House of Shadows by Nicola Cornick

Author:Nicola Cornick [Cornick, Nicola]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781474038089
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Metz, France, August 1635

Craven was several days late. He had ridden to within a mile of the city and walked the rest of the way. It had been a long journey with plenty of trouble. The countryside was alive with rumour. Marauding bands of Spanish soldiers, masterless men, ill-disciplined and violent, terrorised the villages. He had almost run into such a gang south of Liege and only by the greatest good luck saw their camp before he stumbled into the middle of it. It went against the grain with him to hide and to run rather than stand and fight, but this business was too important to risk. Only once had he been obliged to draw blood when three drunken cavalrymen had cornered him in an alleyway. They had been looking for trouble and they had found it.

Ahead of him was the Germans’ Gate, a mediaeval castle with ridiculous little round towers that looked as though they belonged in a fairy tale. The yellow limestone gleamed in the pale morning sun. Craven did not like these foolish little continental toy castles that looked as though one blast of the cannon would send them toppling. He missed England. One day, perhaps, he would go back again.

The soldier, in French uniform, stepped from the guardhouse and gave him a cursory glance. On foot, in a plain cloak, serviceable boots and a battered hat William Craven could pass for anyone – or no one. That was his skill. The soldier did not even notice the sword beneath the cloak.

‘I have business with the Duke of Simmern.’ Craven spoke execrable French. His education had been much neglected, by his own choice, since he had preferred to join the army.

The soldier raised a supercilious brow and jerked his head vaguely towards the cathedral. ‘Saint-Croix Square,’ he said. ‘Past the cathedral and on the left. The palace of Livier.’

‘Thank you,’ Craven said.

‘He won’t see you,’ the soldier said. ‘He sees no one—’

But Craven had gone. ‘English,’ the soldier said, and spat on the dusty cobbles.

Craven kept in the shadow of the buildings as he skirted the vaulted arcades of the Saint-Louis Square and took the narrow alley towards the cathedral. There was no point in drawing attention to himself and to his errand. Here the old timbered houses leaned close across the street like lovers long parted. The early sun tipped the tiled roofs with gold. The air was fresh and almost free of the stench of rottenness that would haunt the streets later when the heat increased.

The cathedral seemed to fly against the blue of the sky. Craven passed the east end without pausing to glance up at the stained glass and soaring buttresses. The streets were quiet in the early morning. He saw no one but a messenger in a livery he did not recognise, a merchant pushing a cart loaded with cloth and a mangy dog foraging amongst the rubbish.

The Duke of Simmern was still breaking his fast in his chambers according to his steward.

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