The French Executioner (45 page)

‘My Lords.’ He spoke quietly, but the timbre of his voice was as seductive as ever and the other men leant in to listen. ‘My
Lords, I know something of this hand. I have seen the power it has to ravage men’s minds. If this madman possesses it, he
may have found what he needs to wreak his apocalypse. He may leave you nothing but a city of ashes to recover.’

The words, so softly spoken, seemed to still Gerta’s tears and concentrate the minds of the princes of Church and state.

‘And so, woman, do you bring nothing but this bad news?’ the Landgrave barked at her.

Gerta swallowed nervously. ‘I also bring a way into the city, my Lord. If you will be so good as to take it. A secret way,
that only my family know of. My husband awaits you
on the other side of this passage, and servants will guide you to the city gates to throw them open to your army.’

The Bishop said, ‘And he will be blessed for this, in this kingdom and in the kingdom to come.’

Gerta seemed to have spent her store of courage; but Alice had always been a saucy girl, and her brief flirtation with royalty
had added a boldness unseemly to her years and supposed station. Seeing her mother’s little resolve die away, she continued
for her.

‘My Lords, my father wants something else to seal the bargain. He fears some of your soldiers, in the heat of the sack, might
be … indiscriminate in choosing their victims.’

The Landgrave had been raised to at least aspire to a chivalric code. Here was a woman, and a not unattractive one, pleading
for protection.

‘I will assign one of my officers here to guard you and yours from abuse.’

‘I thank my Lord.’ Alice curtseyed prettily and fixed the older man with the sort of look that had first caught the eye, and
weakened the knee, of an aspirant king. ‘But my father would feel safer if a party of soldiers were sent to convey certain,
uh, possessions we have, back out the same way he lets you in. With your guarantee of their safety.’

Everyone present knew what was being discussed here. The Fugger family’s wealth was legendary. And Philip sensed a way to
reduce some of his own heavy debts to them.

‘My Lady’ – he inclined his head towards her – ‘I am delighted to offer you my personal guarantees. Men will be assigned.
Honest men,’ he added with a glance around at his officers. Holding their eyes, he continued, ‘But which of you, my brave
officers, will have the honour of being our Menelaus, the first Greek to enter this Troy and throw open its gates to us?’

The eyes swiftly found other things to look at. All knew those in the vanguard of such an attack would be the most
vulnerable, and they had all come to respect and fear the viciousness of these visionary defenders.

‘My Lords’ – the soft voice of the Archbishop commanded attention again – ‘we have come here to help in the crushing of God’s
enemies. May I offer the services of my most trusted officer, a good German and defender of the faith? This is work for Heinrich
von Solingen, who, I believe, you may know.’

Most men there had hesitated to regard Heinrich fully in the livid scar that was his face, but Philip of Hesse swallowed and
did it now.

‘I have heard of you,’ he said. ‘Were you not one of Frundsberg’s officers?’

‘I was.’ The cobalt eyes were fixed at a point in the tent’s roof, above the Landgrave’s head.

‘And will you do this for us?’

‘I will.’

Marsheim had concentrated Heinrich’s mind on one objective: to kill the men responsible for his transformation. He would take
Jean Rombaud alive, because his master required it, required from him information about the English queen which Heinrich would
be delighted to extract. Once they had it, the last of the Frenchman’s cat-lives was promised to him. But the Archbishop had
said that the gibbet keeper, the one who had thrown the burning liquid in the dungeon, could be slaughtered immediately –
but that didn’t mean it had to be quick.

God wants me to do this,
he thought.
He has brought me to this place where the witch’s hand is. For where it is
,
there are my enemies. God’s enemies too
,
one and the same.

Januc stayed while the details of the assault were worked out. He heard enough through the rain to know that a diversionary
attack would be made that night on the far side of the city at eleven bells, and that four hundred men would follow Heinrich
down the secret passage one hour later. He would
use his own soldiers, but the majority would be volunteers. Officers might avoid first assaults but men often craved them.
The danger was the greatest there, but so was the opportunity for loot. And loot was the only enticement available now that
the women had left the city.

As the meeting broke up, he slipped from his concealment and made his way to where Haakon and Fenrir crouched in the scant
shelter of a supply wagon.

