I do believe you are going to live," a man's voice said in a tone of surprise.
Thomas tried to speak, but only managed a strangled, grating sound.
It astonishes me," the voice went on, what young men can endure. Babies too. Life is marvellously strong. Such a pity we waste it ,
It's plentiful enough," another man said.
The voice of the privileged,“ the first man, whose hand was still on Thomas's forehead, answered. You take life,” he said,'s o value it as a thief values his victims."
And you are a victim?"
Of course. A learned victim, a wise victim, even a valuable victim, but still a victim. And this young man, what is he?“ An English archer,” the second voice said sourly, and if we had any sense we'd kill him here and now."
I think we shall try and feed him instead. Help me raise him." Hands pushed Thomas upright in the bed, and a spoonful of warm soup was put into his mouth, but he could not swallow and so spat the soup onto the blankets. Pain seared through him and the darkness came again.
The light came a third time or perhaps a fourth, he could not tell. Perhaps he dreamed it, but this time an old man stood outlined against the bright window. The man had a long black robe, but he was not a priest or monk, for the robe was not gathered at the waist and he wore a small square black hat over his long white hair.
God," Thomas tried to say, though the word came out as a gut-tural grunt. The old man turned. He had a long, forked beard and was holding a jordan jar. It had a narrow neck and a round belly, and the bottle was filled with a pale yellow liquid that the man held up to the light. He peered at the liquid, then swilled it about before sniffing the jar's mouth.
Are you awake?"
Yes."
And you can speak! What a doctor I am! My brilliance astonishes me; if only it would persuade my patients to pay me. But most believe I should be grateful that they don't spit at me. Would you say this urine is clear?"
Thomas nodded and wished he had not for the pain jarred through his neck and down his spine.
You do not consider it turgid? Not dark? No, indeed not. It smells and tastes healthy too. A good flask of clear yellow urine, and there
is no better sign of good health. Alas, it is not yours.“ The doctor pushed open the window and poured the urine away. Swallow,” he instructed Thomas.
Thomas's mouth was dry, but he obediently tried to swallow and immediately gasped with pain.
I think," the doctor said, that we had best try a thin gruel. Very thin, with some oil, I believe, or better still, butter. That thing tied about your neck is a strip of cloth which has been soaked in holy water. It was not my doing, but I did not forbid it. You Christians believe in magic, indeed you could have no faith without a trust in magic, so I must indulge your beliefs. Is that a dog's paw about your neck? Don't tell me, I'm sure I don't want to know. However, when you recover, I trust you will understand that it was neither dog paws nor wet cloths that healed you, but my skill. I have bled you, I have applied poultices of dung, moss and clove, and I have sweated you. Eleanor, though, will insist it was her prayers and that tawdry strip of wet cloth that revived you.
Eleanor?"
She cut you down, dear boy. You were half dead. By the time I arrived you were more dead than alive and I advised her to let you expire in peace. I told her you were halfway in what you insist is hell and that I was too old and too tired to enter into a tugging contest with the devil, but Eleanor insisted and I have ever found it difficult to resist her entreaties. Gruel with rancid butter, I think. You are weak, dear boy, very weak. Do you have a name?“ Thomas.”
Mine is Mordecai, though you may call me Doctor. You won't, of course. You'll call me a damned Jew, a Christ murderer, a secret worshipper of pigs and a kidnapper of Christian children.“ This was all said cheerfully. How absurd! Who would want to kidnap children, Christian or otherwise? Vile things. The only mercy of children is that they grow up, as my son has but then, tragically, they beget more children. We do not learn life's lessons.” Doctor?" Thomas croaked.
Thomas?"
Thank you."
An Englishman with manners! The world's wonders never cease. Wait there, Thomas, and do not have the bad manners to die while I'm gone. I shall fetch gruel."
Doctor?"
I am still here."
Where am I?"
In the house of my friend, and quite safe."
Your friend?"
Sir Guillaume d'Evecque, knight of the sea and of the land, and as great a fool as any I know, but a good-hearted fool. He does at least pay me."
