Jamie the red, p.19
Jamie The Red, page 19
Or at least he tried to: Giles was wearing mail under his doublet in that area, and Jamie’s gloved hand felt the impact against it painfully. Even so, the force behind the blow stopped the Frenchman in his tracks; and as he brought his sword down it had no force behind it, and missed Jamie completely.
Jamie stepped back and watched the other closely. Behind him he could hear shuffling movements and quiet comments among his own men—he interpreted that as meaning that the dark figures were closing in, and Ned was coordinating their defense of Jamie’s back side. He grinned a little as he heard Ned curse one of the attackers for getting too close.
“Gods! You smell bad!” Ned said.
Without warning, Giles attacked again, this time not so rashly, his sword across his front in a position from which he could either parry or take a backhanded swipe at the Scot. Jamie stepped across in front of the blade, taking the position from which it could reach him least easily, and took a backhand swing of his own, coming under the other’s sword.
Giles met Jamie’s blade with his own, and the sound of the two blades meeting rang across the night. Almost immediately it was echoed by an encounter that Jamie could hear behind him, but he could not spare a glance to see what had happened.
Jamie kept on moving as Giles instinctively froze after their blades met, rounding behind the other’s arm while he brought his blade up into the air over his left shoulder and swung it in the direction of Giles’ head. Late to parry, Giles ducked instinctively, moving right into Jamie’s arm as it reached for—and hit—his shoulder, pushing him back off-balance.
Trying to reset himself, Giles flung his arms a bit too wide, and Jamie stepped back left again, all his body’s weight lending momentum to his blade as it swept from over his right shoulder and took Giles’s head off.
Without taking the time to watch what happened to the body after that, Jamie turned to see how his men, outnumbered, were doing. At a glance he saw that two of his men were down, along with four of the attackers. Ned was trying to deal with two men, and the other of Jamie’s men—he could not tell which it was—was fast being beaten down by a big man. And even as Jamie stepped forward, that big man’s sword clanged off the soldier’s and caught him in the shoulder; Jamie’s man went down with a cry.
The dark figure stepped forward with sword raised above the soldier, and at that moment Jamie reached them, swinging his sword fast at the other’s head. He jumped back, pulling his sword back into position for a new attack—but as he did so, he stumbled over a body on the ground behind him. Jamie lunged low, savagely fast, and his blade knifed into and through the man’s thigh.
The man made no sound, even though Jamie’s blade tore forcefully through the flesh as he pulled free; and Jamie watched as the other, still masked, pulled himself up straight.
“That’s a bad wound,” Jamie said. “Surrender.”
“Look out!” Ned yelled from Jamie’s right; and the Scot ducked and turned, finding that one of Ned’s opponents had abandoned Ned to try to take Jamie from the side. Jamie parried the swing that came his way by only the narrowest of margins, and backed away, trying to keep all possible opponents in front of him. As he did so, Ned’s man backed away with a ••wound, then turned and ran for the dark alley from which he had come. Instantly Ned turned and slashed savagely across the back of the man who was still facing Jamie. The man cried out and bent backward, dropping his sword and falling in a heap.
Jamie turned to look at the man he had wounded in the thigh a moment before. The man had evidently been hit in an artery, for a bright, shining pool was spreading on the ground at his feet.
“Give it up,” Jamie said. “You haven’t got long.”
The other cursed—it was a language Jamie did not recognize, but he understood the words because of his pentecost spell—and raised his sword to shoulder level. He seemed to take one step forward, then to slip in his own blood and, still with arm raised, fall heavily on his back and left shoulder. His right arm held the sword in the air for a moment, and then it tumbled out of the hand that had held it, seeming to lose some life of its own as the moonlight that had shone off the polished blade,was lost in the twisting, tumbling fall. It clanged on the stones of the street, and the arm fell behind it, limply.
“Are you all right?” Ned said. He was gasping a little as he spoke.
“Yes,” Jamie said. “How about these others?”
They attended to their own men, finding two wounded—one badly—and the other dead. Of the eight men who had attacked them, one had fled and the others were all dead—some after suffering rather minor wounds.
“Just like at the castle, in a way,” Ned said.
Jamie nodded.
“Jamie! Look!” Ned had pulled up the mask from the face of the man who had bled to death before them.
“Lucas Morhacs.” Jamie nodded. “That makes some sense—who else would Irene send but men who are smitten by her? I wonder if these others are former lovers, too, or just hirelings?”
“She keeps busy,” Ned said.
“Perhaps,” Jamie went on. “But it could be that she doesn’t know of this attack—these men could have been trying to impress her.”
“Then why did they all die? Is it she who works the magic, or someone else?”
“More can work magic than one,” Jamie answered. “And while these died, it was not in the same way as those others we fought in the castle.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find out.”
The watch, drawn by the sounds of their combat, came running up; and it was with some difficulty that Jamie managed to keep them from assuming that he and Ned were bandits, to be attacked immediately. But with their help the wounded men were taken to the castle for treatment; and as that was attended to, Pietro Claveggio showed up, with, a guard of his troops behind him, waiting in the courtyard as Pietro climbed the stairs to greet Jamie at the door to the keep.
