Part 16 (1/2)

'This was a matter of army discipline. The Welshmen had captured Fripper's servant. They were hanging him.'

'Why? What had he done?'

'Nothing. He was merely a source of entertainment.'

'I see.' The Prince looked at the Earl of Warwick.

The Earl glanced at Sir John, frowning. 'Is this the vintener who was injured at the gates of St L?' he asked.

'Yes, my Lord. He was there even though he had been injured before.'

'Then I know him. He is a good fighter, and bold, too. I would make more use of him, Your Highness. Put him in the front line where he can show his mettle.'

'Very well. But I shall not be so lenient in future,' the Prince declared. And then he broke into a broad smile again. 'Tomorrow we start to search for Philippe, my friends! It's marvellous, isn't it?'

3 August It was the end of a weary day's marching when Sir John de Sully next saw the centaine.

He rode forward to meet them. Nodding to Granda.r.s.e, he said, 'How are your men?'

All about them, soldiers could be heard bickering and grumbling. The old man looked up at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

'They'll serve,' he replied.

'What of the boy with Fripper's men?'

'He's well enough: he fetches and carries when ordered.'

Sir John dismounted. He could see Clip returning from a foraging expedition with a c.o.c.kerel and a hen. He grinned to himself: Fripper's vintaine was experienced in all the arts of war.

Patting his rounsey's shoulder, he noticed the woman leading the old nag at the cart.

'Who is she?' he demanded.

'Just a French s.l.u.t. In Caen, our boy suffered from the Welsh. They nearly killed him.'

'So I heard.'

'This wench saw him and drew us to him. Without her, the boy would be dead.'

'So she is wife to the vintaine.' Sir John smiled. He knew how 'wives' could be adopted. Half the female followers in the army had chosen to be wives for the course of the campaign.

'Rather, she is the sister,' Granda.r.s.e said reprovingly. 'Aye, the lads decided that she had saved our mascot and it'd be bad fortune to harm her after that. So they adopted her and took her as their ward. I doubt any of 'em would think to touch her. Besides, she can cook and sew better than Eliot or Matt, and she makes a good pottage.'

Sir John eyed the girl. She was a sullen-looking mare, he thought, with her down-drawn mouth and dark eyes, but if she kept the vintaine happy, he was content. 'Very well but make sure she doesn't cause any arguments. We both know how women can sow dissent.' As he spoke, he caught a glimpse of Geoff's expression. The fellow was watching the woman with a mistrustful expression.

'I wouldn't have any of that, Sir John,' Granda.r.s.e said. 'I'd take her as my own marching wife before I let the men turn to fighting over her.'

His words distracted Sir John. 'You? By Christ's pain, man, you'd crush the poor maid,' the elderly knight chuckled. 'Your belly is vast as a tun of wine, man. That would be a cruel way to kill her!'

Granda.r.s.e was grinning widely and about to respond when there came a cry from the sentries.

Sir John rose to his feet and watched as Berenger darted over to the sentries. They pointed, and Berenger peered into the distance with fierce concentration.

'What is it, Fripper?' Granda.r.s.e called.

He wanted to say, 'How the f.u.c.k can I tell?' but it was best not to remind Sir John that his eyes could see little further than half a bow-shot. He muttered to the guards before responding: 'Two men. They could be priests from their clothing. Riding at speed.'

'Frip, send four of your archers to meet them,' Granda.r.s.e called. There was no need for more men than that. If the two riders were alone, they could be little danger to the English.

Sir John made his way to join Berenger and the sentries. 'They look well-enough fed to be priests,' he said thoughtfully as the men approached.

Berenger nodded without speaking. He was still studying the roads, the trees and gra.s.ses for any sign of enemies.

The two were cardinals, from their dress. Berenger noticed Archibald glaring at the two with deep distrust. It made him wonder again about Archibald's background. Still, there was no time to speculate now.

'Good Sir Knight,' the first said as he reached the line of sentries and archers, but looking directly at Sir John.

He was at least fifty years old, with a weather-bronzed face and cunning little blue eyes that flitted hither and thither as if counting how many soldiers were in the army. 'I am Cardinal Pietro of Piacenza, and this is my companion, Cardinal Roger. We are here to see your King. I expect safe pa.s.sage to his presence.'

'Berenger, bring two men,' Sir John said.

With Jack and Will, Berenger was soon marching, while Sir John ambled along beside the cardinals on his rounsey. Berenger watched the countryside as he strode along. All knew that Popes tended to support the French and had done ever since the Popes moved to Avignon from Rome. He listened as Sir John spoke with them, ears straining unashamedly for a clue about their visit.

'You have proposals for the King?' Sir John asked.

'What we have is for his ears only. The Pope is alarmed at the rancour that your army is causing here in France. It is not to be borne that royal cousins should fight in such a manner,' Pietro said. He had a tone of resentful disdain, as though it was far beneath his dignity to discuss such affairs with a mere knight.

'Perhaps the Pope would be better advised to support the wronged party,' Sir John said, making Berenger grin.

'It is not the French King who has invaded his cousin's lands,' the Cardinal spat. 'The wrong is upon one side.'

'When we took Caen, there were many interesting records,' Sir John said. He spurred his mount until he was alongside the Cardinal. 'You know what was in there? Plans for Philippe, who calls himself King, to invade England. All written up and sealed and signed. If we had not come here to prevent him, our lands would be laid waste just as we do now. This is a war of self-defence.'

'A war of self-defence in which the people are being slaughtered,' the Cardinal declared icily.

'G.o.d is with us. The Crown belongs to Edward,' Sir John said comfortably.

Berenger smiled grimly to himself. It was true. King Edward was the son of Isabella of France who had married Edward II. When her brothers died without issue, the crown should have pa.s.sed to her son, but the French n.o.bility barred him by creating a new law so that the crown could not pa.s.s through the female line. Edward III was disinherited. All England knew that. Their King had been robbed.

Not that it mattered to Berenger. All he knew was, he was happy to be serving his King.

It was not an easy journey. The English army marched on a broad front, and now it was some fourteen miles across. The King was a good league from where the vintaine had stopped, and Berenger was relieved when they came to a group of Welsh spearmen. He recognised their leader.

Sir John rode to him. 'Erbin, I place these Cardinals in your care. You are charged to take them to the King as swiftly as you may, and to treat them with all courtesy while they bide with you. They are messengers from the Pope.'

'We will look after them as we would our own kin,' Erbin said, staring at Berenger.

As Berenger turned to go back with Sir John and the archers, all the while he thought he could feel Erbin's eyes aiming at his back, like spanned crossbows.

Tyler saw the Donkey as he walked to fetch water. The boy had grown since Mark first saw him. Then, he'd been a confused, anxious little fellow, easy to strike in the dark and rob.