Thomas closed his eyes. He did not really understand what the doctor had said, or perhaps he did not believe it. His head was aching. There was pain all through his body, from his aching head, down to his throbbing toes. He thought of his mother, because that was comforting, then he remembered being hauled up the tree and he shivered. He wished he could sleep again, for in sleep there was no pain, but then he was made to sit up and the doctor forced a pungent, oily gruel into his mouth and he managed not to spit it out or throw it up. There must have been mushrooms in the gruel, or else it had been infused with the hemp-like leaves that the Hookton villagers had called angel salad, for after he had eaten he had vivid dreams, but less pain. When he awoke it was dark and he was alone, but he managed to sit up and even stand, though he tottered and had to sit again.
Next morning, when the birds were calling from the oak branches where he had so nearly died, a tall man came into the room. The man was on crutches and his left thigh was swathed in bandages. He turned to look at Thomas and showed a face that was horribly scarred. A blade had cut him from the forehead to the jaw, taking the man's left eye in its savage chop. He had long yellow hair, very shaggy and full, and Thomas guessed the man had been handsome once, though now he looked like a thing of nightmare. Mordecai,“ the man growled, tells me you will live.” With God's help," Thomas said.
I doubt God's interested in you,“ the man said sourly. He looked to be in his thirties and had the bowed legs of a horseman and the deep chest of a man who practises hard with weapons. He swung on the crutches to the window, where he sat on the sill. His beard was streaked with white where the blade had chopped into his jaw and his voice was uncommonly deep and harsh. But you might live with Mordecai's help. There isn't a physician to touch him in all Normandy, though Christ alone knows how he does it. He's been squinting at my piss for a week now. I'm crippled, you Jewish halfwit, I tell him, not wounded in the bladder, but he just tells me to shut my mouth and squeeze out more drops. He'll start on you soon.” The man, who wore nothing except a long white shirt, con-templated Thomas moodily. I have a notion,“ he growled, that you are the godforsaken bastard who put an arrow into my thigh. I remember seeing a son of a whore with long hair like yours, then I was hit.”
You're Sir Guillaume?"
I am."
I meant to kill you," Thomas said.
So why shouldn't I kill you?“ Sir Guillaume asked. You lie in my bed, drink my gruel and breathe my air. English bastard. Worse, you're a Vexille.”
Thomas turned his head to stare at the forbidding Sir Guillaume. He said nothing, for the last three words had mystified him. But I choose not to kill you,“ Sir Guillaume said, because you saved my daughter from rape.”
Your daughter?"
Eleanor, you fool. She's a bastard daughter, of course,“ Sir Guil-laume said. Her mother was a servant to my father, but Eleanor is all I've got left and I'm fond of her. She says you were kind to her, which is why she cut you down and why you're lying in my bed. She always was overly sentimental.” He frowned. But I still have a mind to slice your damned throat."
For four years,“ Thomas said, I have dreamed of slitting yours.” Sir Guillaume's one eye gazed at him balefully. Of course you have. You're a Vexille."
I've never heard of the Vexilles,“ Thomas said. My name is Thomas of Hookton.”
Thomas half expected Sir Guillaume to frown as he tried to remember
Hookton, but his recognition of the name was instant. Hookton,“ he said, Hookton. Good sweet Christ, Hookton.” He was silent for a few heartbeats. And of course you're a damned Vexille. You have their badge on your bow."
My bow?"
You gave it to Eleanor to carry! She kept it.“ Thomas closed his eyes. There was pain in his neck and down his back and in his head. I think it was my father's badge,” he said, but I don't really know because he would never talk of his family. I know he hated his own father. I wasn't very fond of my own, but your men killed him and I swore to avenge him.“ Sir Guillaume turned to gaze out of the window. You have truly never heard of the Vexilles?”
Never."
Then you are fortunate.“ He stood. They are the devil's offspring, and you, I suspect, are one of their pups. I would kill you, boy, with as little conscience as if I stamped on a spider, but you were kind to my bastard daughter and for that I thank you.” He limped from the room.
Leaving Thomas in pain and utterly confused.
