Kemp: The Flames of Heresy by Jonathan Lunn

Author:Jonathan Lunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
Published: 2023-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

‘Yonder lies Jaurival.’ Centule de Savignac reined in and pointed out to Berkeley where a three-storey manor house built of pale-yellow stone rose from a strand of woods on the horizon, less than a mile away. The house had a hipped, red-tiled roof and two crenellated towers: a square one at the north-east corner and a round one about two-thirds of the way down the west side. ‘The ancestral home of the Uzertes.’

‘Yon’s where Lady Ysabeau’s father dwells?’ asked Berkeley.

‘And Lady Ysabeau, when she is not dwelling in a cave deep in the earth.’

Riding on, they met Sir Bohemond d’Uzerte himself before they reached the house. A middle-aged man with white hair, black eyebrows and a grizzled yet neatly trimmed beard, the Lord of Jaurival sat on horseback, leaning down from the saddle to talk to two peasants – presumably his bondsmen – who stood on the grassy berm at the edge of a wide field. In the strips where crops grew, the green ears were just turning to gold beneath the summer sun. The knight looked up at the approach of Centule and Berkeley, and blanched a little when he recognised the captal.

‘God give you a good day, Sir Bohemond.’

‘You are welcome, Sir Centule,’ Uzerte replied cautiously. ‘You put yourself at hazard by riding abroad in Cazoulat these days, when the Count of Targères’s men hunt you.’

Centule made a dismissive gesture, as if Targères were no more than an irritating gnat that could as easily be wafted away.

‘May we speak to you privily?’ He drew his sword and levelled it.

Uzerte leaned down to address the two bondsmen. ‘All is well. Be about your business: Sir Centule and I must have words.’

‘Very good, my lord.’ The two bondsmen tugged their forelocks and hurried away across the ploughed earth of a strip that had been left fallow.

Uzerte indicated Centule’s sword. ‘If that’s for their benefit, you need not concern yourself: my men would not betray me.’

‘Aye, no doubt my father would have said the same of his vassals. But when Targères accused him of heresy, the Bishop of Cahors had no difficulty finding traitors amongst his own vassals who did not hesitate to bear false witness against him.’ Centule returned his sword to its scabbard. ‘May I introduce Sir Maurice Berkeley? He is the eldest son of Baron Berkeley, and he is here as an emissary from Prince Edward of Woodstock.’

‘Sir Maurice.’ Uzerte acknowledged Berkeley with a nod. ‘How is it with you?’

‘Well enough, my lord.’

‘We’ve come to let you know Ysabeau is alive and well,’ said Centule.

‘God be praised!’ Uzerte looked as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, almost literally: he seemed to grow three inches in the saddle. ‘You know where she is?’

‘She is safe. No harm has come to her; and nor shall it, while she is under my protection.’

‘You will bring her back here?’

‘In time.’

‘“In time”! When will that be?’

‘If I bring her back now, will you not make her wed Targères?’

‘I have reached an agreement with him regarding her dowry.

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