Tyranny's Bloody Standard: An epic Napoleonic naval adventure (The Philippe Kermorvant Thrillers Book 2) by Davies J. D

Author:Davies, J. D.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2023-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

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Carla and Philippe returned to the tower as if to prepare for Carla to fulfil her promise to ride to Calvi. Instead they climbed to the platform at the very top, which provided spectacular views for many miles around. A golden eagle circled lazily, then flew off to see if there were any more interesting prospects on the other side of the mountain. Occasionally barely audible sounds in the far distance demonstrated that the British bombardment of Calvi continued in its intermittent, indecisive fashion.

‘You might be wrong,’ said Carla.

Philippe studied the village below as if he was assessing an enemy warship, scanning first one way, then the other, methodically and repeatedly.

‘A message had to go to Maestracci to trigger your father’s killing,’ he said, ‘and a message has to go to him now, to let him know you’re coming at the hour you announced in the church. Whoever the traitor is dare not wait. He, or his messenger, must reach Maestracci before you do, and he’ll think you’re going to set out in less than an hour from now.’

‘People are coming and going all the time.’

‘If I’m right, none of them will be in such a hurry.’

For long minutes there was nothing suspicious. Two heavily laden carts came up the road that Philippe and Carla had taken to the village, a group of widows went down to the stream to wash clothes, a dozen or so ragged-looking boys played a riotous game of their own devising in the dust of the village square. Philippe began to doubt his own judgement. Perhaps there was no traitor in the Leandri camp. Perhaps sheer luck had directed Maestracci to Ercule Leandri.

There was movement at the edge of the village. A man mounted on a grey mare rode out at a brisk canter on the road that led north, toward Calvi.

‘No,’ gasped Carla.

Philippe shared her disbelief. The rider was the village priest, Father Colonna.

‘No!’ she repeated, nearly shouting the word.

Philippe and Carla sprinted down the spiral staircase of the tower and mounted the two tethered horses awaiting them in the courtyard. They set off in the opposite direction to the village, taking a tortuous shepherd’s path around the eastern and northern slopes of the mountain. They would have to ride more slowly than the priest, said Carla as they rode out, for the path was precarious in places. But it was a short cut that would bring them back down onto the Calvi road ahead of Father Colonna.

Philippe considered himself a competent horseman, having been taught to ride both by his father and rather less formally by his childhood friends among the Powhatan of Virginia, whose equine skills were more unconventional but often more effective than those of a French nobleman born to the saddle. But the narrow mountain track tested his abilities, and several times he found himself deliberately looking away from the steep slopes that fell away sharply to his right, down into the valley and the dense forest far below.

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