‘I made no comment about you. But it is clear that your men do not treat you with affection.’
You have no idea how they are. Most are good, loyal, decent men.’
‘But these few were not?’ Antoine said with a sneer on his lips.
‘They will none of them try to hurt me again.’
‘You killed them all?’ This was from Alazaïs. She looked on with apparent calm, but in her eyes there was alarm.
‘You need not worry. Two are slain, the third has an injury that he will not forget in a hurry.’
‘So you slaughtered them. How will their companions react to that?’ the physician asked. He had pushed all his tools and potions into a large, soft leather bag. He drew the strings tight about the neck to seal it and stood. ‘Do you think they will respond to you with friendliness or suspicion? They will expect you to distrust them, I dare say. Any action of yours will be measured in their eyes as to whether it shows you to be bitter or angry with them. I do not envy you your position.’
‘I will be fine,’ Berenger said.
He stood and winced, swaying a little, like a willow when the wind blows hard.
‘Sit!’ Alazaïs commanded. ‘If you try to do anything now, you will hurt yourself even more.’
There was a look of such genuine concern in her eyes that Berenger felt warmed for a moment. Then he realised that her fear was for herself. She was a woman, after all. In Berenger she had a new protector: if his men killed him, she would have no one.
‘I have to see the men,’ Berenger said. He did not mean to sound so harsh.
‘Why?’ asked the physician with scarcely concealed distaste. ‘So that they can make sure of killing you this time? First, you need to sleep. Then I should search for friends in your band. You will need them all the more, the next time someone tries to kill you.’
Thursday 21 July
Grandarse was up before the dawn that morning. He had a habit of early rising that had never been broken. However, today he was unrested. He had not slept well.
The previous evening he had spoken to Sir John, and had suggested taking his men away from the rest of the gathering army and making their way eastward. It would help to meld the team, help him to spot the weaker men, and get them a little more fit as they marched. Besides, there was a need for reconnaissance. Scouts were being sent off north and east in case of French forces gathering. It would make sense to have a force of archers sent in support of them, so that the scouts could ride back with news of their enemies.
‘Lazy fuckwits,’ he muttered to himself as he made his way from one snoring line of men to another, kicking each ankle and boot as he went. He wanted them up and ready.
His centaine was sprawled haphazardly in a malodorous collection near the embers of a series of campfires. Most of the men were no trouble and were already moving and collecting their belongings in the gathering light. These were not Grandarse’s concern. His mind was fixed on the vintaine of newer men.
All the centaine had enjoyed a good meal last evening. It was needed. After several nights of camping out in the open, there had been an increase in tension among the men. Occasionally fighting broke out between members of the different vintaines. That was all to the good, usually. Grandarse was more than happy to see truculent archers of his coming to blows with men from other companies. Commonly he would be able to make a profit, running a purse for whichever may be the winner. However just now he was not sure which of the men would go too far and which could be controlled. Better by far to give them another occupation.
Now, marching with his men, he studied the little vintaine once more.
Few of them had the look of experienced fighters. Imbert may have fought often enough, but he didn’t move or look like an archer. No, if Grandarse had to guess, he was one of that growing number of outlaws that had infested poor England since the pestilence struck down so many. Men suddenly decided their oaths and their honour mattered little. They tried to demand more money for themselves, they insulted their masters and caused untold trouble wherever they went.
Robin was clearly an archer. His skill was undoubted, and his calm, confident demeanour was impressive. Grandarse had watched, and whenever there was bickering or snapping among the men of the vintaine, the others looked to Robin to smooth over the ruffled feathers. There was little doubt that he was the only man competent to lead the others.
Later yesterday, after the priests had come to give the men their Mass, Sir John de Sully had appeared again, walking quietly through the men. ‘Grandarse, a word,’ he said.
‘Sir John?’
‘Tomorrow, when you go, keep on to La Réole. That is where the Prince is to form his forward headquarters. Wait for us there. The Prince will want to finish the basic training of new recruits, test their skills and have a final test of the equipment and stores, before he moves off with the army.’
