Prince of Darkness

gullible French clerk.
    Eudo reached the top of the stairs and gently pushed open the chamber door. The room was dark and he tensed. Something was wrong. Surely Celeste would leave a candle burning? He stood like a dog, sniffing the darkness, his eyes strained against the gloom. He caught the heavy fragrance of Celeste's perfume and made out the sleeping form of the young prostitute on her pallet bed underneath the small, half-open window. Eudo relaxed and grinned. Perhaps the girl was tired after a busy night? Perhaps he could savour some of the joys the young French clerk had experienced?
    'Celeste!' he whispered. 'Celeste, it is me, Eudo!'
    Silence greeted his words.
    'Is there anything wrong?' he asked softly.
    Alarmed now, he paused, ears straining for a sound.
    He heard the house creak and groan but it was old and the beggar on the corner would surely have alerted him to any approach. Eudo drew his dagger and walked over to the bed.
    'Celeste!' he hissed, and gave the girl a vigorous shake.
    Her body flopped over and Eudo opened his mouth in a silent scream. Celeste's throat had been slashed from ear to ear and the viscous red blood soaked the bodice of her dress and coagulated in dark pools on the blanket. Eudo felt something warm and sticky on his fingers. Breathing deeply, he stepped back, loosening his cloak as his hand went to his long dagger. He took another step back, then another, turned and dashed for the door. A shadowy figure loomed up but Eudo sank to one knee even as his dagger hissed out, slitting the man's belly. He sprang up and pushed the man aside, clattering down the stairs. Another figure was waiting for him, hooded and menacing. Eudo did not stop but jumped the final few stairs and crashed into his assailant, sending him flying against the hard wall. Eudo was then through, out into the dark, fetid alleyway. He glared across at the beggar.
    'You bastard!' he screamed. 'You lying bastard!'
    The wretch retreated deeper into his corner. Eudo scrabbled at the ground, picked up a loose cobblestone and sent it crashing into the beggar's skull, knocking him backwards into a moaning, huddled heap. Eudo turned the corner of the alleyway, running down towards the crossroads. He sobbed and groaned as his chest heaved for air and his heart beat like a drum. He knew it was all futile. So far he had been lucky, but where could he go?
    He saw a line of men-at-arms suddenly appear at the far side of the square. Eudo stopped and screamed defiance. He would not be taken alive. He was still screaming abuse when the crossbow bolt hit him full in the thigh and sent him crashing to the cobbles, mourning curses and groans. He grasped the quarrel embedded deep in his flesh and moaned at the sheer agony of it. No rewards now, no journey back to Bordeaux! No more cups of wine! He heard the thud of boots on the cobbled square and felt a mailed foot against his shoulder, pushing him over to sprawl flat on his back. The captain of the French guard took off his helmet and knelt down beside him.
    'Well, well, Monsieur,' he murmured. 'Your days of wine and song are over.'
    He brought his mailed fist back and gave the English spy a sickening blow across the mourn.
    'That's just the beginning of your troubles, Monsieur!' he hissed. 'I lost two good men tonight because of you.' He seized Eudo by the jerkin and dragged him upright 'But come, the dungeons in the Louvre are only a short walk and there are others who want a few words with you.'
    Lady Eleanor Belmont sat on the edge of the bed, her heart-shaped face pale and drawn except for the red flush on her cheeks. She wove her fingers together, turning and twisting them as if to vent the excitement which flooded through her. She rose and walked over to the diamond-shaped window. A beautiful August day; the sun was now beginning to set, the stillness of the priory broken only by the clear birdsong from the trees beyond the nunnery walls. Eleanor stopped, straining her eyes as she peered through the casement window. She was sure she had seen men-at-arms – horsemen amongst the trees – her attention drawn by the flash of steel from their weapons. She leaned against the glass, her hot cheek welcoming its coolness. Was someone there? Had they come? No, she could hear nothing except for the chatter of the nuns as they filed through the cloisters before Compline. Eleanor sighed, dismissing what must have been another phantasm of her fevered imagination.
    She looked around the