Son of the Morning (59 page)

‘Brittany has not declared herself in this war. Brest is a neutral port, lord,’ reminded Morley,

‘Not any more,’ said Edward, ‘And speed up the wool collection.’

No one could meet the king’s eyes.

‘What?’ said Edward.

‘The wool collection itself is failing. It’s not a matter of efficiency. We’re meeting resistance.’

‘What resistance?’

Neither of the nobles wanted to speak.

‘You – Jollibois – tell me.’

‘There is real fear the wool levy will spark a civil war.’

‘How so?’

‘Men are openly defiant and the poorer sort are preaching a new heresy. Revolution. The upending of God’s order. They would make kings paupers and paupers kings.’

‘Society could not exist that way. They depend on us for each breath they take. The poor owe us everything. Who owns the lands they till? Who protects them in war and prays for them in peace? This is ingratitude.’

‘It’s worse.’ Henry had a shoulder bag. He opened it and shook its contents onto the chest. Edward sank to his knees to examine them more clearly. On the top of the chest lay the body of a demon – a mottled green and black, no bigger than a rat but with folded wings and a horned head. It had a big wound in its belly, going through to its back.

‘What is this?’ said Edward.

‘The people call them whisperers,’ said Henry. ‘It’s a whispering demon.’

‘Explain yourself.’

‘These are behind the sedition – well, them and few mad marketplace yammerers. They’ve been turning up all over the place. We’ve reports of many in London. They creep to the beds of the poor at night and whisper lies in their ears. There was a swarm of them over Shoreditch.’

‘Are they believed?’

‘To some degree. Yes.’

‘What do they say?’

‘That Lucifer is Lord of Creation, God the usurper. Christ was Lucifer come to earth – his memory tarnished and stolen by God.’

Edward crossed himself. ‘Ridiculous.’

‘But stopping our supply of funds. The poor have little wool and need no incentive to hold on to it. But this doctrine has sympathy among some of the lower merchants and the disobedience of low men emboldens those above them.’

‘How was this killed?’ He went to prod the creature but drew back his finger, unsure if it was safe to touch.

‘It came to the servant of Sir Geoffrey Cheynes while she was bathing in the river at evening. Sir Geoffrey was watching the girl from a vantage point – as any noble man has the right to check on his vassals.’

‘Quite,’ said Jollibois.

‘He went away and got his bow, dipped the arrow in oil from the tomb of St Olaf, came back and shot it.’

‘How did he get so good at using a villein’s weapon?’

‘Sir Geoffrey has always enjoyed his … associations with the families of his tenants. Particularly their daughters. As a young man I believe he spent a lot of time, er, in congress with the poor.’

‘Did the girl reveal what it was saying?’

‘As I said, that Lucifer made the world, God is an impostor. That they must oppose their lords.’

‘She couldn’t believe a foul creature like this.’

‘Perhaps not. But many do. When the Genoese mariners rebelled at Boulogne last year, this is what was behind it. Their leader Boccanegra may not believe this cant, but he knows how to exploit it. He now rules Genoa and its ancient families are dispossessed of their time-honoured right to power.’

‘Why was I not told?’

‘People feared to tell you, sir. I only just discovered this myself,’ said Jollibois.

‘Liar,’ said Edward.

Jollibois, already crouching because of the height of the cabin, stooped a little further.

Edward thought of the angel. He had promised France to Free Hell. Other deals must have been made with other kings, he knew full well. Were the demons calling in their debts, moving into
his
country? That wouldn’t happen without a fight. Edward almost found the body of the little demon reassuring. They could be opposed and killed. With the angel beside him he was in a very different bargaining position. He’d made an oath, but it had been established by the edict of many popes on many crusades that an oath to an unbeliever meant nothing. How much less an oath to an actual demon?

He could take France, or as much of it as he could, and he could defeat Free Hell when it came to collect its debt. His deal with the demons had only been struck for lack of angels. With the Ophanim turning its great wheels above his mast, things were different.

‘One more day at Sluys,’ he said, ‘and then we march to Ghent to rally the German princes and the Flemish commoners. Then it’s down the Scheldt to Tournai. Let’s see if Philip will find his angels, or his balls.’

‘We’ve no money to pay the men, sir.’

‘Pay them in promises.’

He pointed at the little body of the demon. ‘Throw that over the side,’ he said. ‘Now let’s go to war.’

