Cross of Fire

by David Gilman

  ‘I’ll buy you a whore in the next town. Is that not fair payment?

  ‘Before or after you have had her yourself?’

  ‘Damn you, do not test my generosity,’ growled the veteran fighter.

  Will Longdon grinned and turned away to retrieve his satchel and the implements he needed. ‘Thomas,’ said Killbere. ‘You’ve seen Babeneaux’s men dead on the field. Some wore a different blazon. He has others under his command.’

  ‘I saw them,’ said Blackstone. ‘More men than we expected. If Henry lived long enough to tell Babeneaux how few we were I thought he wouldn’t send so many against us. He has men to spare.’

  ‘Henry will be fine,’ Killbere assured him, one hand pressed against the wound. ‘But what if Lady Whore has given us false information?’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘God only knows why women lie, Thomas. It serves their purpose to lay smokescreens. Perhaps she hoped we’d fall under her husband’s sword and has plans to barter for herself and her children if we don’t return, given she had sent us to our death.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Blackstone. ‘And I am wondering if the man I fought was Babeneaux. His weapons were not that of a lord.’

  ‘Shall we take his head to Lady Cateline?’ asked John Jacob. ‘So she can identify him?’

  ‘No, we’ll bring her to us.’

  John Jacob watched as the men finished taking their mementos from their fallen comrades. ‘You need to attend to your own wound, my lord.’

  Blackstone glanced at the stab wound on his arm. He had already bound it with torn linen but now it seeped blood. ‘Get a fire going, John, and I’ll sear it with a hot blade.’ John Jacob nodded and went to do his knight’s bidding.

  Killbere tore a piece from his shirt and made a knot of material to press against his wound while he waited for Will Longdon’s ministrations. ‘You know, Thomas, if Quenell had not told us that Babeneaux had been at le Garet we would probably have laid the same ambush as we did then. Archers either side and us at the top of the hill. And we’d be the ones lying out there as crow bait.’

  Blackstone nodded. ‘We all have memories of past battles, Gilbert, and that knowledge has kept us alive. That and hard fighting.’

  ‘We make no progress on this, Thomas. There’s still a fight waiting for us inside the castle. We are getting short of arrows and the men need rest. I was wheezing like a damned carthorse back there and all I did was stand my ground and let the bastards come to me.’

  Blackstone cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you telling me you’re getting too old for a fight?’

  ‘Damn you. I’m saying you’ve driven the men hard these past months. We’ve cleared towns and put routiers to flight. We’ve survived longer than many others doing the King’s bidding, but the men and the horses need rest. We should get ourselves to Poitiers and let William Felton fume and fart while he tells us we are late for the rendezvous and the men drink and whore in town.’

  Blackstone didn’t argue. How could he? Everything Killbere said was true. He had asked more than any other commander from his men and they had not raised a voice in complaint. It was important that Killbere spoke for them. ‘If I let them loose in Poitiers, we could have a riot on our hands. Felton takes his duties as seneschal more seriously than an abbot at a monastery.’

  ‘And can make life difficult for us. He lies abed at night knowing you won the fight at le Garet and he took the honour. Let’s not make enemies we do not need. Find a way to get Henry out of Babeneaux’s castle and let’s abandon further thoughts of taking it.’

  Blackstone watched John Jacob fanning embers to heat the knife that would soon sear his flesh. It would be painful but not as much as losing his son. ‘We have to give him time, Gilbert.’ He gave the matter a few moments’ further thought. ‘But if we can take the castle, then we will.’

  Killbere cursed beneath his breath. ‘You’re an obstinate bastard, Thomas Blackstone.’

  ‘I learnt it from you,’ said Blackstone and then raised an arm to summon Meulon and Renfred. The two captains strode to him.

  ‘Sir Thomas?’ said Meulon.

  ‘Renfred, choose six men to ride back and bring Lady Cateline and the rest of the men here. Leave your wounded; we’ll attend to them. You and Meulon ride close to Lord Mael’s castle, stay out of sight, avoid any villagers, see if there’s any signal from behind the castle walls tomorrow morning. We’ll camp a league behind you. I don’t want so many men close to the castle.’