“The watch reported to me,” he said. “You’re all right?”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “But I lost one man, and maybe another.”
“You’re able to travel if you have to?”
“Yes,” Jamie said. “Do I have to?”
“Maybe soon,” Pietro said. “I’m not sure yet. But you’d be wise to be prepared to move quickly.”
Jamie frowned. It sounded like Pietro was giving him a strong warning, but he was not sure he understood exactly why he should be in danger.
“Why?” he said. “I defended myself and my men on the street when attacked, and there were obviously more of them than of us.”
“Yes, but not too many more,” Pietro said. “No, I’m guessing there. But one thing you don’t know—Lucas Morhacs was the son of the favorite sister of the Archduke.”
He stopped, and Jamie watched his face in the torchlight as the man seemed to struggle not to say more. The thin face twisted before him as he watched, and at last settled into quiet.
“Think about that,” Pietro said. “And about the gratitude of kings.”
“I’ve heard,” Jamie said, with an emphasis he had not intended. He saw Pietro staring at him for a moment, oddly. Then the older man nodded and turned away, striding down the stairs and climbing back on his horse. In a moment he was gone.
Jamie watched him go, and then turned to direct Ned and Brethin to prepare the old comrades of their lance to go at a moment’s notice, if need be.
By noon things were falling out much as Pietro had hinted. A castle servant returned from the Mass in the cathedral with a word that the Archbishop himself had preached a sermon against foreign barbarians who savage loyal citizens in the streets—and the Archduke had reportedly listened without comment.
At midday Jamie gathered the members of his lance about him in a comer of the courtyard of the castle.
“We’ll split up,” he said. “I may have to run, but if I do I want you all ready to leave. So Ned will take you out into the hills. Brethin and I will wait here; and I’ll send Brethin to you when I know what will happen.”
“You can’t send us from you, Lord Jamie,” Ned said, and the men around them murmured in agreement.
“I must,” Jamie said. “If we have to run, many of us will move slowly, while one may move fast. And you will be reponsible for guarding my treasure.”
That seemed to mollify them, until Ned spoke up.
“What treasure, Lord Jamie?”
“The one we’re going for right now,” Jamie said. “I have word that they’re holding the service for Morhacs in the Cathedral right now, and Irene will certainly be there, deep in mourning. Come!”
He led the way out of the castle gate and they rode at a sedate pace to the palazzo he had visited so many times. At the door he dismounted and rapped loudly with his sword hilt; and when it was answered by a male servant, he pushed his way by, followed by Ned and three men.
“But the Lady Irene is not here!” the old servant protested. He followed Jamie, clasping his hands as he tried to walk sideways beside the Scot.
“I know,” Jamie said. “Hold him.” He pushed the man to the side and one of the others held onto him, sitting him on a bench in an alcove halfway down the hall. Jamie and the others kept walking, and Jamie led them to Irene’s chambers. There he directed one of them to the area where the table silver would be kept; and then led Ned and the other man to the cabinet in which, he knew from his many visits, Irene kept her jewelry.
It was there. She had evidently been careless while preparing for the funeral, and had left much of her silver and gold chains out in plain sight rather than hidden in the secret compartments Jamie had expected to have to search for. They tore down curtains and rolled them into bundles with silver, gold and gems inside; and hastily made their way back down the hallway to the front door.
“How can we do this?” Ned asked. “This is robbery!”
“It is retribution,” Jamie said. “She killed. And now she may cause me to lose the estate I have only just been given by the Archduke.”
“I’d forgotten that,” Ned said. “All right.”
They remounted their horses.
“All right,” Jamie said. “All of you except Brethin will go out of the city, hiding in the hills to the north. Brethin will know where to find you when I send him.” He waved his hand and they rode off without a word.
“Now, Brethin,” Jamie said. “Let us go back to the castle and wait for developments.”
“I don’t like that,” Brethin grumbled. “It’s a good place to get trapped.”
“I know,” Jamie said. “But I have to take that chance; I can’t look as if I’m in hiding, or I’ll lose this war automatically. We must hope we get word somehow, before any troops show up.”
But they never got to the castle gate—as they neared it, a shrill shout from the wall made Jamie look up. He saw the small blond head of Carlo atop the same tower they had used for practice so often.
“Flee, Sir Jamie!” the boy yelled. “They await!”
A figure appeared behind him, and the boy ducked and vanished from their sight. Jamie waited for no more, but jerked his horse and pounded back out of sight around the comer nearest. There he stopped and turned to Brethin.
“Split up!” he said. “I’ll lead them away while you go to Ned and the others.”
“Never!” Brethin said; but Jamie snarled at him.
“You must!” he said. “You and Ned are guardians of my wealth now. With that I can go home and be a success, and -there’s only the two of you to preserve it for me.”
Brethin grimaced, but was silent.
“Alone, and without the weight to slow me, I can get away from all of them,” Jamie continued. “So you wait for me to do so. Wait only four hours. If I’m not back by then, make your way back to Ned’s home and wait for me there. Use what you must of the treasure. I’ll get there somehow.” He turned to ride off, but Brethin quickly stopped him.