22

‘You are a rare seamstress, mother.’

‘I always had a hand for it, my darling. Of all my sisters I handle a needle the best.’

Joan sat opposite her son in the solar at the top of the Great Hall. The boy looked out of the window over the city as his mother sewed Nergal’s head back on to his shoulders. As she worked, the devil ate. He had a great number of candles in a box at his feet, one burning on a table to his side. He lit a fresh candle from the box, bit off its flaming tip, lit it again, bit again until he had eaten it entire. Then Joan paused in her sewing and he bent stiffly to the box and took out another to begin the process again.

‘I am so cold,’ Nergal said. ‘And my head is still floppy on my shoulders.’

‘Be thankful I managed anything at all,’ said Joan. ‘If you avoid sudden movements you should not come to harm.’ She finished sewing and tied off the thread. ‘And here, I sent for this. It’s adjustable to your size.’

She took an iron collar out of a bag. It had a key on the side to tighten it.

‘It’s really an instrument of torture’ said Joan, ‘but it should keep your head from waggling too much.’

She put the collar on the demon’s neck and snapped it shut.

‘I’ll leave you to tighten it,’ said Joan. ‘I’m afraid the service doesn’t extend that far.’

The devil gave a glum nod and tentatively turned the screw on the collar.

‘I’ll be interested to see old Philip’s face when he sees the state of his Sainte-Chapelle,’ said Charles. ‘They won’t be calling any more angels in there for a while.’

‘All the heat went out of me,’ said Nergal, chewing on a candle. ‘I wonder if my fire will ever rekindle. You’ll be lucky if King Philip doesn’t blame you. I’m in no state to protect you.’

‘I don’t need your protection, Nergal,’ said Charles, ‘and I am beginning to think you do not have such an elevated position in Hell as you have claimed. Ambassador? Perhaps. Servant more like. Those other devils showed you no respect.’

‘I am among the foremost devils of Hell’s first gate!’ said Nergal.

‘“Among”,’ said Charles as if holding the word at arm’s length like a rancid kipper. ‘Well, I am the only prince of Navarre, doubly royal, wrongly denied!’

‘It won’t do you any good if Philip decides you’re responsible for the death of the angel,’ said Nergal.

‘I’ve written him a letter explaining the lamentable events,’ said Joan. ‘Montagu was a sorcerer. Who would have thought it? A spy sent to murder our dear brother king’s main angel. Those Flemings who brought him here should be punished.’

‘Will the lie work?’ said Charles. ‘He is certain to go to his other angels now. Do you think they will reveal anything to him?’

‘I don’t know. They are not all-knowing and cannot read minds as far as I’ve ever been able to tell. The angel did not foresee its own death.’

‘And yet it said I would never be king of France.’

‘Perhaps it was expressing a wish, rather than making a prophecy,’ said Nergal. ‘They see a lot, but only God sees everything. Or perhaps it was lying. By telling you you’ll never be king of France then it might have hoped you would give up all ambition.’ His face was deathly pale.

‘Perhaps!’ said Charles. The thought evidently cheered him greatly, because he sprang up from his chair with a clap of hands to pour himself a cup of watered wine.

‘If the angels are our enemies then we need more devils,’ said Charles. ‘They’re better than angels anyway. At least they talk sense most of the time. Imagine an army of the things breathing fire, spearing and stabbing. Men would run like rabbits from a dog.’

‘Can we negotiate with Hell still?’

‘We need to open a postern gate, but the only one I know about is on that pardoner’s belly,’ said Nergal, in the manner of a sick aunt calling for a tonic. ‘There is another, I’m sure.’

‘How are you sure?’ said Charles.

‘I saw an ambassador of the second gate at the Châtelet.’

‘What ambassador?’

‘Lord Sloth,’ said Nergal. ‘He has the ear of Satan himself.’

‘Sloth? We don’t want a lazy devil,’ said Charles.

‘He is very energetic,’ said Nergal. ‘He made a specialty of punishing sloth in Hell and, through hard work and diligence, he was given responsibility for many more sins. He is well trusted in Hell.’

A look of great pain descended onto the boy’s face. ‘Mama, there are greater devils than this one in the world. I should be treating with them, not this wretch.’

‘Of course you should, Charles. Devil, reveal this other ambassador’s whereabouts.’

‘He’s gone to England,’ said Nergal. ‘He may even be there by now.’

‘For what?’

