‘You may find it later. Step away.’
‘I will remember your face.’
‘Do so. It is familiar to many. So is the face of my master, who is the Prince’s favourite gynour. If you have a desire to pick a quarrel, feel free to do so. I have enough men to protect me.’
Arnaud tramped along the path with a nervous smile on his face. Bernard looked so grumpy always, glaring about him with his habitual frown, while his latest acquisition trailed behind him.
She was desperately unhappy. Arnaud could see that. And while she no doubt deserved her current afflictions, he did feel sorry for her. He would have liked to take her away from Bernard, to soothe her and comfort her and reassure her. Not that Bernard would allow him. Bernard didn’t like him associating with women, which was ironic really.
This army camp was scary. All these English soldiers in every direction. It was the sort of place Arnaud and Bernard would usually avoid, since the horror of almost being caught up in the arrests and killings at Rouen when the King of Navarre was captured. A horrible day.
They were passing by a great pavilion as he thought this, and he stared down at the rugs that covered the floor inside. Rich, glorious colours all but blinded the eye, and he was taken by an urge to roll on the sumptuous carpets.
It was when he looked up that he saw Thomas de Ladit again.
Tuesday 23 August
Berenger and the others rode into Saint-Amand-Montrond with their captives and made their way to Sir John de Sully’s pavilion.
The knight rose when he saw Grandarse and Berenger approach. ‘In God’s name, I am glad to see you back,’ he said, clasping Grandarse’s hand and smiling broadly. ‘I had feared that you were dead or captured. It does me good to see you both safe.’
‘Aye, well, we failed to catch the men we wanted, but we did bring you some French scouts to question,’ Grandarse said. ‘They say that the French King is building an army to meet us.’
‘So much the better!’ Sir John said. ‘Yes, so much the better. The sooner we can meet him in battle and force a decision, the better.’
Berenger nodded. ‘The French are gathering at Orléans. King John plans to collect all the nobles and knights he can. He has brought his armies from the north and is mustering all the local peasants to fight too.’
‘Peasants are no match for English soldiers,’ Sir John said.
‘An ant is no match for a bee, but given enough ants, they’ll overwhelm the bee,’ Grandarse said.
‘That sounds like philosophy, Grandarse. You’re learning.’
‘It’s not philosophy, only sense. If they have five or six times our number, we will be at risk. From what our man says, the King of France is determined to destroy us and put paid to any future English invasions.’
‘It is hardly surprising,’ Sir John said. ‘From all we have heard, he was disgusted with his father’s failure to halt English attacks, and yet now he is as incapable of preventing them as his father was. We should keep up the pressure on him and force him to submit.’
His eyes moved to Berenger as he spoke, and Berenger was sure that the knight was uncomfortable.
Grandarse grunted his reluctant agreement, and the three men lapsed into silence for a moment. Then Berenger said, ‘The company we sought killed another man. We didn’t find the women they had captured, but they left a trail of destruction.’
‘Which is what the army is expected to achieve,’ Sir John said. ‘It is a war of dampnum, after all, Frip. You know that. You’ve been involved in our wars before.’
‘Yes, but this is violence against the local population for their own profit, not to further the Prince’s ambitions.’
‘Perhaps the two aspirations meet. It is possible that the Prince’s ambitions could be advanced by these actions.’
‘A band of routiers murdering and stealing wherever they want?’
‘You yourself were their leader once.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘They will surely add to the Prince’s desire of seeing the populace driven to despair. His men will add to the burden of misery that afflicts this land, so that when the Prince promises to bring all into his peace if they obey his laws and recognise his authority over all, they will take his invitation with open arms.’
‘You mean you support the man?’ Berenger said.
‘He has brought his company into the Prince’s army. He has been accepted.’
Berenger felt as though his stomach had fallen to the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
‘He has given his oath to the Prince, to serve for this campaign, Frip. You need to forget him.’
