Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer Read Free Page B

places you’ve never even visited.’
    ‘Aye, feared and hated!’ William spat back. ‘You threaten me, like last night . . .’
    ‘ Mes excuses , brother.’ Henry drew closer. ‘I have only hinted at what I know, so now I will tell you! I know about the catamite Gaveston!’
    And, spinning on his heel, Lord Henry walked back to his squires.
    ‘Soon our quarry will be here,’ he reminded them. ‘Shall we agree a wager, gentlemen? That my arrow will bring the first deer down? That my arrow will go deep into the heart?’
    The murmur of conversation stilled. Lord Henry drained his cup and tossed it away.
    ‘Come, come, gentlemen, aren’t there any takers?’
    ‘I accept.’ Amaury de Craon raised a hand. ‘Ten pounds in gold, my lord.’
    The French envoy came forward, hand outstretched. Lord Henry clasped it, his eyes narrowing as de Craon held it fast, pulling him a little closer. The Frenchman’s dark eyes never wavered.
    ‘And when you come to Fontainebleau, Lord Henry, I can take you hunting in our forests.’
    ‘Seigneur Amaury, your wager is accepted. I will take your gold and my hand back.’
    The French envoy laughed and let go.
    ‘In France,’ Lord Henry felt the anger boiling within him at this French envoy’s impudence, ‘I intend to go hunting for more than a deer.’
    His enigmatic remark had its effect. De Craon nervously licked his lips and his eyes shifted.
    ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Lord Henry reassured him, slipping his arm through that of the Frenchman and drawing away from the rest. ‘They know nothing of what I say.’
    ‘You’ll come to France, Lord Henry?’
    ‘I will journey back with you.’
    ‘And Signor Pancius Cantrone?’
    ‘My physician doesn’t know it, but he will join us.’
    ‘And my master,’ Amaury de Craon continued in a whisper, ‘will be pleased to see Signor Cantrone and silence his lying mouth. But, how will it be done?’
    ‘We’ll journey down to Rye. My household will go with me, including my brother William whom I like to keep an eye on. What has to be done will be done then.’
    Amaury de Craon withdrew his arm.
    ‘And isn’t the King suspicious that we asked you to lead the English envoys?’
    ‘My dear Amaury, I have led similar embassies before. I own land in Gascony. I am the King’s most trusted councillor. Why shouldn’t I go to Paris? The marriage negotiations between the Prince of Wales and the Lady Isabella have been ordained by his Holiness the Pope and, in time, will lead to peace between our two kingdoms.’
    Amaury de Craon studied this sly, secretive English lord, who was tall and thickset, his black hair swept back. In the florid face, those cunning light blue eyes reminded Amaury of his master Philip IV of France: ice cold, soulless, constantly plotting. Amaury knew why Philip wanted this nobleman in Paris and, above all, why that traitor Cantrone, who had fled the French court, should be brought back.
    ‘Won’t the English court object over Cantrone?’
    Amaury forced a smile, fearful lest others become suspicious of this hushed conversation.
    ‘Amaury, Amaury.’ Lord Henry mimicked the Frenchman’s accent. ‘You worry about so many things. It won’t be the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last, that someone dies or disappears in Paris. And why should the English court object? Cantrone is not a citizen of this kingdom. He is an Italian who wanders the face of the earth. It will all be forgotten in the betrothal celebrations.’
    Amaury stared up at the overhanging oak tree. He watched a squirrel skip across the branch. He became aware of the liquid song of some bird high in the trees, singing its own sweet carol, oblivious to the treachery plotted below and to the bloody carnage which would break out when the distant hunters panicked their quarry into the killing pen.
    ‘My Lord Henry.’ De Craon wiped some crumbs from his red woollen tunic, slipping a thumb into his belt. ‘I am not fearful of you, or of