Jake appeared from a nearby cottage with a sack in his hand. What is it?" Thomas called.
Grain!“ Jake hefted the sack. Bloody damp. Sprouting.” No eels?"
Of course there are no bloody eels,“ Jake grumbled. Bloody eels got more sense than to live in a hovel like this.” Thomas grinned and looked off to the sea that lay like a blood-reddened swordblade to the west. There was one distant sail, a speck of white, on the clouded horizon. Gulls wheeled and soared above the river that here was a great wide channel, broken by reeds and banks, sliding towards the sea. It was hard to distinguish between river and marsh, so tangled was the landscape. Then Thomas wondered why the gulls were screaming and diving. He stared at them and saw what at first looked like a dozen cattle on the riverbank. He opened his mouth to call that news to Jake, then he saw that there were men with the cattle. Men and women, perhaps a score of them? He frowned, staring, realizing that the folk must have come from this village. They had presumably seen the English archers approaching and they had fled with their live-stock, but to where? The marsh? That was sensible, for the wetlands probably had a score of secret paths where folk could hide, but why had they risked going onto the sand ridge where Thomas could see them? Then he saw that they were not trying to hide, but to escape, for the villagers were now wading across the wide waters towards the northern bank.
Sweet Jesus, he thought, but there was a ford! He stared, not daring to believe his own eyes, but the folk were forging steadily across the river and dragging their cows with them. It was a deep ford, and he guessed it could only be crossed at low tide, but it was there. Jake!“ he shouted. Jake!”
Jake ran across to the church and Thomas leaned far down and hauled him onto the rotting thatch. The building swayed perilously under their weight as Jake scrambled to the ridge, took hold of the sun-bleached wooden cross and looked where Thomas was pointing.
God's arse,“ he said, there's a bloody ford!” And there are bloody Frenchmen," Thomas said, for on the river's far bank where firmer land rose from the tangle of marsh and water there were now men in grey mail. They were newly arrived, or else Thomas would have seen them earlier, and their first cooking fires pricked the dark stand of trees where they camped. Their presence showed that the French knew of the ford's existence and wanted to stop the English crossing, but that was none of Thomas's business. His only duty was to let the army know that there was a ford; a possible way out of the trap.
Thomas slid down the church's thatch and jumped to the ground. You go back to Will,“ he told Jake, and tell him there's a ford. And tell him I'll burn the cottages one at a time to serve as a beacon.” It would be dark soon and without a light to guide them no one would be able to find the village.
Jake took six men and rode back to the south. Thomas waited. Every now and then he climbed back to the church roof and stared across the ford and each time he thought he saw more fires among the trees. The French, he reckoned, had placed a formidable force there, and no wonder, for it was the last escape route and they were blocking it. But Thomas still fired the cottages one by one to show the English where that escape might lie.
The flames roared into the night, scattering sparks across the marshes. The archers had found some dried fish concealed in a hut wall and that, with brackish water, was their supper. They were disconsolate, and no wonder.
We should have stayed in Brittany,“ one man said. They're going to corner us,” another suggested. He had made a flute from a dried reed and had been playing a melancholy air. We've got arrows," a third man said.
Enough to kill all those bastards?"
Have to be enough."
The flute player blew some faint notes, then became bored and tossed the instrument into the closest fire. Thomas, the night drag-ging hard on his patience, strolled back to the church, but instead of climbing onto the roof he pushed open the ramshackle door and then opened the one window's shutters to let in the firelight. Then he saw it was not a proper church, but a fishermen's shrine. There was an altar made from sea-whitened planks balanced on two broken barrels, and on the altar was a crude doll-like figure draped with strips of white cloth and crowned with a band of dried seaweed. The fishermen at Hookton had sometimes made such places, especially if a boat was lost at sea, and Thomas's father had always hated them. He had burned one to the ground, calling it a place of idols, but Thomas reckoned fishermen needed the shrines. The sea was a cruel place and the doll, he thought it was female, perhaps represented some saint of the area. Women whose men were long gone to sea could come to pray to the saint, begging that the ship would come home. The shrine's roof was low and it was more comfortable to kneel. Thomas said a prayer. Let me live, he prayed, let me live, and he found himself thinking of the lance, thinking of Brother Germain and Sir Guillaume and of their fears that a new evil, born of the dark lords, was brewing in the south. It is none of your business, he told himself. It is superstition. The Cathars are dead, burned in the church's fires and gone to hell. Beware of madmen, his father had told him, and who better than his father to know that truth? But was he a Vexille? He bowed his head and prayed that God would keep him from the madness.