‘The man took my—’
‘Your what? Your position as leader of his company? The company you say should be hunted down and destroyed because of its crimes, even though you were the commander originally, when the company began its depredations? Or because the woman you lusted for chose him? Yes, I have heard the story.’
‘That’s not true! She left the town to be with me!’
‘That is not what I heard, Frip, and his tale was convincing. As things stand, he is a captain in the Prince’s army. You must leave him alone, no matter what. Grandarse, Berenger will stay under your command. You will keep an eye on him at all times. I will not have fighting in my ranks. I hope that is understood. Meanwhile, if anything untoward happens to Will, I will hold Fripper responsible. However, I will try to ensure that your men are always some distance away from him and his company. I hope that is understood.’
‘Aye, Sir John. But I don’t like it,’ Grandarse said.
‘You don’t have to like my orders, so long as you obey them,’ Sir John said.
Béatrice had told Archibald about the woman and the attack as soon as she returned to their camp. She had learned Gaillarde’s name as the two backed away from Quilter and his men, and Béatrice had stood in the trees with her knife, watching in case they were followed, but when she turned, Gaillarde was nowhere to be seen. She had fled.
‘You shouldn’t get involved in things like that, woman,’ Archibald had scolded. ‘You might have been injured.’
‘You know my history. I would not allow that to happen to anyone else,’ she said firmly.
He had glowered at the ground then. When she was young, he had seemed so confident and self-assured, but as she grew to know him she realised that this was mostly for show. His confidence lay in his appreciation of how others would react when they heard he was a gynour and knew the magic of the black powders. When people got to know him, he was a warm, genial companion, but he was still shy around women, he was so determined never to give offence. If Béatrice wanted something, or needed to silence him, she knew her best approach was to square up to him. He would invariably back down if confronted.
‘I don’t want to upset you,’ she said in a more conciliatory manner. ‘But I could not leave that woman to her tormenters.’
‘I understand.’
He didn’t, of course. He had never experienced the sheer, white-hot, mind-numbing terror that overran a woman’s mind when faced with a group of men who were determined to take her body. There was nothing that a man could suffer that could possibly compete with that.
The rest of the evening had passed quietly, but now Béatrice was walking about the camp, trying to find Gaillarde again.
There was something about the woman’s face that had touched her. Her panic was not only due to the four men about her, she was sure. There was more to it than that. Was she an unwilling marching wife? Men had tried to force Béatrice to be one such in her time, and the experience had scarred her. The hatred with which she looked on the men who tried to force her to them in gangs was rivalled only by her hatred of the men who had killed her father. But that was a long time ago.
So now, when she went to find water, when she went to fetch bread and meats, when she was sent on errands, she would always search for that face in among the other women of the army. She was resolved to seek her ou
t.
But in an army of thousands, spread over thirty to forty miles, there was no telling where the woman might be.
Denisot waited with Clip, Robin and Pierre and Felix, guarding the French prisoners outside the knight’s pavilion while Grandarse and Berenger were inside.
When Sir John was finished, Denisot and the others relinquished their responsibilities, passing the men to Sir John’s guards and following Fripper.
‘You can’t do anything, Frip,’ Grandarse was saying.
‘It is true, then? I heard his words aright?’ Denisot said.
‘You shouldn’t have listened,’ Grandarse grumbled.
‘You cannot help but hear a conversation inside a tent,’ Berenger said.
Denisot ignored them both. ‘The man Will is to be permitted to remain in the camp here? What of the people he has murdered? What of my wife?’
‘You heard what Sir John said,’ Grandarse said. ‘So you heard him say we have to respect Will as a commander here. He is captain of his company, and that is all there is to it.’
Denisot turned and began to stalk away.
‘Hoi! Denisot, where are you going?’ Grandarse shouted.
‘He’s going to find Will and kill him,’ Berenger grated. ‘And I’m going to help him.’