‘Very good. It’s about time. The men will get restless else.’
‘We’re waiting for reinforcements first,’ Sir John said. ‘In the meantime, I’ve heard a few comments about some of your men.’
Shite, Grandarse thought. Which prick has fucked around this time? ‘Really? What sort of comments?’
‘The usual. Complaints that you have some men who were not willing and eager to serve the King.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Grandarse said, thinking, I’ll kick those bastards’ arses into next week if I find out who it was.
‘Do you?’ Sir John said, and gave him a look in which suspicion was mixed with amusement. ‘If I believed that, I would have to believe you had lost your skill as a soldier, Grandarse. What do you think of your men?’
‘They’re all keen and eager. They’re like the mastiffs straining at their leashes when they can see the bull to bait,’ Grandarse lied.
‘What of the new men? You have two vintaines without a vintener, I believe? One has little in it apart from recent recruits.’
‘Yes. I tried to foist them on to John of Essex, but he wouldn’t have it.’
‘That’s the man calls himself Hawkwood now?’
‘Yes. But I won’t dignify him to that degree. He came from Essex. It’s a good enough name.’
‘Is there no one in those vintaines who shows skill with a bow and who can teach the others?’
Grandarse hesitated, then, reluctantly, ‘There is one. He calls himself Robin of London.’
‘And he is good with bow and arrow?’
‘He could hit an eagle’s eye at a hundred yards.’
‘I doubt it. Has he experience of leadership?’
‘Not that he’s told me, no.’
‘Perhaps he will suffice, even so. Give him command of his vintaine, make it clear he is subordinate to all other vinteners, and we shall see what happens. I trust you can command the other vintaine?’
‘Aye.’
‘After all, from counting the men in your centaine, there seems to be few enough.’
‘Oh, I think that you must have miscounted, Sir John, I—’
‘Don’t test my patience, Grandarse. We’ve known each other far too long for that,’ Sir John said. He peered up at the sky, then about him. ‘You’ll make your profit on this ride. But don’t leave the men in your command feeling deserted. You take on the command of the spare vintaine. There will be all too little time to train the men after we reach Bergerac. I think that the Prince is determined to advance as soon as he may, and that will mean that we will have only a little time to train the men there.’
‘How long will we have, do you think?’
‘A matter of a couple of weeks or so. No longer. You will need to get the men used to marching and fighting in the time we have left.’
‘Not long enough.’
‘You will have to make it so.’
‘Aye. Well, I’ll do all I can.’ He turned a shrewd eye to the knight. ‘So, Sir John: this chevauchée. Is it to aim for the north, then?’
‘As I told you before, the army is to rid
e north and bring dampnum to the peasants and townsfolk in our path,’ Sir John said. ‘We have the objective of riding to meet with King Edward’s army near Flanders or the Duke’s forces in Brittany. I don’t know which the Prince’s advisers will suggest as the more important of the two.’
‘Aye. That pleases me well. There are good pickings about the towns and cities north of us, and no one has riffled through them before.’
‘We will be passing through the richest lands in France, and you will have many opportunities to enrich yourself. Especially when we come to blows with the French. Catch yourself a count or a duke and you will never have to fight again.’
Grandarse patted his stomach. ‘I would have to catch a right rich knight to keep this in shape!’
Aye, Sir John had been cheerful enough on hearing Grandarse’s words, but there was a look in his eye that Grandarse didn’t like. It was the look of a man who was unsure of the next few weeks.
Denisot could not leave immediately. There were too many duties for a bayle even in a small community like Domps, and it was a week before he could pack a pair of satchels with some bread and cold meats and prepare to leave.
He walked back into the house and saw his maid, Suzette, who smiled and lowered her head when he asked where his wife was. Suzette’s eyes flickered once towards the door out to the dairy, and Denisot grunted to himself. She knew he was in a hurry to be off.
