Chapter Twenty #2
Renaud had been stunned by the fall, but now he swore loudly and inventively in both French and English as Dominic helped him sit up. They disentangled the arrow from the fabric it had gone through and Renaud studied it closely. “Recognize it?” he asked.
Dominic didn’t expect to. This bore all the hallmarks of an assassination, which meant anonymity.
Renaud’s face was the grimmest Dominic had ever seen. “Is this why you asked me to come?” he asked accusingly. “Because you meant violence?”
“You know me better than that.”
“Do I?” Renaud got to his feet, grimacing at what would no doubt be a wicked bruise. “At least I know negotiating is not on the table.”
“Apparently not.”
They were still standing there, glaring at each other, two soldiers trying to work out the lethal labyrinth of politics behind each one of them, when Harrington returned. Renaud’s squire raised his sword in reflex, but Renaud stopped him.
“Any luck?” Dominic asked.
Harrington shook his head. “Whoever’s out there knows his business.
He could go to ground in any one of a dozen small valleys.
If we had twenty men, we could flush him out.
But the four of us alone—and one of us the target—it would take a stroke of luck to stumble over him without getting killed in the process. ”
Dominic studied the furrows and crinkles of the Cheviot Hills, considering.
Though part of him was straining like a greyhound, desperate to lay hands on the man who had torn through Renaud’s cloak with one expert arrow, he knew Harrington was right.
They might never find the assailant. And as much as Dominic wanted the archer, he wanted the man who had sent him even more.
He had the beginnings of an idea, a faint churning in his chest that he was desperate to disprove.
“You’d better go,” he said abruptly to Renaud. “I think you’ll be let through to your men, now that we are both on guard.”
“I think so, too. Are you sure, Dominic, that I was the only target today?”
He wasn’t sure of anything, except that he had some burning questions to pose once he got back across the border.
Renaud shrugged. “At the least I can give you my message. We French don’t want war, at least not this winter.
The battle with the border forces was meant as a warning.
Word leaked of your meeting with the Spanish ambassador this summer, and my king was extremely displeased with the implications.
Go back to your own king and tell him that our treaty holds—for now.
But he should be wary of provoking further displeasure. ”
“I will return that message to my king.”
Renaud remounted. His squire, clearly well-trained to obey, did so as well. Renaud shook his head ruefully. “Poor Dominic, always carrying messages he does not want to know. I pray I will not see you again anytime soon, mon ami.”
Dominic watched the two Frenchmen ride back the way they’d come, waiting for sudden movement. But it seemed they would indeed be let through. The assassin was probably under orders not to be found out, and shooting again might give something away.
Eyeing him aslant, Harrington said noncommittally, “It was Norfolk suggested this spot.”
“One of several. He didn’t know which I’d chosen.”
He swung up onto his horse and kicked it into a gallop.
The need for secrecy was gone, blown to bits by the arrow and its target.
But even speed could not keep Dominic from thinking.
He kept replaying bits and pieces of conversations and seeing half-forgotten images, all twining into one slender skein of fact.
They made a brief stop at Morpeth and Dominic forced himself to eat and wait two hours to rest the horses before remounting and riding the remainder of the fifty miles to Newcastle.
It was several hours after dark on an autumn night of lowering fog and relentless drizzle when they reached Newcastle, and Dominic had to use his title more than once to get them through the streets and into the keep.
He left Harrington with the horses and was ushered up to the same private chamber where he and Norfolk had met with the king five days earlier.
William stood across the room, hands clasped behind his back and an expression of neutrality in his guileless blue eyes.
Dominic found the words stuck in his throat. He was tired and sweat-stained and he kept seeing that arrow, flying swift and straight into Renaud’s back.
In the end, William spoke first. “What happened?”
“Renaud was shot in the back.” Not quite a lie; not quite the truth. The result was open to interpretation.
There wasn’t a flicker of response from William, and in that moment of nonreaction, Dominic was sure. “Why, Will?”
The answer was clear and cold. “Do the unexpected. Your advice, was it not?”
“It serves no purpose.”
