Part 7 (2/2)

'His father never relinquished it,' Sir John said.

Berenger nodded. Edward II had kept the Welsh t.i.tle for his own. He had always been inordinately proud of his Princ.i.p.ality, and the people who remained loyal to him even at the last, when the rest of his realm crumbled and submitted to his adulterous wife and her lover.

Sir John took a deep breath and held up his drink. 'To the health of a man who was already dead when he walked with us to Avignon,' he said. The two toasted the memory, and then Sir John frowned. 'Talking of Welshmen, there are rumours of disharmony between them and your men.'

'Sir?'

'The Welsh say that you've started a feud with them. It will not do.'

'That is untrue.'

'Have you not come to blows with them?'

'You want an answer?'

Sir John eyed him. 'Not really, no. But be wary of them, Fripper. They are dangerous enemies to have. Stronger men have been ruined by them.'

Berenger's face went hard for a moment as he remembered the woman murmuring, 'Merci,' to him in the town's square. 'Yes, sir. I'll try to remember that.'

'Are your men bearing up?'

'Yes. Well enough.'

'We'll see their mettle when we have a real fight.'

'Yes, Sir John.'

'Good. And keep away from the Welsh, if you can.'

'We will try to.'

'That will help. You must remember that the Prince has himself only recently been elevated to Prince of Wales. Like his grandfather, he is proud of his Princ.i.p.ality and its people.'

'I understand,' Berenger said. Then he added: 'There is one among them, Erbin, who delights in trouble. At Barfleur he burned the town, killing many.'

'So it is true about the feud, then.'

'Not on my part, Sir John, no. But he may have taken it into his head to cause friction whenever he sees me and my men, no matter what we do or say.'

Sir John considered. 'Avoid him, and all will be well.'

'Yes, sir. And do you have any idea when we are likely to find the French?'

Sir John smiled. 'They will try to stop us very soon before we can turn towards Paris.'

'Paris?' Berenger repeated, shocked. That was a vast city, from all he had heard. It would take more than a few score knights and ten thousand archers to breach her great defences.

'We aren't here on a reconnaissance, Fripper. We're here to establish the King's rights. For that, we need Paris. Or at least, to make a demonstration of our power that will so shock the French and Parisians, that they surrender to us.'

'Yes, Sir John,' Berenger said, but his mind was reeling. Paris! He had faith in his men, his army and his King, but to take Paris would be like trying to seize Jerusalem again! It was an appalling idea!

Sir John watched him go, grinning at Berenger's reaction. They could not take Paris, of course. That would need many more men he knew that perfectly well. But the French didn't, and if the English made a strong enough demonstration in the direction of the capital, they might so raise the fever of terror in Paris that the citizenry would hand over the keys without a fight. If all went well.

Aye. If all went well.

17 July They were marching at last.

'Christ Jesus, it's a relief to be moving,' Geoff declared.

Wisp just grunted.

They had made their way down to the south of St Vaast-la-Hogue, and now the vintaine was descending a hill on a road that had been built for a peasant's donkeys, rather than wagons.

'You're quiet,' Jack said to Wisp.

Wisp peered up at the sky. How could he explain his despair? The sight of the hanged cat was an evil omen, no matter how a man looked at it. He was sure his premonition of doom was correct. 'I am well enough,' he said.

'Glad I am to hear it,' Jack said. 'These French will ma.s.s enough men to trample us into the mire if they can. We need all the fellows we have. Even you.'

'Him?' Clip called from behind them. 'Wisp'd blow away in a breeze, he would. Look at him: hardly enough muscle on him to hold a knife, let alone a bleeding sword.'

'He has fist enough to give you a thump,' Geoff grunted. He was scouting ahead to their left, searching every tree, every bush, for ambush.

'Him? His fists wouldn't pa.s.s through a fog on the Avon!'

'Perhaps we'll put wagers on you two, then, eh?' Jack chuckled. 'You can fight when we camp this evening.'

'I'd not want to hurt him,' Clip said righteously. ''Sides, the King wants all of us fit and hearty for the real fight to come.'

'When we find the French at last, you mean,' Jack called.

'When we find the French, aye,' Geoff said.

Clip shook his head, hawked and spat. 'It doesn't matter. We'll all soon be dead. They'll murder us, the French.'

'Yes,' Wisp said quietly. Jack heard, and shot him a look, but made no comment. Instead he allowed his pace to slow a little, so that he dropped back behind Wisp.

'Still bad, is he?' Berenger asked, seeing his face.

'As bad as a man can be. By G.o.d's blood, I don't want him near me in a battle. He's already convinced himself he'll die, d.a.m.n his soul!'

'He'll snap out of it.'

'If he doesn't, I'll snap his neck for him,' Jack said bluntly.

Berenger nodded. A comrade who was convinced that failure lurked around every corner was a dangerous companion. If a man could not trust his neighbour in a s.h.i.+eld wall or a.s.sault, confidence in the whole army was lost. It took only a brief loss of trust during a battle, a momentary loss of commitment, for an army to fail. Just now, Wisp was the worst threat to their vintaine.

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