‘I don’t know. You would have thought I was ambassador enough. Have I not proved myself? I should be sent to the king.’ Nergal adjusted the screw on his collar and winced.

‘Do you mean to say he’ll be dealing with Edward?’

‘Very possibly. He’s your ally, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but as such we want him weaker than us,’ said Joan, ‘not recruiting his own army of devils.’

The devil looked about him, indicating that he couldn’t see an army.

‘Well, you have to start somewhere,’ said Joan, ‘no matter how unpromising that beginning may seem. How might we strike a bargain with Hell?’

‘You’d need to open a gate. And then you’d need to bargain. Hell would be more favourably disposed to you if you
had
killed the boy. Why did you not?’

‘Six devils couldn’t do it,’ said Charles. ‘What makes you think I could have?’

‘You could have ordered him detained until a way to kill him could be found.’

‘I could have. But then you devils would know where he was and wouldn’t have to bargain with me to find out. It’s easier to deal with you when I have something you want. I know where he’s going.’

‘Where?’ said the devil.

‘Never you mind.’ Charles tapped his nose. ‘You come up with more devils to serve us, then we’ll talk about killing your boy. Can’t see why he frightens you so myself.’

‘He killed three devils!’ said Nergal.

Charles shrugged. ‘He didn’t do me any harm.’

‘But how shall we summon more devils?’ said Joan.

‘Did not Aunt Isabella have something of that art?’

Joan crossed herself. ‘Who told you that?’

‘You did. In as many words. You said that when the king of France denied her angels she found help elsewhere.’

‘So I did. I don’t know what she did, but it would be worth talking to her. The English obviously fear her or he wouldn’t lock her away so. Whatever she did is no use to us. We can’t get a message in or out of there.’

‘Use the angel feathers,’ said Nergal.

‘How?’ said Charles.

‘Sew them into a cloak. I know it can be done, I’ve heard tell of it before.’

‘What good will that do?’ said Joan.

‘You will fly as an angel flies,’ said Nergal. ‘You would simply think of her and arrive at her side.’

‘Just her?’ said Charles.

‘Anyone,’ said Nergal.

‘So I could arrive in the bedroom of a sleeping king at midnight, cut his throat and fly away?’ said Charles.

‘Yes,’ said Nergal.

‘Oh mama,’ said Charles, ‘do send for more thread.’

23

The pardoner had drunk a good bellyful of wine obtained from a farmer and had to rise to piss. He had no idea where he was – east somewhere with the boy and the foreigner. He had contemplated cutting and running at Paris but the boy was not yet dead. What would that mean for him, should he find himself in Hell again? Devils had failed to kill the child but then the best place for a Satanic attack was not under the nose of an archangel. Would Despenser blame him for that? Of course, but then Despenser wasn’t the sort who depended on blaming someone to torment them. Osbert was sure the lord was just as capable of torturing people he knew to be wholly innocent as those guilty as Judas himself.

He pulled the bloody tapestry about him, for warmth as much as the protection the angel blood would bring. Montagu had been clever making off with the holy lance and sword but not clever enough to grab the blood-soaked tapestry.

Vague spiritual thoughts troubled the pardoner’s mind as he relieved himself in the wood near their little camp. This good hard piss was the first chance for reflection he’d had since he’d been to Hell and, despite the drink, he was thinking about the afterlife.

Everything he’d heard from Despenser had tallied with everything he had heard from the boy Dow. Free cities in Hell, Satan a different being from Lucifer, devils as prison guards, demons as prisoners. Well, did that mean the boy was right? Not necessarily. Not about who was going to win, anyway. If God had usurped Lucifer, if devils did torment demons and lost souls, surely it was better to be on the side of God? The pardoner did not see the world in terms of right and wrong as much as profit and loss. Largely loss in his business career.

This left him with the severe problem of pleasing God – or at least his appointed servants, such as Despenser. Was a bid for Heaven impossible? He reached inside his tunic and squeezed the little bottle he’d stolen in the barn. He’d deserved that for all the work he’d done. Damned or saved he might turn a few coins out of that. In another life he might be happy here. It was a mild summer dawn; the promise of heat stirring the trees; the smell of the embers of the camp fire drifting across; the horses the mercenary had obtained for himself and the boy – though notably not for Osbert – breathing and blowing, blackbirds singing up the sun. If only he weren’t a mandated assassin of Hell life would be bearable.