And what are you praying for now?" a voice suddenly asked, startling Thomas, who turned to see Father Hobbe grinning from the low doorway. He had chatted with the priest during the last few days, but he had never been alone with him. Thomas was not even sure he wanted to be, for Father Hobbe's presence was a reminder of his conscience.
I'm praying for more arrows, father."
Please God the prayer's answered,“ Father Hobbe said, then settled on the church's earthen floor. I had the devil's own task finding my way across the swamp, but I had a mind to talk with you. I have this feeling you've been avoiding me.” Father!" Thomas said chidingly.
So here you are, and with a beautiful girl as well! I tell you, Thomas, if they forced you to lick a leper's arse you'd taste nothing but sweetness. Charmed, you are. They can't even hang you!“ They can,” Thomas said, but not properly.“ Thank God for that,” the priest said, then smiled. So how is the penance going?"
I haven't found the lance,“ Thomas answered curtly. But have you even looked for it?” Father Hobbe asked, then drew a piece of bread from his pouch. He broke the small loaf and tossed half to Thomas. Don't ask where I got it, but I didn't steal it. Remember, Thomas, you can fail in a penance and still have absolution if you have made a sincere effort."
Thomas grimaced, not at Father Hobbe's words, but because he had bitten down on a scrap of millstone grit caught in the bread. He spat it out. My soul isn't so black as you make it sound, Father.“ How would you know? All our souls are black.”
I've made an effort," Thomas said, then found himself telling the whole tale of how he had gone to Caen and sought out Sir Guil-laume's house, and how he had been a guest there, and about Brother Germain and the Cathar Vexilles, and about the prophecy from Daniel and the advice of Mordecai.
Father Hobbe made the sign of the cross when Thomas talked of Mordecai. You can't take the word of such a man,“ the priest said sternly. He may or may not be a good doctor, but the Jews have ever been Christ's enemy. If he is on anyone's side it must be the devil's.”
He's a good man," Thomas insisted.
Thomas! Thomas!“ Father Hobbe said sadly, then frowned for a few heartbeats. I have heard,” he said after a while, that the Cathar heresy still lives.
But it can't challenge France and the Church!"
You would know?" Father Hobbe asked. It reached out across the sea to steal the lance from your father, and you say it reached across France to kill Sir Guillaume's wife. The devil works his business in the dark, Thomas.
There's more,“ Thomas said, and told the priest the story that the Cathars had the Grail. The light of the burning cottages flickered on the walls and gave the seaweed-crowned image on the altar a sinister cast. I don't think I believe any of it,” Thomas concluded. And why not?"
Because if the story is true,“ Thomas said, the
n I am not Thomas of Hookton, but Thomas Vexille. I'm not English, but some half-breed Frenchman. I'm not an archer, but noble born.” It gets worse,“ Father Hobbe said with a smile. It means that you have been given a task.”
They're just stories,“ Thomas said scornfully. Give me another penance, Father. I'll make a pilgrimage for you, I'll go to Canterbury on my knees if that's what you want.”
I want nothing of you, Thomas, but God wants a lot from you.“ Then tell God to choose someone else.”
