Thoughts of assassination made him think of Person and the duel. Mulgrave had been right to think that Winter Kay hated him. There was no doubt in Gaise’s mind that the loaders had been ordered to mislead the pistol. Gaise had known it from the moment he had taken the gun from the loader’s hand and inserted the ball himself. Person’s face had betrayed the plan. From cocky confidence to abject terror in the space of a heartbeat. The loaders were Redeemers. They would not have taken it upon themselves to sentence Gaise to death. No, Winterbourne was behind it.
No matter how hard he tried Gaise could not come up with a reason for the man’s hatred. Yes, he had prevented Winter Kay killing a few villagers, but the truth was that from the first moment the two had met face to face, after the Battle of Nollenby four months ago, Gaise had sensed the man’s dislike. Most odd, he thought. He had received a written invitation to dine with the earl and his friends – an invitation graciously constructed, congratulating Gaise on the courage of the Eldacre Company. Gaise had ridden with Mulgrave to Winter bourne’s castle outside Baracum, and had entered the dining hall. Winterbourne had been talking with some other guests, but, on seeing Gaise, had walked towards him, smiling, his hand extended. Yet, at the point of the meeting, something changed. Winterbourne’s smile had faded. The conversation was stilted and abrupt. For the rest of the evening they exchanged barely a word. Even the normally astute Mulgrave had been unable to come up with a reason.
Now it was no longer a small matter of one man’s dislike for another. Winterbourne had connived in a plot to murder him. Would there be another? Mulgrave thought it likely, and Gaise trusted his instincts. One thing was sure – should there be another challenge Gaise would insist on swords.
The room was growing cold now, and Gaise pushed shut the window, dropping the latch. It was late, and he thought of taking to his bed. Dismissing the idea – his mind was too full – he gathered his heavy, fur-lined topcoat and swung it round his shoulders. A walk in the crisp night air would relax him. There were many wild dogs roaming the town now, and Gaise took up the silver-topped cane Mulgrave had given him on his birthday. With this in hand he walked downstairs and out through the front door. The night was bitter cold, though the wind had dropped. Gaise took a deep breath and strolled through the garden to the small, cast iron gate. Stepping out into the street he walked towards the old bridge, snow crunching beneath his boot heels.
Up ahead there were lights in the tavern. Gaise had released four barrels of brandy from the supply depot, and many townsfolk had gathered for an evening of merriment, a temporary release from the fear of war. They were all living on the edge of the abyss now. Next year’s seed corn was being eaten, most of the cattle had been slaughtered to feed either the townsfolk or the army. It would not be long before the wild dogs were also hunted for meat.
Four years ago it had seemed to Gaise to be an almost holy war. The king’s authority had been challenged, and the army mustered to defeat the traitors. Along the way the objectives had subtly shifted. Both sides claimed to have the king’s best interests at heart. Both claimed the moral high ground. The Covenanters maintained that the king had granted them certain rights of self rule, which he had. Then, on bad advice, he revoked those rights. The Royalists claimed the Covenanters sought the abolition of the monarchy, and the destruction of the noble classes. They cited the growing influence of Luden Macks, a farmer from the south, with barely a trace of noble blood in his veins. Macks now largely controlled the Covenant cause. Yet Macks had begged the king to restore the Covenant, and had pledged allegiance to his cause should he do so.
Gaise paused on the old bridge, staring out over the frozen water. The armies were tearing the land apart, with no side close to victory. Meanwhile the citizens faced starvation, disease, and terror.