“In one stroke I have deprived Henri of his most brilliant military mind. And I have shown that I rule this island, not he. I have given Henri the only answer he will ever respect—that of force.”
Through the tearing pain in his chest, Dominic said, “You never meant to negotiate. It was a ploy—to distract the French and Scots while you brought your troops north. But you could have left it at that. You could have told me five days ago that you meant war, and left Renaud out of it altogether.”
“The French will be scattered and of little use without LeClerc. Now Norfolk can sweep across and deal out vengeance for his three hundred lost men. And I’ll come in behind, reinforcing primacy on our own border.”
Dominic didn’t know if it was exhaustion or grief that was making his eyes water and his head pound so that he could not think. He had never heard William sound so much like his father.
In the end Dominic went straight to the heart of the matter, the one betrayal he could not forgive. “You used me. You used my friendship with Renaud to lure him there—and you lied to me about it.”
“I needed you unwitting so that LeClerc would be unwitting. I regret the necessity of his death. But he was a soldier, and a soldier lives every day under that threat.”
“On the battlefield, yes. But there are rules, Will. You broke them all today—and you did it in my name. I cannot forget that.”
For the first time, William’s composure faltered and Dominic saw a hint of the boy who, when in trouble, had always looked to him for approval. “Dom, I am sorry you were there. But this is part of ruling. I cannot think of individuals—I must think of kingdoms.”
Dominic turned away, taking a shaky breath to steady himself.
All he could think of at the moment were individuals.
It seemed that he could almost see Renaud’s wife in the shadows of the room.
Nicole likes to have warning. It is superstition with her that she be always in the courtyard when I return.
If Renaud had been less lucky, the Frenchman would never have ridden into that courtyard again, never watched his sons become men or his daughter grow into a woman.
“Dominic? I ride for the border in the morning. Half the command is yours if you wish.”
He never wanted to see Scotland again. He turned back to William and, in his most formal voice, answered, “I would prefer to be given leave.”
“Now?” William’s eyes were no longer guileless. Defensiveness turned to attack. “I have never revoked your command as lieutenant-general of my armies. You are a senior peer of my government—your place is where I order you.”
Dominic felt only a crushing weariness and knew he couldn’t summon the ability to soothe William tonight. He didn’t even want to. “I never asked for command or titles. And I will gladly relinquish both.”
“You would let my armies fight without your experience? I thought I was not capable of doing it as well as you.”
The premonition Dominic had felt earlier was being amply justified. How many slights did William carry, just waiting to avenge? Dominic shook his head. “Do you really want a commander in the field who is there under duress?”
“Are you telling me that you will only serve if I command it?”
“Do you so command?” Dominic didn’t know what he would do if William said yes.
William turned his back on Dominic and slammed his palms onto the table behind him. A goblet fell over and crashed to the stone pavings. Dominic did not flinch.
At long last William faced him once more, his face remote and forbidding. Dominic felt as though a veil had descended between them, altering the other’s form and voice into that of a stranger. He wondered if William felt it and, if so, whether he counted it as one more cost of kingship.
Friendship with kings is always one-sided; so Renaud had once told him.
“I will not ask you to serve against your conscience,” William said. “For now, I suggest you withdraw to Tiverton. I gifted you the title and the estate—perhaps you should begin to act like you are a duke. I will send for you from there.”
Dominic nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” And then he delivered the final blow.
“There is one more thing. Renaud LeClerc was wearing plate armour beneath his cloak. He is sore as hell, and madder than even that, but he’s not dead.
You might want to consider that when you lead your troops across the border. ”
“He was …” William seemed torn between anger and respect. “Why was he wearing armour?”
“He’s a cautious man. One doesn’t get to be a soldier of his reputation without caution.
” Even furious and heartsick at William’s betrayal, Dominic could not in good conscience avoid giving one last piece of advice.
“You should be cautious as well. Try to balance between honest reprisal and blind vengeance.”
Dominic left the king and the castle and spent the night dozing in the stables. Before dawn he and Harrington were riding south out of Newcastle-on-Tyne.
Only once did Harrington speak, and his question showed the depths to which he understood Dominic. “To Wynfield Mote?”