I'm not in the habit of giving advice to the Almighty,“ Father Hobbe said, though I do listen to His. You think there is no Grail?” Men have sought it for a thousand years,“ Thomas said, and no one has found it. Unless the thing in Genoa is real.” Father Hobbe leaned his head against the wattle wall. I have heard,“ he said quietly, that the real Grail is made of common clay. A simple peasant dish like the one my mother treasured, God rest her soul, for she could only afford the one good dish and then, clumsy fool that I am, I broke it one day. But the Grail, I am told, cannot be broken. You could put it in one of those guns that amused everyone at Caen and it would not break even if you dashed it against a castle wall. And when you place the bread and wine, the blood and flesh, of the Mass in that common piece of clay, Thomas, it turns to gold. Pure, shining gold. That is the Grail and, God help me, it does exist.”
So you would have me wander the earth looking for a peasant's dish?" Thomas asked.
God would,“ Father Hobbe said, and for good reason.” He looked saddened. There is heresy everywhere, Thomas. The Church is besieged. The bishops and the cardinals and the abbots are corrupted by wealth, the village priests stew in ignorance and the devil is brewing his evil. Yet there are some of us, a few, who believe that the Church can be refreshed, that it can glow with God's glory again. I think the Grail could do that. I think God has chosen you. Father!"
And perhaps me,“ Father Hobbe said, ignoring Thomas's protest. When this is all over,” he waved a hand to encompass the army and its plight, I think I may join you. We shall seek your family together."
You?“ Thomas asked. Why?”
Because God calls,“ Father Hobbe said simply, then jerked his head. You must go, Thomas, you must go. I shall pray for you.” Thomas had to go because the night had been disturbed by the sound of horses“ hooves and the strident voices of men. Thomas seized his bow and ducked out of the church to find that a score of men-at-arms were now in the village. Their shields carried the lions and stars of the Earl of Northumberland and their commander was demanding to know who was in charge of the archers. I am,” Thomas said.
Where's this ford?"
Thomas made himself a torch from a sheaf of thatch lashed to a pole and, while its flame lasted, he led them across the marsh towards the distant ford. The flames flickered out after a while, but he was close enough to find his way to where he had seen the cattle. The tide had risen again and black water seeped and flooded all about the horsemen, who huddled on a shrinking ridge of sand. You can see where the other side is," Thomas told the men-at-arms, pointing to the fires of the French, which looked to be about a mile away.
Bastards are waiting for us?"
Plenty of them too."
We're crossing anyway,“ the leading man-at-arms said. The King's decided it, and we're doing it when the tide falls.” He turned to his men. Off your horses. Find the path. Mark it.“ He pointed to some pollarded willows. Cut staves off them, use them as markers.” Thomas groped his way back to the village, sometimes wading through water up to his waist. A thin mist was seeping from the flooding tide, and had it not been for the blazing huts in the village he could easily have got lost.
The village, built on the highest piece of land in all the marsh, had attracted a crowd of horsemen by the time Thomas returned. Archers and men-at-arms gathered there and some had already pulled down the shrine to make fires from its timbers. Will Skeat had come with the rest of his archers. The women are with the baggage,“ he told Thomas. Bloody chaos back there, it is. They're hoping to cross everyone in the morning.” Be a fight first," Thomas said.
Either that or fight their whole damn army later in the day. Did you find any eels?"
We ate them."
Skeat grinned, then turned as a voice hailed him. It was the Earl of Northampton, his horse's trapper spattered with mud almost to the saddle.
Well done, Will!"
Weren't me, my lord, it was this clever bastard." Skeat jerked a thumb at Thomas.
Hanging did you good, eh?“ the Earl said, then watched as a file of men-of-arms climbed onto the village's sand ridge. Be ready to move at dawn, Will, and we'll be crossing when the tide falls. I want your boys in front. Leave your horses here; I'll have good men watch them.”
There was small sleep that night, though Thomas did doze as he lay on the sand and waited for the dawn, which brought a pale, misty light. Willow trees loomed in the vapour, while men-at-arms crouched at the tide's edge and stared north to where the mist was thickened by smoke from the enemy's fires. The river ran decep-tively quick, hastened by the ebbing tide, but it was still too high to cross.