She gave him a wink, and he felt it like a kiss, before she turned and made her way out to the front. Perhaps Gaillarde was right. It may be better were he to dispense with her. She was a sore temptation, and no man could bear such a temptation for long without succumbing. But she was also pretty, a breath of fresh air in a household that had grown ever more troublesome in recent months.
‘How long will you be?’ Gaillarde demanded when he found her skimming cream from a wide, flat dish.
‘As quick as I can be. A day to ride there and discuss, and then home, if I’m lucky.’ He didn’t add that, if he was really lucky, he would be forced to wait and talk to a family suddenly deprived of a young daughter, and perhaps spend a night in a tavern with happy, cheerful bawds and harlots who could tease him to pleasures that the priest would abhor and which his wife was determined to refuse him.
‘One day? You’ll be home tonight.’
‘Unless something happens. If I learn something, I may have to stay away for a day, I suppose. And if the mercenaries are about—’
‘What, you think you are likely to be attacked?’ she said scathingly, looking him up and down.
‘English mercenaries don’t care who they kill,’ he said.
‘Be quick, then,’ she said, turning back to her cream.
Even her farewells sounded like scoldings. Denisot turned on his heel and returned to his horse. As he passed Suzette, he was tempted to grab her and kiss her goodbye. Any contact with a woman was appealing. But the moment passed and he continued out to his mount.
That day Berenger was at the town square early in the afternoon.
There was a group of his men over at the tavern near the church, and a second, louder, mob were gambling over fighting cocks. The cheering and jeering of the men grew with the sound of the battle, yet Berenger could still hear the rustling of feathers clearly over the men egging them on. The clucking and squawking of the birds rose and rose, until there was a flurry and a series of cries from the audience as one bird died.
Walking to the tavern, Berenger sat at a bench and waited to be served. When the anxious storeowner appeared, Berenger ordered a jug of wine and waited. Several of the men inside glanced at him affecting disinterest, but he could tell that several were surprised to see him there. News must travel fast, he thought. They must have assumed he was more badly injured than was the case.
Loys was sitting on his own at another table, his head hunched. Berenger guessed that he had been the target of another humorous sally that left him looking a fool. On a whim, Berenger beckoned him. He was one of the few men in the band whom Berenger thought would be on his side. When his wine arrived, he ordered a second cup.
Will appeared in the square while Berenger was pouring the two cups, and on seeing Berenger, the vintener made his way directly to him. He saw the second cup and would have taken it, but Berenger pointedly lifted it and passed it to Loys.
Will’s eyes narrowed slightly at this affront. Then: ‘Frip, I heard you’d been attacked. I’m shocked, really shocked. Who could have done such a thing?’
‘Haven’t you had the bodies lifted already? I left one alive to tell the tale as best he could, but the others are dead,’ Berenger said shortly. ‘Who put them up to it, I wonder?’
‘Put them up to it?’ Will said. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘If you’re going to lie, you can at least try to lie convincingly,’ Berenger said. ‘They were all from your vintaine, Will. They were your men through and through. What did you bribe them? A sack of gold from my stores, or just all the wine they could drink?’
‘These are dangerous accusations,’ Will said.
‘No. The danger was in setting your men on to me.’
‘So you say,’ Will said laconically. ‘Well, I deny it. So what now? Will you instruct a pleader to come and present your case?’
‘I have my pleader already,’ Berenger said, pulling his sword from its scabbard and placing it on the bench beside him. Loys stared from Berenger to his sword, and then at Will.
‘You have a weapon, and you would unsheathe it here? I think you made a rule that all the men in the band should beware any such actions on pain of death. Do you think yourself above the law, Frip?’
‘I accuse you of mutiny. You egged on three men to waylay me and try to have me killed.’
‘Yes. I did.’
‘You don’t even deny it?’
