled out of his way. I pushed off and staggered down the pebbles. At least my leg was locked straight. Kervezey had spun round and the poignard was pointing at my face.

Your eye, boy, your eye,' he chanted. His knife, thin as a spear of grass, was dancing in the light. He lunged again and I caught the blade with my own and turned it, tottering backwards and slashing at him as he went past. Thorn cut a dark swathe through dust-pale cloth.

You've kept her sharp for me,' Kervezey croaked. His blade was cutting little circles in the air between us. 'Ha!' He feinted, and as I flinched he laughed. You've given me good sport and led me to my prize. Should I forgive you my eye, Petroc? Forgiveness! What did your priestly studies tell you about that, eh? Eh?'