The sandbank by the ford held Skeat's fifty archers and another fifty under John Armstrong. There were the same number of men-at-arms, all on foot, led by the Earl of Northampton, who had been given the job of leading the crossing. The Prince of Wales had wanted to lead the fight himself, but his father had forbidden it. The Earl, far more experienced, had the responsibility and he was not happy. He would have liked many more men, but the sandbank would hold no more and the paths through the marshland were narrow and treacherous, making it difficult to bring reinforcements. You know what to do,“ the Earl told Skeat and Armstrong. We know.”
Maybe another two hours?" The Earl was judging the fall of the tide. The two hours crept by and the English could only stare through the thinning mist at the enemy, who formed their battleline at the ford's further side. The receding water let more men come to the sandbank, but the Earl's force was still pitifully small, per-haps two hundred men at most, while the French had double that number of men-at-arms alone. Thomas counted them as best he could, using the method Will Skeat had taught him: to divide the enemy in two, divide again, then count the small unit and multiply it by four, and he wished he had not done it for there were so many, and as well as the men-at-arms there had to be five or six hundred infantry, probably a levy from the country north of Abbeville. They were not a serious threat for, like most infantry, they would be ill-trained and badly armed with ancient weapons and farming tools, but they could still cause trouble if the Earl's men got into difficulties. The only blessing Thomas could find in the misty dawn was that the French seemed to have very few crossbowmen, but why would they need them when they had so many men-at-arms? And the formidable force that now gathered on the river's northern bank would be fighting in the knowledge that if they repelled the English attack then they would have their enemy pinned by the sea where the greater French army could crush them.
Two packhorses brought sheaves of precious arrows that were distributed among the archers. Ignore the goddamn peasants,“ Skeat told his men. Kill the men-at-arms. I want the bastards crying for the goats they call their mothers.”
There's food on the far side,“ John Armstrong told his hungry men. Those goddamn bastards will have meat, bread and beer, and it'll be yours if you get through them.”
And don't waste your arrows, Skeat growled. Shoot proper!
Aim, boys, aim. I want to see the bastards bleeding.“ Watch the wind!” John Armstrong shouted. It'll carry arrows to the right."
Two hundred of the French men-at-arms were on foot at the river's edge, while the other two hundred were mounted and wait-ing a hundred paces behind. The rabble of infantry was split into two vast lumps, one on each flank. The dismounted men-at-arms were there to stop the English at the water's edge and the mounted men would charge if any did break through, while the infantry was present to give the appearance of numbers and to help in the m
ass-acre that would follow the French victory. The French must have been confident for they had stopped every other attempt to ford the Somme.
Except at the other fords the enemy had possessed crossbowmen who had been able to keep the archers in deep water where they could not use their bows properly for fear of soaking the strings and here there were no crossbows.
The Earl of Northampton, on foot like his men, spat towards the river. He should have left his foot soldiers behind and brought a thousand Genoese,“ he remarked to Will Skeat. We'd be in trouble then.”
They'll have some crossbows," Skeat said.
Not enough, Will, not enough.“ The Earl was wearing an old helmet, one without any face plate. He was accompanied by a grey-bearded man-at-arms with a deeply lined face, who wore a much-mended coat of mail. You know Reginald Cobham, Will?” the Earl asked.
I've heard of you, Master Cobham,“ Will said respectfully. And I of you. Master Skeat,” Cobham answered. A whisper went through Skeat's archers that Reginald Cobham was at the ford and men turned to look at the greybeard whose name was celebrated in the army. A common man, like themselves, but old in war and feared by England's enemies.
The Earl looked at a pole which marked one edge of the ford. Reckon the water's low enough,“ he said, then patted Skeat's shoul-der. Go and kill some, Will.” Thomas took one glance behind and saw that every dry spot of the marsh was now crowded with soldiers, horses and women. The English army had come into the lowlands, depending on the Earl to force the crossing.
Off to the east, though none at the ford knew it, the main French army was filing across the bridge at Abbeville, ready to fall on the English rear.
The Grail Quest 1 - Harlequin tgq-1 Page 29