Thomas recovered in Sir Guillaume's garden, shaded from the sun by two quince trees under which he waited anxiously for doctorMor-decai's daily verdict on the colour, consistency, taste and smell of his urine. It did not seem to matter to the doctor that Thomas's grotesquely swollen neck was subsiding, nor that he could swallow bread and meat again. All that mattered was the state of his urine. There was, the doctor declared, no finer method of diagnosis. The urine betrays all. If it smells rank, or if it is dark, if it tastes of vinegar or should it be cloudy then it is time for vigorous doctoring. But good, pale, sweet-smelling urine like this is the worst news of all."
The worst?" Thomas asked, alarmed.
It means fewer fees for a physician, dear boy.“ The doctor had survived the sack of Caen by hiding in a neigh-hour's pig shed. They slaughtered the pigs, but missed the Jew. Mind you, they broke all my instruments, scattered my medicines, shattered all but three of my bottles and burned my house. Which is why I am forced to live here.” He shuddered, as though living in Sir Guillaume's mansion was a hardship. He smelled Thomas's urine and then, uncertain of his diagnosis, spilled a drop onto a finger and tasted it. Very fine,“ he said, lamentably fine.” He poured the jar's contents onto a bed of lavender where bees were at work. So I lost everything,“ he said, and this after we were assured by our great lords that the city would be safe!” Originally, the doctor had told Thomas, the leaders of the garrison had insisted on defending only the walled city and the castle, but they needed the help of the townsfolk to man the walls and those townsfolk had insisted that the Ile Saint Jean be defended, for that was where the city's wealth lay, and so, at the very last minute, the garrison had streamed across the bridge to disaster. Fools,“ Mordecai said scornfully, fools in steel and glory. Fools.”
Thomas and Mordecai were sharing the house while Sir Guil-laume visited his estate in Evecque, some thirty miles south of Caen, where he had gone to raise more men. He will fight on,“ the doctor said, wounded leg or not.”
What will he do with me?"
Nothing,“ the doctor said confidently. He likes you, despite all his bluster. You saved Eleanor, didn't you? He's always been fond of her. His wife wasn't, but he is.”
What happened to his wife?"
She died,“ Mordecai said,'s he just died.” Thomas could eat properly now and his strength returned fast so that he could walk about the Ile Saint Jean with Eleanor. The island looked as though a plague had struck, for over half the houses were empty and even those that were occupied were still blighted by the sack. Shutters were missing, doors splintered and the shops had no goods. Some country folk were selling beans, peas and cheeses from wagons, and small boys were offering fresh perch taken from the rivers, but they were still hungry days. They were also nervous days, for the city's survivors feared that the hated English might return and the island was still haunted by the sickly smell of the corpses in the two rivers where the gulls, rats and dogs grew fat. Eleanor hated walking about the city, preferring to go south into the countryside where blue dragonflies flew above water lilies in the streams that twisted between fields of overripe rye, barley and wheat.
I love harvest time,“ she told Thomas. We used to go into the fields and help.” There would be little harvest this year, for there were no folk to cut the grain and so the corn buntings were stripping the heads and pigeons were squabbling over the leavings. There should be a feast at harvest's end,“ Eleanor said wistfully. We had a feast too,” Thomas said, and we used to hang corn dollies in the church."
Corn dollies?"
He made her a little doll from straw. We used to hang thirteen of these above the altar,“ he told her, one for Christ and one each for the Apostles.” He picked some cornflowers and gave them to Eleanor, who threaded them into her hair. It was very fair hair, like sunlit gold.
They talked incessantly and one day Thomas asked her again about the lance and this time Eleanor nodded.
I lied to you,“ she said, because he did have it, but it was stolen.” Who stole it?"
She touched her face. The man who took his eye.“ A man called Vexille?”
She nodded solemnly. I think so. But it wasn't here, it was in Evecque. That's his real home. He got the Caen house when he married."
Tell me about the Vexilles," Thomas urged her.
I know nothing of them,“ Eleanor said, and he believed her. They were sitting by a stream where two swans floated and a heron stalked frogs in a reedbed. Thomas had talked earlier of walk-ing away from Caen to find the English army and his words must have been weighing on Eleanor's mind for she frowned at him. Will you really go?”
