Part 19 (2/2)

There was something unsettling about her; something otherworldly, he thought. But it was time to put such ideas away and concentrate on the job in hand.

Overnight, fires had raged through many farmsteads, almost up to the walls of Rouen itself. The land was scorched. Only the skeletons of trees stood in copses and woods, stark and bare, all the undergrowth gone. Such wanton damage must be evil in the eyes of G.o.d, but to Berenger it was the way of war, and he could no more change how warriors fought than turn back the tide.

Sir John called him to join a scouting party. The bridge at Rouen, they found, was completely demolished. At the farther side of the river a group of men stood guard, and the French herald trotted to the riverbank, from where he could shout across to them to convey his King's message.

'This is a pretty nonsense,' Sir John muttered.

'Sir?' Berenger said.

'The King asks if the French will join in battle, but look about you: is there any point? The French have surrendered the western bank of the Seine, and now wait over there to contest any attempt to cross.'

'Are you sure?' Berenger said doubtfully, thinking of the army King Philippe had at his disposal.

'He wants to ensure that we are utterly crushed when he fights us,' Sir John said. 'He will wait until he has all his might here, and he can close his fist around all of us.'

'Then what can we do?'

'Torment him to the extent that he finally agrees to fight us here, or find another bridge before he has his camp struck. We could make our way to the next bridge and take it, then cross the river and find a suitable field to fight him.'

'And if we don't?'

Sir John looked at him. 'Pray that we do,' he said curtly.

'When we were here before . . .' Berenger began.

'Eh?'

Berenger looked at the knight. Sir John was shrewd, and his memory was undimmed. 'Sir, when we were here with William of Wales sixteen years ago or more, we saw many lands over here.'

Sir John said nothing, but looked about him carefully. 'You should forget William le Walleys,' he said quietly.

They both knew why. Their charge, 'William', was in fact the man they had sworn to serve all his life: King Edward II. But he had been declared dead in Berkeley Castle, and his son had taken the throne thinking, in his grief, that he was come into his inheritance. No King would wish to be reminded that he took his crown while his father was yet breathing. That was an offence against G.o.d.

'I know, Sir John,' Berenger said. 'But I recall good flat plains and fields to the north, when we crossed the water to come here.'

Sir John nodded. 'I too recall those plains. There were some that would serve us well today, but,' he sighed, 'they are all too far away. We need a good field here to bring the French to battle. We have to force them to fight.'

They stood with the herald waiting for the answer until the sun was grinding its way to its meridian. When it came, Sir John gritted his teeth.

'So, it is as I thought. He waits for the rest of his men. Only when he outnumbers us by tens of thousands will he risk trial by battle. We shall be hard-pressed when he finally agrees to wage war against us.'

Berenger returned to the camp that night to find the men in a wary mood, on the alert for any new threat from the Welsh.

For her part, Beatrice worked on, fetching fodder and drink for the horse, helping Archibald move his gear and make some supper. Keeping busy was key, she thought.

'Careful with that,' Archibald said at one point.

She looked down. A man had given them a pair of coneys, and she had skinned them with a knife Archibald had lent her. Now she saw that she had been about to set the blade to rest on top of a barrel. Archibald nodded as she took the knife and set it aside.

'Don't want to risk any sparks with that barrel,' he said. 'You know better than that.'

She nodded, and shortly afterwards, he lumbered off.

It was a little later that Berenger appeared. He stood anxiously for a few moments, and then cleared his throat. 'Maid?'

Her thoughts had been far away. Now she looked up with the alarm of a hart hearing a hunter. 'Yes?'

'I have not spoken to you since . . .' he wanted to say, 'since we came to the Welsh camp', but couldn't. He felt the need to prove that Geoff was entirely wrong about her, but looking down into her anxious eyes, he found himself wondering how anyone could think evil of her. She looked so innocent.

'You need fear nothing from me,' he said.

'I know. You came to save me.'

'Ed cried out and alerted us. I was worried about you. Did they say why they had taken you?'

'At first I thought it was because they wanted to offend you. But then I heard the man they called Erbin tell another to ”find the boy and kill him”, but they could not find him as I had hidden him under Archibald's cart, so they took me instead.'

Berenger considered that. The Donkey had been struck down. 'If the Welsh had wanted to kill him, he was easy prey. Who knocked him down?'

She looked at him very straight. 'I did. I knew they would kill him.' There was a fresh tear glistening in the corner of her eye.

'You knocked him down to protect him. That was kind of you,' Berenger said more gently, but he was still unsure whether he could trust her. Her coolness, her distance, all spoke of her strangeness. He wasn't used to women like this.

He jerked his head in the direction of the Welsh. 'Did you hear what Erbin said to me? He said you were a witch.'

'What of you, vintener? What do you think?' she said, her voice lowered.

She looked so young, but so full of knowledge and despair, that any idea of her being a witch was simply preposterous. Yet if she were a witch, surely she would be able to appear in any guise she wished including that of a young woman. Every year Berenger watched the Pa.s.sion plays, and he knew that some witches had the skill of dissimulation. Perhaps that was her magic: an ability to change her appearance at will, to confuse and frustrate men?

'I don't know what to think,' he said truthfully. 'But I do know you'd be safer away from us. If Erbin and his men want you, they will know where to find you if you stay with us.'

'You are telling me to leave the army?' she asked, and for the first time he saw a hint of vulnerability. There was a tiny flaring of her nostrils, a tremor at her eyelid, that betrayed her inner fears.

'No. But we must see if there's a place in the army where you'll be safer,' he said.

'I feel safe here,' she said.

'With the Serpentine?' Berenger said, glancing down at Archibald who was snoring, his back against a cart's wheel. 'Sweet Jesus, even Erbin would be safer than him!'

9 August The English struck camp in the pre-dawn light of the Wednesday, and Berenger and his men were told to scout the lands to south and east.

There was a sense of urgency in the camp as he took up his bow and set off. Men were scurrying about, gathering their belongings and packing. Berenger saw Erbin at the copse as he threw his pack into the back of the cart. Beatrice was there already, stroking the long nose of their old nag and murmuring softly, so that the brute nuzzled at her throat. She met Berenger's gaze with a calm nod, but when she saw Erbin, her eyes hardened.

They were off before full dawn. The land about the Seine was dark and misty, but as they started their journey, the sun broke through and filled all the river's plain with a pale golden glow, as if the ground itself was lighted by an inner fire.

Berenger and the men made good progress. They hurried forward, for once without complaints. Granda.r.s.e had made it plain that the first man to grumble aloud would be flogged, and there was something in his manner that convinced the men to pay heed.

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