  ‘And if there is smoke?’ said Renfred.

  ‘One of you returns here and the other finds a place for us to lie up so we can get through that postern gate tomorrow night.’

  Meulon asked the question no one wished to. ‘And if there’s no smoke?’

  ‘It’s finished. We ride on. My son will be dead.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Henry took his time emptying Jocard’s latrine bucket. He clambered onto the parapet where the sentries patrolling the walls made way for him, pointing to where he should tip it over the end wall. It gave Henry time to gauge the distance from the forest to the castle walls over the open ground lying in between, and to determine more of the layout of the castle’s defences. He returned to the yard and swilled out the bucket, deliberately not returning the bucket to the boy in the keep. No one would question a servant carrying a bucket and going about his chores. Likely he’d earn a cuff around the ear from the belligerent cook for his tardiness but he needed an excuse to get back and speak to Lady Cateline’s son later in the day once he had explored the castle grounds further.

  The day dragged on. He busied himself with chores in the kitchen, making any excuse he could to get into the castle grounds. Every corner, tower, building and sentry post could play a part in their survival. He made his way past the stables to where a new tower was being built. Masons clambered up wooden poles lashed together, strong timbers of ash and alder that supported platforms of poplar. Men below laboured to haul rocks to them on a pulley once other stonemasons had cut and shaped them. Labourers mixed mortar with hoes and trowels. A blacksmith sharpened tools. A carpenter’s pit bore the weight of a heavy beam on trestles being sawed to length by a long two-handed saw. There were men everywhere. Ostlers gaped at the stranger among them as they led out horses from their stalls. A labourer shouted at him to stay clear of the new construction. Even if his father could get inside the castle walls Henry knew the artisans and stable hands would take up arms, be it hammer or pitchfork. The English were the enemy and a man would fight to keep his family safe. He saw no sign of Mael Babeneaux or the other lords staying in the castle. Henry skirted the five-storey building with its palisade. Now and again a shadow moved in the upper colonnade and a glimpse of a tabard and the sound of voices echoed down to him. If it came to a fight, Mael would either be up there in his private quarters or in the keep with the steps drawn up. All the determination in the world would not dislodge him. The attack would fail. It was better for him and the boy to escape and to find his father.

  No one hindered Henry from going where he pleased as the dog dutifully followed him around the courtyards and then towards the far end of the castle where old inner curtain walls in a state of long disrepair were being butchered for the new tower. There, boys scrambled into the rubble to load wheelbarrows, back-breaking work in service of the more skilled labourers and masons. These boys assumed the older youth who picked his way through them with a large mastiff at his side had some senior role, so no one raised a challenge, and those that stood in his path bowed to him. Barren ground lay beyond the old wall, with stubs of boulders breaking the earth’s hard surface. Perhaps, Henry thought, a generation before, the area had been the place where the first castle fortifications were raised; now, long abandoned, it was a courtyard that lay beyond the other buildings, enclosed by the high castle wall ninety paces or more to his left and the outer wall a hundred or more to his right that was built on top of twenty feet of rock face. Somewhere near that far corner wh
ere the brambles grew was the iron grate that covered the possibility of escape. All he and Jocard had to do was stumble their way through the darkness and find it.

  Henry was correct in thinking the cook would admonish him on his return. The man’s hand across the back of his head made his ears ring, but he hastened away up the steps to return the bucket to Jocard’s room.

  ‘I couldn’t see the grid but I saw the rock face they built the walls on. I’ll come for you when the bell sounds for matins.’

  Jocard swallowed nervously, his hands twisting together. ‘Yes, that’s good, only the night watch will be manning the outer wall. No one gets up in the middle of the night except the priest to read the service once he’s rung the bell. It will disguise any sound we make.’

  ‘And neither Lord Mael nor anyone in his household attends the vigil?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Good. Then once the prayers are said I’ll take the candles from the church to light our way.’

  Jocard nodded but was still nervous. ‘There’s a night lantern by the grain store and a storeroom next to it where they keep reed torches for the night watch.’

  ‘Then I’ll forget the candles.’

  ‘No, take them. We pass the chapel first before we get to the store. If the store’s locked we’ll have wasted too much time and made it even more dangerous. You have a flint?

