Part 25 (1/2)

The next morning, he found her down behind the table, her throat cut. And the memory returned of their shouting, their fighting, her spitting at him, raking at his face with fingers like claws, kicking and punching at him, her face twisted into a mask of hatred while their little boys watched.

That was why he never joined in the rapes in the towns; that was why he couldn't take Beatrice by force when he had the chance. Not because he didn't want to, but because every time he took a woman, he saw his Sarra's eyes, her dead eyes, looking back at him accusingly.

17 August 'Up! The lot of you: up!'

Berenger was awake at the first shout. Before the second, he was on his feet, sword in hand.

All around him, men were yawning, rubbing their eyes and grumbling in the gloom. This was not their usual routine. Most mornings, it would be Berenger moving about them kicking the occasional figure, beating on a pot or shouting. Today, however, Granda.r.s.e and Sir John's esquire were hurrying about the camp, waking everyone.

'What's the matter?' Berenger demanded.

'We're to break camp,' Richard Bakere said tersely.

'You heard him,' Granda.r.s.e snapped. 'Now! We're leaving the wagon train and anything unnecessary. Bring all the oxen and horses, but the heavy ballocks are to be left behind.'

Berenger felt the words. .h.i.t him in the belly. 'Leave the wagon train? The enemy are that close?'

'The mother-swyving sons of wh.o.r.es have already closed on us. We're told to find ourselves horses or ponies, anything with four legs we can steal to get away from here. I'd cut their throats if we could stop and fight, you lads would shoot 'em so full of arrows they'd look like my lady's pin-cus.h.i.+on, but the fact is, they are a large army, and we are depleted. d.a.m.n their black souls, but I didn't think they'd catch us so speedily!'

Granda.r.s.e was already off again, swearing and shouting at Roger's vintaine, and Berenger walked to a tree and pulled down his hosen, p.i.s.sing long while trying to come to terms with the news.

'Will they catch us, do you think?' Matt asked quietly, taking his post at the tree a moment or two later.

'If they're on the same plain, they may, I suppose. It's ludicrous to think that they'd risk it though,' Berenger said.

'Is that the view of my friend the vintener, or the politics of a commander?' Matt grinned. 'I am a man, Frip. I can take the truth.'

'Very well. If they can, they will fall on us like wolves on a flock. But we still have our King and his advisers. You know what they say: if five Englishmen were attacked by fifteen French it would be an unfair fight, like five wolves attacked by fifteen sheep.'

'Aye, but these sheep have steel fangs and mail for fleece!'

Berenger shrugged. 'I cannot think of the last time the French managed to a.s.sault us and win. Can you?'

Clip overheard them, and called out gleefully, 'Aye, if they get much closer, they'll murder the lot of us. We'll all be slain!'

Matt spat on the gra.s.s at his feet. 'I'll b.l.o.o.d.y murder you myself if they don't manage it first,' he said.

They were soon ready, packed and off.

Berenger watched the horizon closely as he rode his small black and white pony. They had found him in a field as they marched past, and then two decent rounseys at a stable, but Berenger took one look at the rounseys and decided to stick with the pony. It was less distance to fall. Together with the other beasts they had already found, these were enough for half the vintaine to ride. Those without horses padded along on the gra.s.s, for the most part complaining loudly that their legs ached.

Before they had covered a league, Matt had stopped and pulled off his shoe, saying he had a thorn in his foot, and Berenger saw that the shoe had almost no sole. The upper was flapping uselessly. Matt was not the only man to go near-barefoot though, and before long many others would be too.

The path they took was clearly used by villagers moving their cattle, and soon they found themselves in a small town.

It was a quiet little place. Smoke still rose from a hearth in one cottage, but the whole place was deserted. Only one ancient dog barked for a while, until one of the vintaine hit him with an axe handle.

'Is there any drink?' Clip demanded, hurrying into the nearest house.

There was little enough of anything. They moved cautiously, taking cover when a flight of duck flew overhead, jumping when a c.o.c.k crowed, constantly fearing attack. Berenger whispered and hissed his commands, convinced that the French had encircled them by their quick marching and were already here.

Soon Berenger heard a loud noise from behind. A column of their own men was advancing, along with the lumbering wagons of Archibald, the Donkey and Beatrice marching at its side. On a whim, he walked to greet them.

'Is he treating you well?' he asked of the boy.

'He's very kind,' Ed replied. But his face was thinner, and his eyes looked larger than ever.

'Have you eaten?' Berenger asked, shooting a suspicious look at the rotund Archibald.

'Eaten, Master Fripper?' the gynour replied. 'd.a.m.n me if he has. Why should he eat?'

'I didn't supply you with a slave to be starved!' Berenger snarled, and would have leaped onto the wagon to grab the man, but the Donkey put out a hand to prevent him.

'No, Master, he hasn't eaten either. No one has brought us any food.'

'Is that true?'

'It's often the way,' the gynour shrugged. Then he looked very directly at Berenger, and jerked his head towards Beatrice.

'It's normal, Vintener. The others don't like men like me. They think that since I smell of the Devil, the Devil can look to my meals! Eh? So, if you have a crust or two of bread, I'd be glad of it. Failing that, a half-ox would meet my own needs, washed down with a tun of good French wine!'

Berenger looked at Beatrice and back to Archibald again. It was clear that this was an invention to protect her feelings. Archibald and his little cavalcade had no food because too many of the soldiers feared her. Rumours that she could be a witch were widespread. Berenger grinned. 'I don't have much, but you can share in our fortunes. Would you ride with us in the front?'

'I don't know about that,' Archibald said. 'I've heard it's dangerous to be at the point of the spear. But if you mean to tell me that there is more food to be had there, I'll gladly chance my safety.'

Before Berenger could respond, a sly voice intruded. 'Be careful of him, Master Gynour. That vintener is dangerous to know. People die around him.'

He turned to see that a party of Welshmen had caught up with them. Ed shrank away, and Beatrice moved until her back was at the wagon's side. She fumbled at her belt, feeling for her knife.

'Stop that, child, or you'll cause more disturbance than you would wish,' Archibald said firmly. He eyed the Welsh with contained belligerence.

The Welshman sneered at him and moved on past, their long ragged cloaks trailing.

Archibald watched them disappear, saying, 'If I were to get myself in a tight spot, I shouldn't like to have to rely on them. We had more trouble from them last night.'

'What happened?'

'That t.u.r.d Erbin offered to purchase young Beatrice for the sum of one loaf and a bowl of pottage. When I told them where to go, they took away their food and we were left hungry.'

'They didn't try to attack you again?'

Archibald gave a cold smile. 'I think they have learned that it's not a good idea to try to surprise folks with experience of black powder.'

After that, Berenger kept close to Archibald's wagon. If there were to be an ambush, it could become a stronghold for the men when arrows began to fly.

There was no sign of the French army as yet. Lulled by the sounds of squeaking harnesses, the rattle of pans and chains, the steady tramping of many feet, he began to lose the sense of urgency, and instead listened to the men talking.

'We're not to halt, they say. But if we don't, how can we forage?' Matt was saying.

Geoff contributed, 'It's bad enough that the food has run out. We are starving when the villages all about here have food in plenty.'