Michael JECKS - Squire Throwleigh’s Heir

As he considered her, Daniel touched her shoulder and bent to whisper in her ear.

There it was again, he thought. Glancing at Jeanne, he saw her quick nod, and he grinned to himself. She had seen it too – the hand resting on the shoulder just a moment too long, with that hint of a certain special affinity accepted by both sides.

It was then that he noticed van Relenghes again. The Fleming was standing unconcernedly sipping at his wine, alone for a moment; his servant had gone to refill a jug.

Baldwin studied him dispassionately, recalling the way Anney had described him. James van Relenghes had the look of someone set apart from the group within the hall. It was not because he was foreign, because that would imply isolation caused by incomprehension, either of language or customs; no, this was a different sort of otherness. He was aloof, separate. He smiled pleasantly enough at people who spoke to him or passed by, yet Baldwin watched the eyes, as he had been commanded by Anney, and sure enough, they reflected an inner coldness. The eyes displayed calculation; the potential for shallow deceit.

As if aware he was the subject of a close scrutiny, van Relenghes glanced up and met Baldwin’s gaze boldly. He raised his goblet cheerily, then bowed slightly and sauntered from the room.

‘I think someone needs to teach you a lesson,’ Baldwin murmured, his attention flitting to Lady Katharine. ‘Whatever your game is, I hope you get your come-uppance.’

Godfrey had not noticed his master’s departure. A moment later he returned to where van Relenghes had been standing, his jug in his hand, and looked round casually, expecting to see his master. Soon his search became more keen, and he walked around the room, earnestly seeking van Relenghes, before stopping dead, head cocked to one side, listening to something outside. He ran from the room with every appearance of agitation.

Baldwin had no idea his wish was already being granted.

Hugh was dozing on his stool of moorland stone when van Relenghes came out.

‘You – fetch me a horse,’ he commanded. ‘I wish to ride.’

‘You need a groom for that, sir,’ Hugh yawned. ‘They’re over there.’

‘Fetch me a horse, drunken sot!’ van Relenghes hissed, kicking Hugh’s pot, which shattered into a hundred pieces.

Hugh looked at the shards, then leaned back.

‘Did you hear me? I want a horse, now!’ van Relenghes said.

‘Nothing to do with me,’ Hugh said, insolently closing his eyes.

‘You had better do as you are bid, serf, or…’

Suddenly van Relenghes became aware that they weren’t alone. The men who had been waiting at the other side of the yard had silently walked up and now formed a close circle about them.

Nicholas smiled. ‘We’ve been asked to have a word with you, Fleming.’

Van Relenghes went pale as he realised he was trapped. He kept his hand from his sword – he would have had three men grab his arm before he could pull it two inches from its scabbard – and tried to be calm. ‘What do you want?’

‘You’ve wronged our master, haven’t you? He wants us to explain that he doesn’t like people telling villainous lies about him.’

‘This is something I should discuss with your master. Now, if you…’

‘Oh no, sir. He asked us to speak to you, most particular like,’ said Nicholas, and moved to stand directly in front of the Fleming as he attempted to sidle away.

‘I have to speak to the Lady Katharine.’

‘No need. This is my master’s hall, isn’t it?’ said Nicholas conversationally. He nodded, and one of his companions, a heavy man with a wall-eye, took hold of van Relenghes’s sleeve.

‘Keep away from me! Leave go, scum, or I’ll…’

Hugh watched impassively as Nicholas reached for his dagger. A second man grabbed the Fleming’s free arm, and he was held still. With that Hugh’s expression changed.

‘Here, you can’t do that! Give him room to swing his blade.’

Nicholas pushed him away with his free hand. ‘Go back inside if you don’t want to see a man punished.’

‘Fight him fairly, or leave him alone,’ Hugh stated. ‘This is no better than an outlaw’s trick. Let him get his sword out.’

‘Piss off, serf, unless you want to join him!’ hissed the walleyed man, and Hugh stood stock-still a moment.

He gazed at their faces. Mostly bearded, two of them scarred, one with a single eye and a damp, empty socket where the other should have been. All had the same animal lust to inflict pain. They would attack Hugh too, unarmed as he was, if they had the slightest provocation. Resigned, he took a cautious step backwards, then another.

‘Now, Master Fleming,’ said Nicholas comfortably.

‘Godfrey!’ van Relenghes screamed, wide-eyed with terror, as the blade moved towards his face.

Hugh bolted inside, colliding with someone running out. It was Godfrey. The master-of-arms tripped over Hugh’s foot, and fell headlong into the wall, striking it with a dull thud and collapsing. Hugh had stumbled as well, but he went over Godfrey, who cushioned his fall. Rising quickly, he hurried into the hall, making straight for Daniel.

‘Thanks,’ he said, and before the astonished steward could stop him, he snatched Daniel’s staff of office and sped back outside.

The Fleming’s face was a bloody mask, and Nicholas, laughing, was about to make a second long slash, when Hugh exploded into their midst.

His first blow caught the man on van Relenghes’s left, and he crumpled without a sound. Before he had fallen, Hugh had whipped his weapon into the quarter-staff fighting position, and swept it down on Nicholas’s knife hand. The man gave a shriek, more of surprise than actual pain, dropping his blade, and while the group remained frozen with surprise, Hugh had time to thrust at wall-eye: the point of the stave hit him high in the belly, and he fell, gasping loudly as he tried to catch his breath. Then Hugh could face the others.

There were three remaining, and Hugh was comfortable with the odds. Nicholas had drawn his sword, a single-edge falchion which had seen better days; one of the others had a heavy Danish axe, while the third had a bill. He was Hugh’s main problem: a man with a weapon of the same length and reach.

He saw the bill move to his left, and dropped the point of the staff to parry, immediately trying a stab to the gut which was knocked aside with ease. The man knew how to handle his weapon, Hugh noted glumly. The bill swung low, aiming at his legs, and Hugh withdrew his left foot as the blade passed, immediately stepping forward to attack the man’s open flank, out as he did so, Nicholas slashed at him, and Hugh had to swing away, retreating before the sword. The axe swung in a mean arc, and Hugh took another pace back.

There were voices now, people shouting, one man egging on Hugh’s opponents, the rest calling for peace, but Hugh kept his eyes on the three men before him. They had sorted themselves out now: the sword was on Hugh’s left, axe right, and bill before him.

Making a quick decision, Hugh sprang to his right, feinted with his staff, making the axeman swing to defend his right, and then reversed his grip, sending the butt smashing into the side of the man’s head.

As the axeman grunted and fell, his axe hit the bill of the man behind. Hugh quickly took advantage, and swung the top of the staff into his throat. With a hideous gurgling scream that sent a hot thrill of excitement into Hugh’s blood, he dropped his bill and fell to his knees, grabbing at his throat as he fought for air. Hugh sent the pole’s point at his head above the ear and he fell without another sound. Wall-eye was breathing stertorously, resting on all fours, so Hugh casually dropped him with a short cut of the staff at the back of his neck.