  Henry nodded. ‘I’m hoping the clouds will obscure the moon; if they don’t then we’ll be seen too easily. Tear your mattress and bring a handful of straw. We’ll need it to light the candles or torches.’

  They fell silent as fear held them. Henry broke the spell and pressed an encouraging hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘We are younger than any man here. We have speed on our side and they will not know where to look when they find us gone.’

  Jocard shook his head. ‘Unless they hear our screams when the demons come for us.’

  *

  Henry attended the early evening prayers, as did Lord Mael and the two knights. It was a repetition of the morning service. Henry barely heard a word the priest said as he concentrated on memorizing where the candles were placed so that he could find his way in the darkness six hours later. He waited for Babeneaux to leave, averting his eyes, fearing his thoughts were plain for all to see. God saw everything and so too might Lord Mael. His heart skipped a beat when his name was called.

  ‘Henri,’ said the Breton lord. ‘Stand, boy.’ The barrel-chested man waited with the two knights. Henry lowered his eyes and bowed. ‘My men have not returned as I would have expected by now. You swear you told the truth about how many men Blackstone had with him?’

  Henry felt God’s hand press over him. He stammered, unable to bring himself to lie in the place of worship. And then he felt the devil’s cold claw squeeze his heart. ‘I swear,’ he lied.

  For a moment he thought the lie so obvious that they would seize him. Lord Mael Babeneaux, protector of pilgrims, stepped forward and lifted Henry’s chin.

  ‘Henri, you are on a pilgrimage. I have given you safety and food; I ask nothing more than an honest answer,’ he said gently. ‘If you think you were mistaken, say so. No harm will come to you. Captain Roparzh is blood kin. He has a family. A wife and children. He went at my bidding on the information you gave. I would be aggrieved if he came to harm because you were mistaken, but if that were so I would not punish you. You’re a boy, you know only the way of the Church. Now, think again. Could you have been mistaken?’

  The flickering candlelight caused shadows to cross the man’s bearded face as he looked down at Henry. Mael’s eyes reflected the candle flame. Had the devil slithered into the man’s soul and given him the power to detect the untruth?

  ‘I saw what I saw,’ Henry said as determinedly as he could.

  Lord Mael locked eyes with Henry, searching his face for any shadow other than those dancing across the walls from spluttering candles. He nodded. ‘All right, boy,’ he said softly. ‘Get to your bed and attend to your duties in the morning. Once my men return with news of Thomas Blackstone’s death the way will be safe for you to continue your journey, for a while at least.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Henry, swallowing hard at the utterance of his father’s name, hoping he had been convincing in his lie.

  As Lord Mael Babeneaux turned away Henry’s hands trembled and, before fear made him lose control of his body, he wrapped his cloak tighter around him and stepped out into the night to find more danger had presented itself. The moon was rising, casting its glow.

  Darkness would not befriend them that night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Henry lay awake listening to the grunting snores of the cook and the servants. The dog snuffled and whimpered, dreaming of the day’s smells. Henry’s heart beat faster the longer he lay waiting. He had noticed the routine within the castle walls and knew the guard on the walls changed over before the bell rang for matins. Muffled voices reached him from men who had left the warmth of their beds to stand their duty watch on the walls. He half raised himself and looked at the sleeping bodies around him. Fire glow gave enough light for him to see the key on the wall nail. He stood slowly, remaining motionless in case the men or the dog stirred; then he moved forward carefully as his father had taught him, rolling each foot gently to keep the minimum pressure on the ground. The challenge would be to get across the reed floor and reach the staircase.

  His heart beat so loudly he thought it likely that the men patrolling the walls would hear it. He concentrated on the dark shape of the distant stairway, key grasped tightly in his hand. The crunching of the reeds beneath his feet must surely raise the alarm but fear of discovery didn’t stop him from lengthening his stride. By the time he was at the top of the stairs he had steadied his rapid breathing. If they were to succeed in their escape, he knew he needed to bring his fear under control, so he could remain focused on what he had to do. The grinding lock and the creaking door caused him to hunch, as if that might help him remain undetected. The room was in darkness except for the beam of light through the narrow slit window. The moonbeam revealed Jocard waiting nervously.