“My lord! Here!” he said, handing over a small inlaid wooden box.
“What’s this?” Jamie asked.
“I don’t know. An old man came from the house while we waited for you outside the lady’s palace, and said I must give it to you before you left the city.”
“An old man?” Jamie echoed. The box, about the size of four of his fists together, seemed a rich-looking prize; it was intricately carved, and the detail work was filled with silver or pearly substance. A glistening red stone adorned the center of what appeared to be the top; but the box would not open immediately for Jamie.
“Not now!” he said, and thrust the box behind him into a saddlebag.
“Go!” he roared at Brethin, waving a hand; and then he rode off at a gallop himself, hearing the sound of the other’s horse—and the sounds of pursuit as well.
Jamie galloped recklessly through the middle of the city. He could have hidden easily, but he knew that by drawing the pursuit to himself by a noisy ride, Brethin and the others could be safeguarded.
Once his horse knocked over a burly peasant who did not manage to get out of his way quickly enough; but in general his ride was noisy enough that everyone gave him plenty of room. And when he got to the south gate, he found that no one had apparently been given orders to try to stop such a one as he—for he rode without slackening speed directly at the guards, and they dived out of the way, landing in the muck left by the day’s passing traffic in animals. Behind him as he left the gate he could hear one of them screaming curses down upon his head. He grinned, hoping the man had no magic talents of his own.
Then he was off down the road, and behind him as he turned he could see a large party of horsemen coming through the gate. They spotted him, and an arm raised in his direction; then he turned back and bent over his animal’s neck, riding fast and hoping for the shelter of the trees and the rough country, which he knew fairly well from the weeks of training his company in it, and from rides with Carlo.
Around a bend he turned from the road into rough country; and in an hour or so he could hear only distant pursuit behind him. He pulled up his gasping horse in a clump of stunted trees, climbing off it for a rest—despite the chill, they were both hot and sweated up.
When he had cooled a bit, he took the saddle from his horse, rubbing it down with an old tunic, talking to it softly and soothingly. Its eyes watched him steadily, and he patted it softly on the nose. The palfrey was an older horse, and a trusting one; he had liked it for some time, since picking it up in France. It was unusually large and strong for a palfrey, he thought, but he supposed its gentle disposition had made it unsuitable for a destrier, which otherwise probably would have been its destiny.
He looked down to see that the tiny inlaid box Brethin had handed him had tumbled from the open top of the saddlebag when he had put the gear from the horse down on the ground at his feet. He stooped to pick up the box, and then put it aside while he resaddled the animal and put the rest of the gear on its back.
’ Seating himself at the base of a tree, he decided not to tether the palfrey—he’d be up and moving in a moment anyway, and the animal was not of a disposition to go galloping off without him. He began to play idly with the little box, searching for the way to open it—it was evidently one of those oriental boxes that have hidden catches, he thought.
After a few moments of prodding and pulling about its surface, he heard a tiny click, and die top surface seemed to loosen in his hands. He grinned, and slid it open…
His head seemed to explode into pieces with a great roaring noise, and he heard himself screaming and he tried to grasp it with his hands and hold it together. He was on the ground, there was a great roaring noise between his ears, and the pains began to shoot through his eyeballs and down to the interior of his nose; his teeth chattered and the sounds of that echoed and reechoed in his head…
He awoke in the darkness; and wished he had not done so. For long moments he was unable to move, every attempt to do so causing a new roar in his head. Periodically he found himself on the verge of throwing up, his stomach subject to nausea attacks that seemed to come from the darkness about him like the waves of the sea—and at the thought of that sea, he did throw up…
When morning came the horse was gone, and with it all Jamie’s gear. He never knew what had happened to it, but theorized that his moanings and thrashings had scared it off.
His head still hurt but. the nausea had ended, and as he gathered himself up and trudged off downhill—unsure where he was, that seemed as good a direction as any—he found that he still had bouts of dizziness and roarings in the ear. He tried not to think about it, but simply walked.
After a couple of hours he was feeling better, but almost walked into the midst of a party of mounted soldiers that was apparently searching for someone—for him, no doubt. He managed to duck into some bushes and remain unseen; and while he waited for them to end their rest break and move away, he considered his situation.
Already he had thoroughly missed the rendezvous with Ned and Brethin and the others; moreover, without a horse he would be unlikely to catch up with them soon. And since he had lost his gear, he was virtually penniless in the bargain. No, he would have to make his way to Cornwall by himself.
This search that was going on was bigger than he had imagined possible, and that was an additional complicating factor. It was insane to contemplate swinging around the city to head north—too much chance of being caught. He would do better to get away from the city in whatever direction he could, and try to find some other route to Ned’s home. So, continue downhill then—that was how to find the sea eventually, he supposed.
He wondered if that would prove to be a good way to find food also.
The soldiers moved off, chattering a bit among themselves; and after an interval he picked himself up and wandered over to where they had rested, hoping perhaps to find scraps of food. But there were none. He moved off into the bushes and continued, trying to make a downhill journey coincide with one direction according to the sun—he had to make some distance between himself and Milan.