‘Why should I? I have the whole company behind me, old man.’ The contempt in his voice dripped like acid. ‘Did you think I would make my move without thinking it through? The men have been less than delighted with your rules and restrictions for weeks now, and the more you drink, the less happy they are. Now there is news of a new chevauchée, the men are anxious.’
‘What new chevauchée?’
‘You see, Frip? You don’t pay attention. There are stories that the Prince is at Bergerac and gathering his forces. But we don’t know which direction he’ll take. Perhaps he’ll come up here and we will be able to join him? It would be good to be a part of another chevauchée if it’s as profitable as last year’s.’
Berenger stared at him. He had heard of the previous year’s raid. Prince Edward had taken a small army across to Toulouse and beyond. Men were still talking about the gold, silver, silks and ransoms the participants had won. ‘You think Prince Edward would accept you and your rabble? I’ve fought with the Prince and his father.’
‘Yes, you have told us before. But the men agree with me. It’s time for a new leader.’
‘That would be you, I suppose?’
‘If you like, we can hold an election now.’
Berenger shook his head slowly. There was no point. With so many men from his company all about him and listening, it was clear Will was confident of his position. Berenger had failed in the first requirement of a leader: he had not kept enough men close to him. He picked up the cup of wine with a peculiar feeling that this was a dream and must soon end, although he had no idea how.
‘The final straw was ordering that the men couldn’t take any of the women they wanted here. There were several had an eye on the widow in your house, and the idea that you wouldn’t share her upset them.’
‘She is to be left alone.’
‘She will have many friends tonight.’ Will sucked at his teeth. ‘Perhaps if you hurry, you can enjoy her one last time, eh?’
Berenger stared, but then stood, gripping his sword. Will smiled easily, and three other men rose from their tables.
‘Feel lucky, Frip?’ Will said.
Berenger cursed him and
set off to return to Alazaïs’s house. He must return before she was attacked. As he went, he became aware that Loys was at his side. ‘Leave me, boy! I am dead already,’ he said. ‘Go back to Will and you will be safe for now, but leave the company as soon as you can.’
‘I’ll stay with you. You are my commander. I won’t stay with Will.’
‘It is your choice then,’ Berenger said. He felt oddly comforted by the fact that one man would stay by his side. They were at the top of the street where the house stood, and as he peered along it, he could hear laughter and the sound of splintering wood. He ran, his sword grasped firmly in his fist, and pelted in at the front door, his back and torn flank shrieking with agony. There came a scream, and as he entered, he saw five men in the passageway. He threw himself on those nearest him.
Their attention was fixed on the door to the steps that led upstairs to the bedchambers. They were alternately beating upon it with their fists and tugging at the timbers. One had a sword out and was trying to lever the door open at the risk of ruining his blade.
The first died before he knew he was being attacked. Berenger’s sword slid under his ribs, and then he wrenched it as he pulled it free, and the corridor was filled with the smell of blood and shit as the man gave a sharp gasp and fell. Beside him was a bearded man with brown hair under his cap, and he gaped to see his companion collapse, but then he thrust himself away as Berenger’s blade slipped near his throat.
Berenger had drawn his long knife as well, and thrust with that at the bearded man, who ducked behind the man with the sword. Berenger’s knife caught that man’s throat, opening his neck. A fine spray of red misted the corridor and then a gush of thick blood pumped over Berenger and the others. He felt the warmth on his face and breast, and as he took the fight to the next man, he felt only elation. Fighting and killing made him feel alive. He stabbed and thrust, and Loys joined him. In the narrowing corridor, their opponents were hampered. While Loys and Berenger pushed them back, these others could not fight. They were drunk on Alazaïs’s wine, and had not expected to be attacked. Soon another man was screaming on the floor, his hamstrings cut and a pool of blood spreading from a wound in his leg. He tripped one of the remaining two men, and Berenger stabbed quickly, his sword entering the man’s skull just over his ear. Then there was only the bearded man left. He was still tugging at the door.
Blood of the Innocents Page 8