Grandarse grabbed his arm. ‘No, you don’t, Frip! I won’t have you throwing your life away for no reason.’
‘No reason? Will had my woman murdered before my eyes, Grandarse. He killed her and her two children, just to make me angry before he had me killed. Well, he failed to kill me, so now he’ll have to cope with the result.’
‘Frip, don’t do this. I swear, I don’t want to see you injured or killed. Sir John made his views clear, didn’t he? If I have to, I’ll have you tied down, man.’
‘Then hurry up, because I’m going now,’ Berenger said, snatching his arm away and hurrying after Denisot.
Grandarse rolled his eyes. ‘Hawkwood, get your lardy Essex arse over here!’
When Béatrice had to fetch water again that evening, she was careful to keep an eye open for Gaillarde, but she saw no sign of her.
She moved carefully between the trees and the men at their encampments, most of them averting their gaze as she appeared. The men of the army were nervous in the presence of Archibald and other gynours, but when it came to her, many were openly scared.
It was good that she was left alone. There were few who, like Quilter and his companion, were unafraid of her.
She filled her bucket from the nearest well, and set off back to Archibald and Ed, but on the way she saw a group of men. Something about their voices piqued her interest, and she went to see what they were doing.
As she came closer, she recognised a few of the men, and they moved apart as though in fear of her, more than one crossing himself as she moved in among them and could stare down at the bodies of Quilter and the man with the sword.
Berenger caught Denisot as he was passing the armourers. ‘Wait!’
‘What, do you want to stop me too?’
‘I want to be with you when you find them. Don’t forget, I have reason to want to kill Will too.’
‘Then you can. After I have.’
‘I don’t think that’s likely.’
‘You think I’ll fail?’
‘Have you looked at your dagger since the fight?’
‘Yes. When I cleaned it of the blood. I killed two men that day, you know.’
‘And you still carry the broken blade with you.’
‘Why do you think I came here, to the armourers?’
Berenger nodded. ‘I had thought you were seeking Will out at once.’
‘Do you think me a fool? How would I find one man in an army of thousands? You think that I could find one man in a morning?’
Hawkwood and Grandarse caught up with them both as they were fingering different knives and testing them against their thumbs.
‘Eh, Frip, but you gave us a fright back there, man. I thought you were off to find Will immediately.’
‘I know my place,’ Berenger said. He did indeed. However, he would not allow Sir John’s demands to affect his determination to have his revenge on Will as soon as he could. Will had tried to kill him and had killed Alazais. He would die for her murder.
‘What of you, Denisot?’
Denisot felt the edge of a foot-long knife and nodded to himself. ‘I seek my wife. Nothing else. I want to see Gaillarde or, at the least, learn what has happened to her.’
‘Well, man, there’s no harm in that. Perhaps we’ll find her at the next town, eh?’ Grandarse said.
Denisot nodded while testing the weight and balance of the knife. He nodded to the armourer. ‘How much for this one? My friend here can pay.’
Grandarse glanced at him, then at the knife, before looking over at Berenger. ‘So there’s no nonsense about killing this man, eh?’
Berenger met his eyes firmly. ‘Of course not. We have been given our orders, haven’t we?’
Thursday 25 August
The rain was falling steadily and Berenger pulled off his hat with a curse, the sodden fabric floppy as he wiped his brow. He wrung out the felt, leaving the brim and crown disfigured, and tugged it back on again. It was little good in this weather.
‘Not much to see,’ Robin said.
Berenger grunted. They had been slogging north for the whole day now, leaving the main army behind as dawn broke, detailed to ride out with the Captal de Buch, a fiery, indomitable commander, and a favourite of the Prince of Wales, together with a large force of his Guyennois. Berenger felt as though he had been cut adrift. The rest of Grandarse’s centaine remained behind with Sir John, but he had heard that he had been recommended along with his vintaine because he had such a close working knowledge of this part of France after bringing in the French scouts.
