The fugitives sword, p.6
The Fugitive's Sword, page 6
part #1 of Lord's Learning Series
Xenie greeted her with obvious relief.
“There is a man here from the Duke of Buckingham demanding to see her ladyship,” she explained. “He said if he is not permitted then the duke himself or his lady mother, the countess will come by. It seems that someone has told the duke that the viscountess is away secretly, and he has sent to check up on her.”
That was not hard to fathom. Clearly Buckingham would have his own people planted in Frances’ household and whilst only her most trusted would know where she had gone and why, it would be difficult to keep the fact of her absence secret—and the leaving of her usual coach at an inn would not have escaped notice. But her ladyship was fully entitled to park her coach and coachmen at a London inn if she wished.
“Where is this man and who is he?” Kate asked. If it was a servant, she might be able to browbeat him, but somehow she doubted Buckingham would have sent someone who could be so easily dismissed.
“His name is Sir James Coomber,” Xenie told her, “He is one of Buckingham’s creatures. The servants have told him that her ladyship is indisposed today and will not receive anyone.”
Kate started removing her disguise at once. It seemed that her own presence at Denmark House would not be able to remain a secret as she had hoped. But then, as Xenie turned to find the clothes for her mistress, Kate had a sudden inspiration.
“You know, from a distance your hair colour and height are very similar to Viscountess Purbeck’s.”
Xenie turned back quickly, her eyes widening.
“That may be true, my lady, but close to…?”
Kate smiled. “It need not be close to. It can be at a safe distance. I will need to find one of her ladyship’s dresses. We will have to make sure Sir James is briefly distracted. As soon as I am changed…”
It took more than a little organisation, but she ensured that Sir James was informed that her ladyship was highly distressed because of the death of one of her favourite lap dogs and would not see anyone that day as a result.
Meanwhile Xenie, clad in a dress much favoured by Frances, was walking very visibly in the private garden. With her were Kate and two of Frances’ maidservants, bundled in cloaks against the cold breeze. Under the cover of adjusting the hood of her cloak, Kate was able to glance up at the window of the room where Sir James had been taken. She was not certain, but she thought she caught a glimpse of him standing there, observing the four women.
After they had changed out of the borrowed clothes and the maidservants were carefully dabbing and brushing them clean, Jan brought word of Sir James’ departure. Kate was mildly jubilant.
“Do you think he was fooled?” Xenie asked.
“I think if he had not been he would still be here,” Kate said. “I suspect he was merely sent to provide the duke with an excuse to come and catch Frances out in some duplicity. He will have heard about the coachmen being left at The Three Tuns and know she is up to something. But if Sir James reports that she is definitely here as he saw her himself, the duke might stint at the thought of forcing his way in as he has before.”
Soon after that, having eaten a brief dinner, Kate dressed again as a man. With the ring Frances had demanded secure in her pocket, she rode with Jan back to White Cross Street. It was afternoon by the time they reached Mr Manning’s house. Someone had clearly been sent to watch for their return because Kate barely had time to set foot to ground before Dorothy Wingfield appeared saying that Mrs Wright wished her man to attend upon her immediately.
Frances was looking almost frantic when Kate was shown in to see her. She had been sitting by the hearth and now sprang to her feet. One would not think, Kate decided, that this was a woman who had given birth less than a day ago. Most women of her rank would still be in bed and expected to remain so for another four weeks. Kate took comfort from the fact that the midwife had seemed content to allow it. At least it would make what came next—a pretence that nothing had happened—so much easier.
“You have the ring?” Frances demanded and almost snatched it from Kate’s hand as she produced it. “You were gone so long I feared the wet nurse would be here to take Robert before you got back.”
“There was an urgent matter that I had to look to on your behalf at Denmark House,” Kate said, smarting a little under the implied accusation. “The duke had sent a man to check up on you and we had to use subterfuge to convince him you were there. But it is very possible another might be sent or the duke himself might visit.”
Frances pulled a face then stared down at the ring in her hands. “He is more likely to send his mother. She is a dreadful woman and would not rest until she had spoken with me.”
Kate waited. After a few moments Frances looked up and this time something in her had changed. The courage and resilience Kate had seen in her from the first day they met was restored and she gave a rueful smile.
“I apologise, my dear. I have been a bit distracted in my thoughts. I wish you were able to stay with me so I could make it up to you, but I do understand your predicament.”
“It is safer for us both if I do not,” Kate said. “Especially now. I had only planned to visit you for a few days anyway, as I have no wish to draw you into my affairs. But I am thinking it will be better if my visit remains our secret. My coming here was not marked and if I leave quietly, my arrival will remain unnoticed, and I can say that I was delayed at Greenwich.”
Frances nodded and she glanced at the three ladies who were studiously ignoring their conversation.
“I will make sure your presence is not mentioned. Where will you go? To the Countess of Bedford?”
Kate nodded. “That is what I had intended from the first.”
Frances sighed. “I suppose that means you will leave as soon as we are back?”
“It is for the best if I do.”
