The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘You should be honoured, Will,’ Janyn said.

‘Honoured, Jan? Just why should I be that?’

‘You’ve done so much, they think you can win the battle all on your own, man. We’re only here to guard you so you can fight and hold them all back.’

‘Oh, ah. Yes, I can see that. I’ll bloody have to, because we’re all going to die, but I’ll tell you this: you’ll go before me, man! I’m not getting my throat cut by a Genoese quarrel-chucker! Not me!’

‘I doubt you will,’ Janyn said, and meant it. There was something about the wiry little fellow that inspired confidence in his ability to survive any number of disasters. They had already come through a series of battles on the way here, and not many of the original team were still alive.

It was only when the men were mostly packed and had already begun to wander off to the muster that Janyn realised Pelagia was standing silent. She looked like a statue. Her hands were balled at her side, and she held her body tense, unbending. Her face was stiff, and Janyn thought her jaw looked like a clenched fist, the muscles were so taut. He was about to go to her when he saw Bill and Walter. Bill wandered to her, his head low, glaring at the world from surly eyes.

‘Maid, what will you do?’ he asked.

She looked at him, then gave a long, slow stare about the rest of the English camp. ‘If I stay here, how long can I survive?’

Janyn made a quick decision and crossed to them.

‘We can introduce you to some of the other men,’ he said. He could take her to some of the other marching wives, let them help her. It would take no time for her to find a new ‘husband’. But the brothers stared at him. They both knew what would happen to her there. They didn’t – she didn’t – want that, and neither did he. He remembered the day he had given her half his loaf. He had admired her even then. With Janyn’s vintaine she had not been forced to pay the marriage debt. She had made no vows to bind her to any of them, and her time with the men had been one of armed neutrality. She held no feelings for Janyn or the others, and while he had no need to protect her, yet he felt some affection for her. To discard her would be like throwing a chicken in the midst of a pack of dogs. They would squabble and bicker over her until the strongest consumed her.

Bill’s head dropped, and Janyn could see the man’s despair. They all knew what would happen if they left her. But marching to a battle was a matter of hard effort. They had no time to concern themselves over the woman. And in a fight, Janyn didn’t want his men worrying about the woman left behind with the camp. He had seen that all too often before: men fighting while half their minds were fixed on a woman. All too often it led to the man being killed.

‘Vintener, we can’t leave her,’ Walter said firmly.

Horns were blowing to signal the march. Janyn made a quick decision. ‘If you bring her, she’s your responsibility,’ he said.

‘Aye,’ Bill said quickly.

Janyn could see how Bill’s mind was working. The thought of leaving her here filled him with horror. If she was left to the mercies of the English army, she would be ravished and probably dead inside a day. It had taken Bill and his brother to rescue her from three drunken men before now. She could do nothing to protect herself if she were left alone.

Janyn could almost see these thoughts chase themselves across his face.

‘Will you come with us, then?’ Bill demanded gruffly.

‘What else can I do?’ she said.

They did not journey far. They marched on horseback with full packs and the spare arrows and bowstaves packed carefully on their carts, one to each vintaine, and the few women and children trudged along behind.

Looking back along the lines of troops and women, Janyn was hit by a feeling of happiness.

‘Glad to be rid of the place for a while?’ Barda asked, riding at his side.

‘It’s the stench of the latrines – I never could abide that,’ Janyn said, but it wasn’t only that. It was the feeling of grim, relentless misery that encompassed the area about the town, and more than anything else, the unremitting boredom of daily duty in the army.

‘Aye,’ Barda said, breathing deeply. ‘It’s good to be on a horse again, and to be riding, even if we will be riding into danger.’

Behind them, kneeling on the bed of the cart, he could see her: Pelagia. Beside her, as though guarding her on the way to her wedding, were Bill and Walter, flanking her on their ponies. Janyn was quite tempted to bellow at them to leave her and join the main column that straggled its way along the road, but there was no point.

He could see why they kept near her. She looked lovely.

‘What?’ Barda asked, seeing the direction of his gaze.

‘Should I do something about them? Look at them: drooling over her like a pair of dogs after a bitch,’ Janyn said.

‘What, are you jealous? Jan, get a grip!’ Barda chuckled to himself. ‘You met her, you allowed her into our vintaine, and you stopped the arsehole Henry from raping her – what more do you want? Are you jealous of the lads?’

‘Of course I’m not.’

‘But she does look beautiful, doesn’t she?’ Barda said. ‘She gives the brothers something to fight for. No Frenchman will get to her without knocking them down first.’

‘I’m worried about Bill. She never gives him a look, but I’ll bet he’s never stopped thinking about her.’

‘I think Walter is smitten as badly, and yet she gives them no affection, no sign of any desire to be with them, only a cold, distant demeanour.’

‘I don’t think Walter hoped for anything from her. When she first came to the camp, he just sought to protect her from the other men.’

‘Is this all about them – or is it you, Jan?’ Barda asked.

‘Me?’

‘When Henry came to us, it wasn’t Bill or Walter who stood before him, it was you. Is that the problem?’

‘No!’

It wasn’t because he wanted her. If he’d wanted a woman, he could have found himself one. Any of the Winchester Geese who followed the army would be good for a quick release. They were able, willing, and quick, generally, just like the whores of the Bishop of Winchester’s stews from whom they took their name.

Pelagia was not like them. She was a mystery. Other women demanded attention and craved companionship, but Pelagia just seemed to exist. She desired nothing from any of the men in the vintaine, and only showed a calculated disdain when any tried to get too close to her. The rest of the time, she remained with their group as though she was sister to their whole unit. There was no offer of sex or even friendship, only a firm independence.

She was not like other women. He didn’t get the sense that there would be any pleasure in pursuing her like a sensualist determined to gain another notch on his bedpost. Other men talked of the thrill of the chase of a fresh woman, but Janyn had never been interested in that kind of exercise. He was content to concentrate on his work. One day, perhaps, he would go to England and seek a wife, but not here, not in this godforsaken land of burned crops and slaughtered animals. This was no place to think of settling, it was only a country to be tamed, and that profitably.

Sometimes he thought he saw something in her face. Perhaps a flash of sadness, or a look of quick despair, but it was so fleeting, he could not swear to it. Perhaps it was just his mind trying to make sense of her, of her feelings and of what drove her on.

He didn’t care, anyway. Whatever it was that she wanted, he wanted none of it.

‘How was the battle?’ Laurence asked. The other pilgrims were hushed by the tale as Janyn paused and topped up his drink from a jug.