Part 17 (1/2)

'You ”demand”?' King Edward stared at him, his head lowered, for a long moment. Then he held out his hand. 'Where are your papers?'

'What?'

'You will have letters of authority to demand action of me. Where are they?'

Pietro exchanged a glance with his companion, and then met the King's gaze with resolution. 'We have no need of papers. You recognise our rank and position. You will obey us as Princes of the Church.'

'You have no papers. I do not recognise your authority.'

'Your Majesty, I-'

'The interview is concluded, Cardinal. You may leave us. Do not be tempted to argue further. I will brook no more discussion. You have no place here.'

'Then before I depart I must ask for the loan of a horse.'

'A horse?'

'Your men stole our beasts when we arrived here,' Pietro stated, holding his temper in check with difficulty. 'The uncouth devils with spears.'

'I will have a mount provided for each of you. Now, begone! I have much to deal with.'

The Cardinals nodded, glanced at each other, and then turned and made their way from the room.

King Edward beckoned an esquire and muttered to him. The man hurried off after the two prelates. When they were alone again, the King sat once more and stared at the floor. Then, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair, he said in a furious hiss, 'How dare they! How dare those p.i.s.s-pots come here and command me when they have not even a letter of authority between them? Be d.a.m.ned to them!'

'What now, my liege?' the Earl asked.

'Now? In G.o.d's name, my Lord, we find the French King and bring him to battle! Tomorrow we advance to Rouen.'

7 August Berenger's shoulder was much improved. The soreness was faded, and when he caught sight of the old leech, there was a grudging respect in his eyes. Never before had he known a man so competent at curing wounds.

This morning they had risen as usual before dawn, the camp grumbling awake in the cool greyness, while the sergeants and vinteners walked about bellowing their orders, counting their men, kicking the recalcitrant awake, and generally making themselves annoying.

Granda.r.s.e had always preferred a more leisurely approach. He rested while Berenger and the other vinteners bullied and cajoled their men to their posts, and then came along to stare at them sourly.

'A fine riot of p.i.s.shead tart-ticklers you look,' he grunted. He hoisted his hosen up beneath his belted tunic and puffed out his cheeks. 'b.u.g.g.e.r-all sleep last night, me. I could do with a decent bed again, and a fine wench to warm it.'

Clip called out, 'You could always try Ed's young strumpet. She'd keep you fresh enough. A little draggle-tail like that would ruin a night's sleep!'

'Ah, go p.i.s.s in the wind,' Granda.r.s.e said. He glanced around at the girl.

Berenger thought she was losing a little of her fear of them now. At first she must have a.s.sumed that she would be raped when the men brought her to their tented shelters, but no one had laid a finger on her, not when they understood she had saved Ed's life. Even the usually hard-bitten Jon Furrier had gruffly pa.s.sed her a cloak one night when the air was chill and she lay huddled and s.h.i.+vering.

And yet the girl made Berenger uncomfortable. There was some knowledge in her a look of measuring confidence, such as an a.s.sa.s.sin might give that made him anxious. It must also have been Geoff's words. It took little more than a comment like his, mentioning 'witch' to cause distrust and fear.

For now, she had helped them, and saved Ed, and that was enough for the men in the vintaine, so it would have to be enough for Berenger too.

On the order, he helped the others stow their goods. A fine collection of plunder they were acquiring, and there was some good food in the cart alongside the arrows and bow-staves. The nag that pulled the cart was a tormented, bony old beast, and by common tacit agreement, the vintaine had allowed the woman to take its head. Now, some days later, she and the horse were almost inseparable.

'Fripper, take five and scout ahead. The rest of you, take a bow each and five arrows. If you see anything, the usual rules. Bellow out for help.'

Berenger pointed to Clip, Geoff, Matt, Eliot and Jon. They took their bows and made their way forward as the mists began to clear. There was a little wood ahead, and a mixed shaw which was thick at this time of year. Soon the villagers from all about would come here and cut it back, selecting the different types of wood that they needed: some for making hurdles, some for baskets, some for staffs and handles for tools. Little would go to waste. It reminded the vintener with a sharp pang of his own home, so many hundreds of miles away. 'Too many leagues behind me,' he muttered, and promised himself he would go home again. One day.

They pushed through the trees and then, up ahead, there was the little town of Elbeuf. 'Tell Granda.r.s.e we can see the town,' Berenger said, leaning his good shoulder against a tree.

It was a peaceful scene. Smoke wound up from chimneys and fires, and there, in the midst of the plain, was the thick, curling silver of a great river.

'That it?' Granda.r.s.e demanded. He had lumbered up even as Berenger took in the view.

'There can't be another river that large,' the vintener said. 'It's got to be the Seine.'

'Good!' Granda.r.s.e said, pleased. 'There'll be cause for celebration soon.'

'What's all that?' Clip had joined them, and was peering ahead through the haze.

Here the River Seine came due west, towards the English, but at Elbeuf it curled north and then east again in a tight loop. Continuing east and then northwards, it flowed up to the old city of Rouen. Usually this city would be much like London, full of noise and bustle, and there would be a fog of smoke over the town as the traveller approached. But today, from many miles away, there was a thicker smudge in the sky east of the town.

Berenger felt the stirrings of nervous excitement. 'That's where the French army waits for us.'

The vintaine continued almost to the River Seine. On this side there was a small suburb.

Orders were given to torch the place. Soon flames were shooting up into the sky, and Berenger watched as men cavorted and cheered at the face-scorching fires. The whole of the countryside was blanketed in smoke. Orange-red sparks danced on the dry fields of wheat under a choking fog, and Berenger coughed as the fumes pa.s.sed over him. He looked up briefly as Ed sat beside him.

'What is it?' Berenger asked, toying with his dagger. He was whittling a stick into the likeness of a bird's head. He had given it a cruel beak, and now he was trying to smooth the brow to give it the look of an eagle.

'All this flame. It seems wasteful.'

'It's war, boy. War is wasteful.'

'But why destroy the crops? Shouldn't we let the people harvest it first? Otherwise, what will become of them? And if we burn it, we can't use it. Where is the sense in that?'

'Donkey, there's no sense. It's dampnum,' Berenger said. 'We destroy everything so the people daren't return, not until they have agreed to live under the rule of King Edward. If they refuse, they lose everything. It's a hard lesson, but an important one.'

'And if our enemy does the same?'

'They must choose which army scares them the more,' Berenger said brusquely. Why did the boy pester him with his doubts and questions? He carved again, and this time his knife went home too deeply, and a jagged splinter of wood sheared from the bird's skull. Berenger sucked at his teeth in annoyance, then thrust his dagger back into its sheath and rose, saying, 'And sometimes the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d peasants make the wrong choice.'

'What will they do here?'

Berenger looked at the flames, weariness heavy on him. 'Mostly, they will die.'

Ed wandered disconsolately to the gynour's cart. Beatrice was there with the old horse, stroking its head and murmuring words that only the beast could understand.

In Beatrice's eyes the boy had seen a deep sorrow, and here, in the midst of the destruction, he felt sure he knew why.

'I'm sorry,' he muttered. He saw she had golden glints in her brown eyes a strange, bright gleam. At first he thought there were tears forming, but her voice was steady.

'For what?' she asked.

He was startled. 'For the damage, the burning,' he said with a wave of his arm that encompa.s.sed the fiery fields.