“Then I will ask you to fetch the coach, if you will, please. The baptism was done when you were gone and the wet nurse is due any moment. Once I am sure Robert will be safe with her, I will have to return to Denmark House.” She looked at Kate and smiled. “Oh, my dear, thank you for all you have done. I will not forget and one day perhaps I will be able to repay you.”
Kate drew her briefly into an embrace.
“That is what friends are for,” she said.
Chapter Four
Schiavono was a fast learner.
Matt discovered this, having decided to start his apprenticeship with matters that any youngster would find dull—the complicated art of quartering, provisioning and supplying troops. It required time spent bent over ledgers and finding shelf space in storehouses, not something many imagined to be a soldier’s life.
The new cornet reported to Matt as instructed, just past sunrise the day after he arrived. They were in Matt’s room of business. It had space for the travelling desk where Matt kept all his accounts, receipts and letters and a stool to sit on beside it. There was one small high window, which meant that the room was so dark it often needed a candle lit even in the daytime. But it was the only room that had secure locks and a heavy door.
Schiavono listened as Matt explained what he was going to be taught and why it was so important. That keeping the men fed and supplied was the foundation of any military company. The boy seemed content to accept it at first. But then Matt reckoned he couldn’t be more than a few months out of his school days or university perhaps, so probably received it as more study of such a nature. Only when Matt told him that his teacher in this was to be Máire, Schiavono’s expression changed.
“I’ll not be commanded by a woman,” he said stiffly. “Give me to the care of your quartermaster if you won’t teach me yourself.”
Matt reached for his tobacco pouch. “That is my intention—if you will take the lessons.”
“Of course.”
Matt took his time filling the pipe and wondered again if he had made a mistake thinking he could tame and train such a highly bred colt. After all, this was someone—boy or man—for whom Matt would, in the normal run of things, have to step aside and acknowledge with a bow. Matt put the completed pipe down on the desk and gave Schiavono his full attention.
“In this company, the work is done by the one who is best at doing it. It is what makes us one of the better companies in the army. I’ve not got titled gentlemen as my officers. Most would scorn to take a place under me anyway. But I do have men who know their work well.” He paused before adding. “And women too. I am my own quartermaster and account keeper, but Máire is the one who does most of the work for that, and if you want to learn how it is done, she will teach you. I don’t have time to hold your hand and take you through everything, I have other work to look to and there is no one else who has the knowledge you seek. If you will not learn from her, then you may take up the regular duties of your rank and forget this notion of apprenticeship.”
Matt sat back and reached for a spill. He lit that from the candle and took the flame to his pipe. Then he drew on it and waited to see what the boy would decide.
“How long would I be under her tutelage?” Schiavono asked.
“Until she tells me you have learned all she thinks you need to learn. So, it is up to you.”
“I will not take orders from a woman.” Schiavono’s face set in a rebellious frown. “But I am willing to learn from her.”
“The learning will involve doing the things she requires of you,” Matt pointed out.
“That is different. If I am asked to perform a task to further my learning, then it is to my advantage to oblige. But I will not play the servant.”
“Then it is as well no one is asking you to do so.” Matt puffed his pipe and then gestured to the door with the stem of it. “Mistress Rider is awaiting you.”
He had half-expected that Máire would come to him at the end of the day full of complaints and protesting she had no wish to have more to do with the new cornet, but as they prepared themselves for bed, she had still said nothing of Schiavono, only of the other issues he needed to know. Finally, he asked her how the day had gone with him.
“He learns quickly,” she said. “I’ve not needed to tell him anything twice and he has a good head for numbers. He spotted a mistake in the tally from yesterday.”
“But was he polite and biddable?”
Máire laughed. “What boy that age ever is?”
And that was all.
After a week Máire declared he was more help than hindrance. After three, that he was taking on much of her work without her even needing to ask and doing it as well as she might herself. At the end of the fourth week, she told Matt he should take Schiavono off elsewhere.
“Oh, for sure he has more to learn, but unless you want to peg him to my skirts all winter, he’s got more than enough for now.”
And that was when the trouble began.
Gavril Vasilescu was one of the best lieutenants Matt ever had. The younger son of a Moldavian boyar, Vasilescu had aligned himself with the brutal and ill-fated Voivode Gaspar Graziani. He had been forced to flee his homeland four years before, after the voivode betrayed the Ottoman emperor who had placed him in power and was then murdered by two of his own men.
Matt had decided to put Schiavono under his command because Vasilescu knew what it was to be raised to privilege and then be driven from home at a young age. The Moldavian had learned to humble his pride and play the hand fortune had dealt him. Matt hoped that perhaps some of that could rub off on the youngster. If not, Schiavono would at least get a good insight into what made a man a competent cavalry commander and with Vasilescu he would get to see plenty of action.
Vasilescu led most of the short forays and scouting missions Matt’s company were tasked with. Matt himself needed to work exclusively on the issue that was beginning to plague him with increasing urgency. Having told Vasilescu what he wanted him to do with Schiavono, Matt returned his full attention to that matter.