  ‘Ready?’ said Henry.

  The boy shook his head and forced a grin. ‘No.’

  Henry remembered how afraid he had been when, even younger than Jocard, he had faced danger and violence at his mother’s side.

  ‘Just follow me. We’ll soon be out of here,’ he said reassuringly, despite his own uncertainty.

  He led the way downstairs and across the floor to the main door. There would be no sentry there at night. The guard had been at his post only when Lord Mael had been expected in the great hall. As Henry lifted the iron ring to open the door he heard Jocard hiss behind him. He turned. The dog had come out of the kitchen and sat waiting to see what his master was up to.

  ‘Jupiter!’ the boy whispered fiercely, sweeping his arm in a gesture for the dog to return to the kitchen. The dog glanced over its shoulder and decided it was more interesting to stay where it was. It whimpered and looked as though it might bark. Jocard was quick-witted enough to bend down and smother the dog’s muzzle, embracing its deep chest. In the gloom Henry saw the plaintive look on the boy’s face. Henry had unconsciously taken out his knife. He would have to kill the dog before it betrayed them.

  Jocard got to his feet and gripped Henry’s arm. ‘There’s rope in the yard. I’ll tie him,’ he pleaded.

  Henry had no desire to cut its throat. He nodded, turned and led boy and dog into the night.

  True to his word Jocard found the length of rope and secured the dog’s studded collar. Henry ripped a piece of sacking and bound the dog’s jaws to stop it barking. The bell for midnight prayers clanged dully around the walls as the two boys pressed themselves against the buildings seeking the shadows. By the time they reached the chapel they knew their way was clear. No one ventured out other than the night watch, on the outer walls, who could not see them. Henry and Jocard hunched between wall and buttress watching glowing candlelight reflec
t through the chapel window. If the priest attended to his duties diligently, then he would recite the Divine Office word for word. But Henry hoped the lure of his warm bed and the lack of congregation would override his sense of duty, and that he would return early to his room at the back of the chapel. They waited and were soon rewarded by the light growing dim. Candles were being extinguished. Henry concentrated his thoughts on the priest’s actions, following him with his mind’s eye. He would genuflect before the crucifix, walk to each lit candle, snuff the flame and then walk back to the rear and his room. There, he would close his door, pull the blankets on his cot over him and be ready for more prayers in three hours’ time. The light dimmed further, telling Henry that the priest had reached his room and when darkness engulfed the chapel again he got ready to run.

  ‘Wait here,’ he told the boy. ‘If anything goes wrong, then make your escape without me. Understand?’

  Jocard nodded. ‘But—’

  Henry raised a hand. ‘Get through the caves and find a way out. My father and his men are out there somewhere. They are waiting for a signal from me but I cannot give them one, so take any path you find that leads you beyond the direction of the postern gate and they will see you.’

  Henry did not wait for an answer. Glancing left and right, he ran across towards the chapel door. Its archway gave him enough shadow to look back and see that no one unexpected had stepped into the courtyard. He lifted the door latch and opened the heavy door wide enough to slip sideways into the dank chill of the place where men unburdened their souls. If disembodied sins could take on ghostly form they would be entombed here in the stone cold walls. For once he was glad of the moonlight; it eased his fear of the imagined spirits and showed him the candles in their silver holders.

  The sweet smell of candle wax hung in the air as he loosened a candle from its holder. There were several but he decided that four would suffice. Two for each boy and easier to carry. He laid down the three he had already retrieved and gripped the silver holder that held the biggest candle. It had been rammed firmly into the base. He twisted and pulled and as candle and holder separated a bony hand gripped his shoulder. Instinctively he swirled around, wielding the heavy silver base. It caught the cowled figure who stood behind him with a club in his hand ready to fell the thief. The priest fell heavily, his gnarled wooden club clattering on the stone floor. Henry gaped unbelievingly at what he had just done. Heart thudding, his breath stayed trapped in his lungs. He forced himself to exhale, wondering what to do. Was the man dead? It made no difference. It was too late now. Henry had blood on his hands. He gathered the candles and ran for the door.