The Duke's Pawn

Chapter 5: Game

Paris, March 1474

"Mon Frère, mon Frère, wake up !"

The worried innkeeper sighed in relief when what he feared was a corpse slowly opened its eyes. "Where I am?"

His interlocutor was disoriented and terribly cold, he could barely feel his hands and feet. Actually, he could barely feel anything at all, aside his right shoulder, which was throbbing as hell.

"You are in the alley behind my inn, mon Frère. You must have had an accident and collapsed here, your shoulder is bandaged. I'm sorry for not finding you earlier, you were hidden behind a pile of rubbish. If it weren't for my dog and its relentless barking, I might not have noticed you. Do you remember what happened at all?"

The fake monk closed his eyes, attempting to block the pain. He needed to think. How did he get there? Progressively, the events of the previous evening came back to him. That woman! He had to get to her!

"I remember, I must have fainted," he grunted, unwilling to explain himself to the innkeeper. "And stop calling me mon Frère. I am no monk but a King's agent in disguise. Tell me, the Burgundy Dame that was here yesterday, where is she?"

The innkeeper scratched his balding head under the cap. "She is long gone, Messire," he answered with deference, "they departed at the break of dawn and it's nearly midday."

The man frowned, annoyed. He would never catch up with her now, not while wounded and certainly feverish. And his best men were in Tours, close to the King.

He made up his mind; he would heal first, and track her after. Surely uncovering the whereabouts of such a large party wouldn't be hard.

Also there was a detail she let slip, about her husband having to go back to his master. In the North, this left only one option: the King of England and Calais. Which made her even more suspect, as he had news that King Edward's master spy had recently landed there.

He scowled; if he had to chase her as far as England if need be, he would get her and find out the truth. She had challenged him. Never had a woman managed to outplay him before, let alone have him at her mercy.

Yet if she were a spy, she wasn't a very experienced one. She should have ended him, not treated him. That's what he would have done, right after extracting all information. But she was attractive, feisty, and she thought fast, so he might just take her for himself instead. He could use a female like her, in more than one way. Whether she was guilty or innocent didn't matter, she was his prey and he was a very gifted predator.

His good hand searched for his purse, which was gone. He had expected it. He would have to use the secret stash hidden in the double sole of his boots.

"Help me up and into your best room. I'll stay here a few days to recover. Send for a doctor at once."

"Aye Messire!"

Stumbling back to his feet, the man smiled wickedly. The hunt was on, and he would savor every minute of it. He was the King's master hunter after all.

***

Surroundings of Calais, six days later.

Alienor turned around on her jennet and met Isobel's gaze. She grinned, pointing at the road ahead. In the distance, dimmed by the persistent drizzle, high grey walls could be seen. The town of Calais, finally.

She pushed her tired mare to a canter. All of them were eager to arrive. The last days had been exhausting. They had left Paris in a rush, and had kept trying to cover as much ground as possible without killing their horses under them. Despite the grim weather, they had managed a solid fifteen leagues a day on roads that were sometimes not more than a trail, covered in mud and ridden with treacherous potholes. They were lucky to have made it this far with no more harm than a few lost horseshoes.