A Clash of Lions by A.J. MacKenzie

Author:A.J. MacKenzie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Smoke rose from a hundred fires in the park and fields around the town as the army prepared its Michaelmas feast. Inside the abbey the king and his nobles gathered, brilliantly robed and glittering with jewels. Merrivale watched them, seeing some faces anxious, others exuberant. He wondered how many would still be alive by the time this campaign was over.

Lyon Herald clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you again, Sim. A herald, now! Congratulations on your promotion.’

‘Thank you, Archie. You’re looking well. The years have been kind to you.’

‘Oh, aye. My hair’s a wee bit thinner and there’s a bit of lard around my waist, but I get by. How is Andrew Clarenceux? The clack is you’ll take over his job when he retires.’

Clarenceux was the king’s herald, the man who had trained Merrivale. ‘He doesn’t appear ready to retire just yet,’ Merrivale said smiling.

‘Give him my warm regards. Come and eat, laddie. It’s the last decent meal we’ll see for a while, so let’s make the most of it. We’ll be on salt cod and pottage once the campaign starts.’

The invitation to the feast had extended to himself only; Peter, despite being the son of a knight, had been left to eat with the servants. The boy had made no complaint; he never did. He had taken a shine to Mauro, and spent much of his time asking about life in Spain and how many Spanish coats of arms the latter could remember. Tables ran down the length of the nave, and Merrivale and Graham took seats on a bench with one of the black-robed canons, a cheerful red-cheeked man with a shock of grey hair and a barely perceptible tonsure who introduced himself as the almoner of the abbey. ‘You made a brave attempt at peace, Sir Herald. I salute you.’

‘Nevertheless, I failed,’ Merrivale said.

‘You’re not to blame for that,’ said Graham. ‘The king gave you a hearing, which is more than I expected he’d do, but his mind was already made up. Or rather, Brus and Carrick had made it up for him.’

Rather undiplomatic language for a herald, Merrivale thought, or perhaps Archie Graham was just trying to make him feel better. They had both been messengers for their respective kings when Merrivale first served on the Scottish frontier, and had collided as often as they had collaborated, but respect and friendship had developed between them.

The almoner looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. ‘I confess to some disappointment that the king would not listen,’ he said quietly. ‘He is young, and wishes to prove his worth in the eyes of his nobles. But he has no experience of leading men into battle.’

‘He thinks he doesn’t need it,’ said Merrivale. ‘He is putting his trust in God.’

Lyon Herald snorted. ‘Good luck to him. In my experience, God doesn’t much like battlefields. He steers well clear of them, and lets the hand of man do its work.’

‘Or the hand of the devil,’ suggested the almoner.

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