‘We will volunteer then,’ said the Norseman. ‘Join the assault and so be there to protect Jean when that devil reaches him.’

‘How many times have you fought von Solingen?’ Januc was looking down, scratching Fenrir’s ears.

‘Uh, a few. There was the ambush, that back street in Toulon and, uh, Siena. Well, you know that, you were there.’

‘I was there. But that was a blur of a fight, and he would only have seen me for a moment. Besides’ – he ran his hand over
his dark head – ‘my hair is back, my moustache too. I don’t think he’ll recognise me, under the right helmet. Whereas you
…’

Haakon thrust his chin out. ‘Do you think I’m going to let you go and rescue Jean by yourself? He needs me.’

‘He needs you alive. Think, man. That djinn will know you instantly and what help will you be to Jean with your head rolling
on the ground?’ He put his hand on the other man’s huge forearm. ‘I will go in. Then Jean, the Fugger, Beck, if he’s in there,
and I will all come out and come out fast. That’s when we will need you, you and your axe and our horses to get us away.’

Haakon was silent for a while, scratching at his golden beard. One day in a siege camp and he’d already picked up lice!

‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘We will wait for you, Fenrir and I. But if you are not out by dawn, we will come in and drag
you out by your heels.’

‘I shall pad my breeches in anticipation,’ Januc called over
his shoulder as he went back to their horses and baggage to prepare.

A while later Haakon rejoined him. ‘I have been thinking,’ he said.

‘Allah protect us!’ laughed the janissary, but stopped when he saw his friend’s unsmiling face.

‘I know why I follow the Frenchman, Januc. I have sworn an oath to be loyal to him until our quest is fulfilled. But why are
you still with us? Why do you risk your life in this cause?’

It was a question that had already occurred to the Croatian.

‘Allah wills it. Without him I would not have escaped the galley. So I am bound to him somehow. For now.’

‘For now?’

‘Nothing is for ever, Norseman, as we both know. Causes are lost, loyalties change. It is the mercenary way. For now, my loyalty
is to my comrades. I will not betray you.’

‘Good enough.’ The big man smiled briefly. ‘For now!’

As he watched the huge back moving away from him, Januc let the question play within him for a while. The future, despite
what these Protestants said, was not predestined, that Januc truly believed. It was a sheet of parchment awaiting the imprint
of the scribe’s quill. What was written for now was that he would do his utmost to help Jean escape from the madness that
was Munster. But, finally, he would also help himself. He had often heard the Fugger boast of his family’s wealth. It was
obvious some of that wealth would be coming out of the city this night.

‘Allah guide me,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe there is a way to serve friendship and profit too.’

Jean Rombaud shivered in the corner of the empty wine cellar which served as the earthly gaol of King Jan’s heavenly kingdom.
Makepeace had accompanied the guards that hurled Jean down the stairs, barking insults and commands, as befitted his position;
but at the cell door he had managed to whisper of his return later before throwing Jean some rags to cover his nakedness.
They did barely that, and little to stop the creeping chill – a match for the coldness gathered about the Frenchman’s heart.

He sat in a position dictated by the bonds that had rapidly followed the rags, hands down by his ankles, head resting on his
knees. Yet it wasn’t the constriction that caused him to groan aloud, nor the injuries he had sustained, for the men who had
beaten him were apprentices to the Painmasters’ Guild, the hurt they inflicted superficial. It was the knowledge that Anne’s
hand was again in the grasp of an enemy, once more the focus and subject of a madman’s fantasies.

Far away, he heard a faint rumble which could only be the thunder the day had long threatened. Letting his head sink upon
his knees, he gave into his despair in a way he had not since he first awoke in the gibbet cage. All the joy he’d experienced
in the past months, the companionship of the Fugger – how the thought of him now twisted in his heart! – of
Haakon and Januc, even the love he’d discovered in Beck, all this now appeared as a distraction from his true task.

No one else should have been involved,
he thought.
I should have gone after Cibo alone. Letting people join me? Leading them? It was cowardice. Worse, it was a betrayal of the
only thing I found to be true and alive in a lifetime of lies and death.

Despairing, the only sounds the distant roll of the storm and the steady drip of water down the rough walls, Jean was unaware
of time. A torch flared on the wall outside the cell, flickering light through the bars of the small window set in the door.
But he had seen all he required. Death cells, he had long since discovered, needed little study. Each one was more or less
the same.