He could not risk staying tied to this siege. The work his company had been assigned was dangerous enough. Their task was to spot the frequent sorties from the city and try to disrupt them whilst sending word ahead to the digging infantry, slowly working on enclosing Breda, so they could mount some form of defence before the Dutch overran them.
It had been difficult work in decent weather and with secure supplies, but now it was November. As winter closed in, the ever-growing numbers of troops arriving put more and more demand on the increasingly scarce resources. The innkeeper had left that week and Matt made no effort to detain him. He kept the tavern open as a place where his men might be able to gather in whatever leisure they might have and gave the organisation of that to Máire. It was getting harder to ensure sufficient food reached the company to keep everyone fed.
It was the dark cloud that had pursued Matt all autumn. He could all too easily see his present posting becoming a death trap. The longer the company remained enmired in the siege, the greater the risk of losing both men and horses to disease, privation, starvation and desertion.
The solution was clear, but not easy to accomplish.
He needed to have his company transferred to other duties.
Ideally, Matt wanted to be placed under the command of Graaf van den Bergh. The Graaf had recently been appointed by the Marquess to the most crucial command in the siege—that of providing cavalry protection for the unwieldy and vulnerable trains of wagons which brought food, ammunition and other essentials to the army. If Matt could manage to get himself and his men added to the Graaf’s strength, it would remove them from the siege lines and put them in direct contact with the supplies, allowing them to be amongst the first served. But to be transferred required much well-planned diplomacy and clever politics, incessant letter writing, judicious gifts and the careful calling in of favours. This he had been working on ever since that sunny afternoon outside the tavern when he had first encountered Schiavono.
As he was writing one such letter, it dawned on Matt that if he was seriously intending to see through the apprenticeship he had promised, then this was something he should be using as an opportunity to teach. The thought made him set down his pen and consider.
He liked the boy. Beneath the unyielding cuirass of arrogance, there was a decent spirit: fair-minded, ferociously intelligent and willing to learn, if not yet to admit he had done so. He had managed to deal with the hostility his paid-for rank exposed him to without resorting to swordplay after one occasion when Matt had needed to discipline him for it, and from what Vasilescu said, he was beginning to earn some grudging respect from the men.
Thus far all he had done was offer Schiavono an education in military life and practice which would serve him well in any army. An understanding of the issues of quartering troops would make him a better officer than many who often had little notion and less care for the welfare of the men they led. But Matt had not thought much beyond that. The full implications of what he should be offering to an apprentice landed on his shoulders now like a sack of coal.
The problem was, even if he equipped Schiavono with the skills he needed to lead and run a mercenary company, ensured he knew the right people and understood how the world worked, it wouldn’t be enough. Without the financial backing to establish himself that most drew from ancestral lands or established family wealth, he would not be able to become what he wished.
Matt was an exception to that rule, and he knew it.
He had no great fortune to pay for these soldiers, he had inherited them three years ago. Their old Milanese captain, Giovanni Abbiati, had been a bastard son, gifted the means to create the company by his noble father forty years before. Abbiati had been a clever man who managed to build things up in a way that meant the company earned enough to keep itself. By the time Abbiati died, Matt had been his right hand for over half a decade. In many ways, Matt reflected, he had enjoyed an informal apprenticeship with Abbiati of the sort he now offered to Schiavono, although he recalled all too well how much he had been left to learn on his own the hard way.
The childless captain had left Matt in command of the company, knowing he had the skill and authority to maintain it as a self-sustaining enterprise. But that was not the sort of opportunity that came the way of many.
The real question Matt knew he needed to answer was how serious he was about seeing through such training, with all that would entail. Unfortunately, the only answer he seemed to arrive at was, he didn’t know. He had been paid for it and paid well, but was he serving Schiavono’s best interests to equip him for a future he would be denied? Oh, there would be men, princes even, who would employ someone with such skills. But it would not be the same thing that Matt had promised.
He reached for his pipe and was tapping it out on the table when he heard shouting outside the house. Abandoning pipe and letter, he grabbed his hat and left the room, pausing only to put out the candle.
“They’re going to fight,” Ardghal O’Byrne greeted him, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.
Matt didn’t have to ask who; the glee in O’Byrne’s voice told him and, biting back his anger, the why could wait.
“Where?” he demanded, clicking his fingers to the nearest of O’Byrne’s mounted men as he did so, and pointing to the ground. The man swiftly dismounted and offered his reins to Matt, who swung up into the saddle.
“Behind the tavern. Half the company is there. I would’ve stayed to watch the little shit getting gutted, but I thought you’d be wanting to know.”
Matt had already turned the horse and, without waiting for O’Byrne who was mounting his own, pushed it into a canter along the remains of the road.
He had no doubt how this would end. Gavril Vasilescu was a ruthless man and an excellent swordsman. Matt had heard the tale of how the Ottoman emperor, having placed Graziani to be Voivode of Moldavia, took it ill when he rebelled and aligned with Catholic Poland. The emperor had sent an envoy with three hundred armed retainers to replace him. Vasilescu had been with those of the voivode’s men who brutally massacred the envoy and all his retinue.