‘A man cannot see through this rain,’ he agreed. ‘If only this weather would improve!’
They had set off in bright sunlight yesterday, riding past Chateauroux and continuing up to the flat valley here. Their duty was to search the land for any signs of French soldiery, and then not to engage them, but take news of their size and direction back to the Prince’s party. Yesterday their journey had been easy, but overnight the rain had set in and now all were soaked. Hungry, weary and unrested, they slogged on through the mud, dreaming of hot fires, hot food, and steaming drinks of wine or ale sweetened with honey. Berenger could almost taste the sickly sweetness on his tongue.
‘What’s that?’
Berenger held up his hand and peered questioningly at Robin. There were few men whom he would trust in almost any conditions, but he was quickly learning that Robin’s hearing and eyesight were as good as any man’s, and a great deal better than Berenger’s own.
‘Well?’
‘I thought I saw something there,’ Robin said, pointing. Berenger stared through the mists, but he could make out nothing against the backdrop of grey misery. Just vaguely he thought he could see a path through the trees as a paler grey. ‘Just a squall blown by the wind,’ he hazarded.
‘Perhaps,’ Robin said. He continued to stare.
Berenger sighed. ‘Did it look like men?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Well, I don’t want to ride into a damned ambush again,’ Berenger said. ‘If they want to tempt us that way, we should continue and then work around behind them – if there are men there.’
‘Very well.’
Berenger sunk his chin on his breast and glowered at the rain on the road ahead. He could see the little detonations where the drops were pocking the mud and puddles like pebbles thrown into a stream. When they hit his back, they felt like slingshot. The rain here was heavier than any he had known before, a torrent that tumbled from the sky like a wall of water. It seemed almost impossible, as though the entire ocean was being poured over them, and then, all in an instant, it was gone. Where he had been all but shivering from the chill, suddenly the clouds were peeling back from the sky, the
sun burst out with blinding ferocity, and Berenger could see the steam rising from the dark coats of the horses, from the thick cloaks of the men and from the road.
It matched his mood. He was ferociously bitter about the way Sir John had turned him from the centaine, passing him on to this Gascon raiding party as though he was an embarrassment to be disposed of. He was here, while the rest of Grandarse’s men were enjoying a gentler ride some miles south of him now. He ought to have been with them. If possible, he and Denisot should have been seeking out Will, and when they found him, executing him. The man had to atone for Alazais and her children as well as for Gaillarde. Yes, he would pay for his murder of the woman and for his attempt to kill Berenger.
The urgent desire for revenge was like a drug. Berenger had felt as though he had returned from alcoholic oblivion to his youth when he discovered the Prince’s army and was reunited with Grandarse and the others. Now he was doubly outcast, it seemed, as reviled and despised as an outlaw, and all because he wanted to punish the man who had tried to kill him. There was no justice. Well, it would be put right when he returned to the army. He would find Denisot, who would with luck have learned where Will was – Denisot had not been sent with Berenger, but had been left behind, told to help Grandarse. When Berenger returned, he would find Denisot and the two would look for Will. And kill him.
‘That! Did you hear that?’ Robin demanded. He was turned in his saddle, facing back the way he had pointed before. ‘I heard a clatter, like a sword being dropped. There are men out there, Frip.’
‘I heard nothing,’ Berenger snapped.
‘Then wait here, Vintener, while I ride to discover what it was I heard,’ Robin responded sharply. ‘If I am right and there is a force there in the trees waiting to attack us, we could all suffer for your bitter mood.’
Berenger bit back his curt rejoinder. Instead he held up his hand to halt the vintaine, then shouted, ‘Clip, Dogbreath, Felix, Pierre, Nick, Baz, ride with me!’ To Robin, he said more quietly, ‘You’re right. Wait here. Fulk, you too, and Saul. Have the better archers prepare, just in case, and make sure of your targets before you loose. I don’t want one of your arrows in my back.’
Blood of the Innocents Page 29