I don't know." He wanted to be with the army, for that was where he belonged, though he did not know how he was to find it, nor how he was to survive in a countryside where the English had made themselves hated, but he also wanted to stay. He wanted to learn more about the Vexilles and only Sir Guillaume could satisfy that hunger. And, day by day, he wanted to be with Eleanor. There was a calm gentleness in her that Jeanette had never pOssessed, a gentleness that made him treat her with tenderness for fear that otherwise he would break her. He never tired of watching her long face with its slightly hollow cheeks and bony nose and big eyes. She was embarrassed by his scrutiny, but did not tell him to stop.
Sir Guillaume,“ she told him, tells me I look like my mother, but I don't remember her very well.”
Sir Guillaume came back to Caen with a dozen men-at-arms whom he had hired in northern Alencon. He would lead them to war, he said, along with the half-dozen of his men who had survived the fall of Caen. His leg was still sore, but he could walk without crutches and on the day of his return he summarily ordered Thomas to go with him to the church of Saint Jean. Eleanor, working in the kitchen, joined them as they left the house and Sir Guillaume did not forbid her to come.
Folk bowed as Sir Guillaume passed and many sought his assur-ance that the English were truly gone. They are marching towards Paris,“ he would answer, and our king will trap them and kill them.”
You think so?“ Thomas asked after one such assurance. I pray so,” Sir Guillaume growled. That's what the King is for, isn't it? To protect his people? And God knows, we need protection. I'm told that if you climb that tower,“ he nodded towards the church of Saint Jean that was their destination, you can see the smoke from the towns your army has burned. They are conducting a chevauche .” Chevauchee ?" Eleanor asked.
Her father sighed. A chevauche , child, is when you march in a great line through your enemy's country and you burn, destroy and break everything in your path. The object of such barbarity is to force your enemy to come out from his fortresses and fight, and I think our king will oblige the English."
And the English bows,“ Thomas said, will cut his army down like hay.”
Sir Guillaume looked angry at that, but then shrugged. A marching army gets worn down,“ he said. The horses go lame, the boots wear out and the arrows run out. And you haven't seen the might of France, boy. For every knig
ht of yours we have six. You can shoot your arrows till your bows break, but we'll still have enough men left to kill you.” He fished in a pouch hanging at his belt and gave some small coins to the beggars at the churchyard gate, which lay close to the new grave where the five hundred corpses had been buried. It was now a mound of raw earth dotted with dandelions and it stank, for when the English had dug the grave they had struck water not far beneath the surface and so the pit was too shallow and the earth covering was too thin to contain the corruption the grave concealed.
Eleanor clapped a hand to her mouth, then hurried up the steps into the church where the archers had auctioned the town's wives and daughters. The priests had thrice exorcized the church with prayers and holy water, but it still had a sad air, for the statues were broken and the windows shattered. Sir Guillaume genuflected towards the main altar, then led Thomas and Eleanor up a side aisle where a painting on the limewashed wall showed Saint John escaping from the cauldron of boiling oil that the Emperor Domitian had prepared for him. The saint was shown as an ethereal form, half smoke and half man, floating away in the air while the Roman soldiers looked on in perpiexity.
Sir Guillaume approached a side altar where he dropped to his knees beside a great black flagstone and Thomas, to his surprise, saw that the Frenchman was weeping from his one eye. I brought you here,“ Sir Guillaume said, to teach you a lesson about your family.” Thomas did not contradict him. He did not know that he was a Vexille, but the yale on the silver badge suggested he was. Beneath that stone,“ Sir Guillaume said, lies my wife and my two children. A boy and a girl. He was six, she was eight and their mother was twenty-five years old. The house here belonged to her father. He gave me his daughter as ransom for a boat I captured. It was mere piracy, not war, but I gained a good wife from it.” The tears were flowing now and he closed his eye. Eleanor stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, while Thomas waited. Do you know,“ Sir Guillaume asked after a while, why we went to Hookton?” We thought because the tide took you away from Poole.“ No, we went to Hookton on purpose. I was paid to go there by a man who called himself the Harlequin.”
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