Read Online Fire and Sword by Edward Marston - Free Book Online Page B

‘As I approached, they ambushed me. I had no chance against such odds.’
    ‘Ah, I see…and what about your friend, Lieutenant Jauzion?’
    ‘Sebastien?’
    ‘At the time you say you were set on by three men, his dead body was in the privy.’ Crevel gulped. It was news to him. ‘Are you asking me to believe that it was big enough to conceal four human beings?’
    ‘Sebastien is dead?’ croaked Crevel. ‘How could that be?’
    ‘If you’d stayed awake long enough, you might have saved his life. He was stabbed to death with his own dagger. When they found his corpse in the privy, your friends were certain that the killer was a wine merchant whom you befriended in the course of the evening.’ He snapped his fingers and Valeran retrieved the report from the ground before handing it to him. Vendôme glanced at it. ‘The man’s name was Marcel Daron. Do you have any memory of him?’
    ‘Yes, I do. He was good company.’
    ‘Lieutenant Jauzion might not agree with that judgement.’
    ‘Poor Sebastien…I can’t believe he’s dead!’
    ‘It’s more than probable that he was murdered under your very nose. And not by three ruffians,’ Vendôme went on, curling his lip. ‘He was stabbed by this so-called wine merchant, the same man who stripped you of your uniform and tossed you into a ditch.’ He took a step closer. ‘Why did you lie to me?’
    ‘I was telling the truth,’ bleated Crevel.
    ‘The only person you told the truth to was that crafty wine merchant, who will no doubt convey everything you divulged to his masters in the Confederate army. You were duped by a spy, Major Crevel. And you allowed a fine officer like Lieutenant Jauzion to be killed because you were too drunk and incapable to save him. What have you to say for yourself?’
    Crevel’s head drooped. ‘It won’t happen again, Your Grace.’
    ‘Oh, there’s no danger of that,’ said Vendôme, vindictively. ‘Nobody will be able to filch the uniform of a major in the French army again because you, sir, are no longer entitled to wear it. Take it off.’
    ‘I must protest,’ howled Crevel. ‘I hold my rank with honour.’
    ‘Take it off!’ roared Vendôme. ‘Or I’ll tear it from your body with my bare hands.’
    ‘The matter must be referred to the duc de Burgundy.’
    It was an unwise moment to remind Vendôme that he was not the commander-in-chief. Losing his temper, helashed out with a hand and slapped Crevel hard across the cheek. He then unleashed such a gushing stream of vituperation that the erstwhile major cowered before him and plucked hastily at the buttons of his coat. When it had been removed, Vendôme snatched it from him and hurled it into the corner of the tent.
    ‘Get out of my sight!’ he yelled, quivering with rage. ‘You’re confined to your quarters until I can decide on your punishment.’
    ‘At least, give me leave to apologise,’ pleaded Crevel.
    But there was no chance of that. Vendôme raised his hand to strike again and Crevel gave up. Waddling ridiculously, he hurried out of the tent. It was some minutes before Vendôme’s ire gradually subsided. Lieutenant Valeran, meanwhile, lurked silently in his corner, too frightened to venture an opinion lest the ducal anger be turned on him. He was relieved when the older man seemed to calm down. Vendôme lowered himself onto a chair and was deep in thought for a while. Making a decision, he suddenly got up again.
    ‘I want him,’ he said.
    ‘Shall I fetch Major Crevell back?’ asked Valeran.
    ‘I don’t want him , Raoul. I never want to see that buffoon again. No,’ he went on, ‘the man I’m after is that venomous wine merchant. I won’t allow anyone to humiliate us like this. I want Marcel Daron – or whatever his real name is – standing before me in chains.’
    ‘How can we arrange that?’
    ‘Use your imagination, man. We have intelligencers in the enemy camp. Let them earn their money for once. Someone will have boasted of how they