He was sure he had not slept overnight, but Makepeace said it was near midday when he returned.

‘You’ve stirred the ants’ nest, my friend, and no mistaking.’ Makepeace had dismissed the guards, loosened Jean’s bonds and
laid out some mouldy hard biscuit and a flagon of brackish water. While Jean ate and drank Makepeace continued. ‘I’ve not
seen ’em all so enthusiastic since the siege began. The ’ymns, the ’allelujahs, the ecstatic visions. ’is Madness-ty ’as got
’em all convinced it’s the sign of deliverance, ’er ’and is.’

Jean kept on eating, giving no comment, so Makepeace hunkered down beside him, pulling some dried meat from his doublet pocket.

‘Last of me rat.’ He gnawed furiously. ‘Difficult to get at any price now. Which means if the rats ’ave gone, time is very
nearly up for this place, despite all the ’osannas and such. Means I’m on me way out, tonight probably.’

He chewed hard for a few moments, looking at Jean, spitting out pieces of gristle. Finally he said, ‘Look, you gotta tell
me, Rombaud. I’ve known some strange souvenirs in our trade. There was that Flemish bloke – Wilkens, Jilkens, something like
that. ’e liked to take an ear from each of ’is
clients. ’ad a bagful of ’em and could remember every name that went with the ’ead they was formerly attached to. Said ’e
was going to stick them on ’is wall when ’e retired. But ’er ’and? Anne Boleyn’s ’and? Only probably the best known appendage
in the world! What was you thinking of?’

Jean put down the biscuit he’d been trying to eat.

‘It is not something I can explain to you. But it is vital that I get the hand back. Will you help me to do that?’

Makepeace whistled between his few teeth. ‘I’d like to, friend. Brotherhood of the sword, and all that. But I’m risking enough
just talking to you ’ere. You know ’ow tyrants get. They think everyone’s plotting against ’em. I plan to lie low, and make
my escape tonight. Look.’ He lifted his ragged shirt. Under it was a leather undershirt and sewn all round it were gold coins.
‘Most expensive armour I ever owned.’ He laughed. ‘Two ’undred and six gold thaler. Should buy me a nice little tavern back
in Southwark.’ His laughter ceased. ‘So, sorry and all. But I’ve too much to lose. You understand?’

Jean nodded. It was best that he was alone anyway.

‘You could tell me what he has planned. This King of yours.’

‘That I can do.’ The Englishman tucked in his shirt. ‘Some sort of ceremony to restore life to Anne’s bones, raise ’er up
from the dead, complete with fiery sword to rain brimstone on ’er enemies and ’asten Armageddon.’ He smiled. ‘You see? I’ve
been ’ere too long. I’ve picked up their way of talking.’

‘And when will this happen?’

‘Midnight, of course. Best time for conjurations, so ’is astrologers tell ’im.’

‘And me? Do I have a role in this pageant?’

For the first time, Makepeace looked uneasy. ‘Yes, well.’ He scratched his chin. ‘’e’s very, uh, Old Testament in his beliefs,
is our King Jan. ’e’ll see your execution as a kind of sacrifice. Doesn’t want me to do it, I thank God. Though maybe you
won’t. ’E’s, uh, planning something else.’

‘But it will be part of the ceremony?’

‘I think so, yes.’ The uneasy look stayed on the Englishman’s face and he leant in closer. ‘Look, I could … I could say you
attacked me, you’d got a weapon and … I ’ad to, uh …’ He pulled a dagger from his sheath. ‘Spare you the pain. Which there
will be. You saw what ’e did to ’is wife.’

Jean stretched his still-cramped limbs. Was it only three and a half months before that the Fugger had offered him the same
swift despatch from a different prison, the gibbet cage? It was as tempting now as it had been then. And yet, had he taken
that offer, his enemies would already have wreaked what harm they could with the hand of Anne Boleyn. His refusal then had
led to this much delay, at the least. And it had given him a glimpse of another kind of love he’d forgotten could exist in
this world.

‘Thank you, but no. I have breath and thus hope.’

‘Not much, I’m afraid.’

‘A little more with that dagger hanging at your side.’