towards a sea so still it might have been carved from wax, the chime of hammers and trowels from the Flodden wall grew faint. There was some comfort in
knowing that this barricade was now almost in place, but as they neared the port of Leith, the road narrowing, and the dwellings growing more crooked and ramshackle as its knitted streets drew
together, Paniter thought of the tumbling coastline north of the English border. Though much of it was sheer cliff, pounded by waves whatever the tide, there were enough beaches and unpatrolled
harbours between Berwick and Edinburgh that if Henry wanted to seek retribution, no bricks or gates could hold him back. They could not fool themselves that with the wall in place they were
safe.
But all thoughts of invasion fled as the Breniers’ house came into sight. As they approached, the king’s men sat taller in their saddles. They rode the final few yards along the
quayside in silence.
Louise and her mother met them at the door before they had dismounted, warned of their approach by the vixen’s bark. The courtiers’ faces told their news, but with the calmness of
disbelief, Louise led them into the house and offered them ale, hoping to delay what was to come.
‘No beverage, thank you,’ said Paniter, removing his cap. He looked at his hands, and lowered his voice, as if speaking in chapel. ‘We have had an answer from Benoit’s
commander, Lord Home. I am afraid – ’ He swallowed under the stare of the girl and her mother. ‘I’m afraid he believes he must have been killed in the fight.’
‘He’s not sure?’ asked Louise, in a pitch above her usual.
Paniter shook his head. ‘He cannot be. He does not recall seeing him in the battle, and certainly not after it. It is the obvious and most likely conclusion. Failing that, he may have been
taken prisoner to Berwick.’ He avoided her eyes. ‘But few survive capture, not even those fit enough to make it as far as the gaol. Those places are little short of open coffins.
Forgive my bluntness, but I do not want you to be under any further illusion that your brother still walks this earth. If you had seen what we have seen, you would understand what I am telling
you.’
Mme Brenier put an arm around her daughter. This was not news to her. She had said farewell to her son days ago. She’d had no hope to lose. But Louise had believed her brother lost, not
dead, and this report would, surely, destroy her faith in miracles.
Louise stood rigid, so brittle it felt as if she could snap. She looked at Paniter as if this crag of a man was as insubstantial as haar and she was seeing through his foggy shape to a scene
played out behind his back. But what she saw there made no sense and she stared, wide-eyed, willing the picture to become clear.
Gabriel glanced at the secretary. The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her eyes closed, and she seemed to sway. Gabriel stepped forward as she began to slip from her
mother’s hold, but before he reached her, she dropped to her hands and knees on the flagstones, lowering her head to fight off the faintness that swept over her.
Gabriel crouched and put a hand on her back, but she shrugged it off, heedless of his or anyone else’s concern. While her mother’s shoes clipped out of the room to bring cold water,
Louise was aware of nothing but darkness and a surging heat that threatened to melt her. She gave a moan, raised a hand, and slumped unconscious, sprawling amid a tumble of skirts like a guttered
candle wreathed in wax.
Gabriel looked around for a cushion. ‘Voici,’ said Mme Brenier, who was at his side with a bowl and cloth. The courtier took these while she pulled off her shawl and bundled it into
a pillow under her daughter’s head. The vixen was licking Louise’s face, but Mme was too distracted to chase her away. ‘N’aie pas peur, ma p’tite,’ she
whispered, chafing her hands, ‘n’aie pas douleur.’ Her tears fell onto her
knowing that this barricade was now almost in place, but as they neared the port of Leith, the road narrowing, and the dwellings growing more crooked and ramshackle as its knitted streets drew
together, Paniter thought of the tumbling coastline north of the English border. Though much of it was sheer cliff, pounded by waves whatever the tide, there were enough beaches and unpatrolled
harbours between Berwick and Edinburgh that if Henry wanted to seek retribution, no bricks or gates could hold him back. They could not fool themselves that with the wall in place they were
safe.
But all thoughts of invasion fled as the Breniers’ house came into sight. As they approached, the king’s men sat taller in their saddles. They rode the final few yards along the
quayside in silence.
Louise and her mother met them at the door before they had dismounted, warned of their approach by the vixen’s bark. The courtiers’ faces told their news, but with the calmness of
disbelief, Louise led them into the house and offered them ale, hoping to delay what was to come.
‘No beverage, thank you,’ said Paniter, removing his cap. He looked at his hands, and lowered his voice, as if speaking in chapel. ‘We have had an answer from Benoit’s
commander, Lord Home. I am afraid – ’ He swallowed under the stare of the girl and her mother. ‘I’m afraid he believes he must have been killed in the fight.’
‘He’s not sure?’ asked Louise, in a pitch above her usual.
Paniter shook his head. ‘He cannot be. He does not recall seeing him in the battle, and certainly not after it. It is the obvious and most likely conclusion. Failing that, he may have been
taken prisoner to Berwick.’ He avoided her eyes. ‘But few survive capture, not even those fit enough to make it as far as the gaol. Those places are little short of open coffins.
Forgive my bluntness, but I do not want you to be under any further illusion that your brother still walks this earth. If you had seen what we have seen, you would understand what I am telling
you.’
Mme Brenier put an arm around her daughter. This was not news to her. She had said farewell to her son days ago. She’d had no hope to lose. But Louise had believed her brother lost, not
dead, and this report would, surely, destroy her faith in miracles.
Louise stood rigid, so brittle it felt as if she could snap. She looked at Paniter as if this crag of a man was as insubstantial as haar and she was seeing through his foggy shape to a scene
played out behind his back. But what she saw there made no sense and she stared, wide-eyed, willing the picture to become clear.
Gabriel glanced at the secretary. The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her eyes closed, and she seemed to sway. Gabriel stepped forward as she began to slip from her
mother’s hold, but before he reached her, she dropped to her hands and knees on the flagstones, lowering her head to fight off the faintness that swept over her.
Gabriel crouched and put a hand on her back, but she shrugged it off, heedless of his or anyone else’s concern. While her mother’s shoes clipped out of the room to bring cold water,
Louise was aware of nothing but darkness and a surging heat that threatened to melt her. She gave a moan, raised a hand, and slumped unconscious, sprawling amid a tumble of skirts like a guttered
candle wreathed in wax.
Gabriel looked around for a cushion. ‘Voici,’ said Mme Brenier, who was at his side with a bowl and cloth. The courtier took these while she pulled off her shawl and bundled it into
a pillow under her daughter’s head. The vixen was licking Louise’s face, but Mme was too distracted to chase her away. ‘N’aie pas peur, ma p’tite,’ she
whispered, chafing her hands, ‘n’aie pas douleur.’ Her tears fell onto her
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