Stephen Lawhead - Hood

Thus, in accordance with Baron de Braose's plan, the wagon train rumbled across the bridge, through the town, and out into the bright, sunlit meadows of the wide Wye valley. It would take the slow ox train four days to pass through Neufmarche lands and the great forest of the March. But once past Hereford, there would be no stopping the wagons, and the knights could breathe a little easier knowing that nothing stood between them and the completion of their duty.

The leader of this party was a marshal named Guy, one of Baron de Braose's youngest commanders, a man whose father stood on the battlefield with the Conqueror and had been rewarded with the lands of a deposed earl in the North Ridings: a sizeable estate that included the old Saxon market town of Ghigesburgh-or Gysburne, as the Normans preferred it.

Young Guy had grown up in the bleak moorlands of the north, and there he might have stayed, but thinking that life held more for him than overseeing the collection of rents on his father's estate, he had come south to take service in the court of an ambitious baron who could provide him with the opportunities a young knight needed to secure wealth and fame. Inflamed with dreams of grandeur, he yearned for glory far beyond any that might be acquired grappling with dour English farmwives over rents paid in geese and sheep.

Guy's energy and skill at arms had won him a place amongst the teeming swarm of knights employed by William de Braose; his solid, dependable, levelheaded northern practicality raised him above the ranks of the brash and impulsive fortune seekers who thronged the southern courts. Two years in the baron's service, Guy had waited for a chance to prove himself, and it had finally come. Certainly, marshalling the guard for some money chests was not the same as leading a flying wing of cavalry into pitched battle, but it was a start. This was the first significant task the baron had entrusted to him, and though it fell far short of taxing his considerable skills as a warrior, he was determined to acquit himself well. Mounted on a fine grey destrier, he remained vigilant and pursued a steady, unhurried pace. To better safe guard the silver, no advance warning had been given; not even Count de Braose knew when the money would arrive.

Day's end found them camped beside the road on a bend in the river. High wooded bluffs sheltered them to the east, and the bow of the river formed an effective perimeter barrier on the other three sides. Any would-be thieves thinking to liberate the treasure would have to come at them on the road, and Guy positioned sentries in each direction, changed through the night, to prevent intruders from disturbing their peace.

They passed an uneventful night and the next morning moved on. Around midday they stopped to eat and to feed and rest the animals before beginning the long, winding ascent up out of the Vale of Wye. The first wagon gained the heights a little before sunset, and Guy ordered camp to be made in a grove of beech trees near an English farming settlement. Other than a herdsman leading a few muddy brown cows home to be milked, no one else was seen on the road, and the second night passed beneath a fair, star-seeded sky with serenity undisturbed.

The third day passed much the same as the previous day. Before climbing into their saddles on the fourth day, Guy assembled the men and addressed them, saying, "Today we enter the forest of the March. We will be wary. If thieves try to attack us, they will do so here, conipris? Everyone is to remain alert for any sign of an ambush." He gazed at the ring of faces gathered around him: as solemn, earnest, and determined as he was himself. "If there are no questions, then-"

"What of the phantom?"

"Ah," replied Guy, "yes." He had anticipated such a question and was ready with an answer. "Many of you will have heard some gossip of this phantom, non?" He paused, trying to appear severe and dauntless for his men. "It is but a tale to frighten infants, nothing more. We are men, not children, so we will give this rumour the contempt it deserves." He offered a grimace of ridicule to show his scorn, adding, "It would take a whole forest full of phantoms to daunt Baron de Braose's soldiers, n'est cepas?"

He commanded the treasure train to move out. The soldiers took their mounts and fell into line: a rank of knights, three abreast to lead the train, followed by men-at-arms alongside and between each of the wagons, with four knights serving as outriders patrolling the road ahead and behind on each side. At the head of this impressive procession rode Guy himself on his fine grey stallion; directly behind him rode his sergeant to relay any commands to those behind.

By morning's end the money train had reached the forest edge. The road was wide, though rutted, and the wagon drivers were forced to slow their pace to keep from jolting the wheels to pieces. The soldiers clopped along, passing through patches of sunlight and shadow, alert to the smallest movement around them. It was cool in the shade of the trees, and the air was thick with birdsong and the sounds of insects. All remained peaceful and serene, and they met no one else on the road.

A little past midday, however, they came to a place where the road dipped low into a dell, at the bottom of which trickled a sluggish rill. Despite the fine dry weather, the shallow fording place was a churned mass of mud and muck. Apparently, herders using the road had allowed their animals to use it for a watering hole, and the beasts had transformed the road into a wallow.

Stuck in the middle of the ford was a wagon full of manure sunk up to its axles. A ragged farmer was snapping the reins of his two-ox team, and the creatures were bawling as they strained against the yoke, but to no avail. The farmer's wife stood off to one side, hands on hips, shouting at the man, who appeared to be taking no heed of her. Both the man and his wife were filthy to their knees.

The road narrowed at the ford, and the surrounding ground was so soft and chewed up that Guy could see there would be no going around. Wary, senses prickling to danger, Guy halted the train. He rode ahead alone to see what had happened. "Pax vobiscum," he said, reining up behind the wagon. "What goes here?"

The farmer ceased swatting his team and turned to address the knight. "Good day, sire," the man said in rough Latin, removing his shapeless straw hat. "You see how it is," He gestured vaguely at the wagon. "I am stuck."

"I told him to put down planks," the farmwife called in shrill defiance. "But he wouldn't listen."

"Shut up, woman!" shouted the farmer to his wife. Turning back to the knight, he said, "We'll soon have it out, never fear." Eyeing the waiting train behind them, he said, "Maybe if some of your fellows could help-"

"No," Guy told him. "Just you get on with it."

"At once, m'lord." He turned back to the task of coaxing, threatening, and bullying the struggling team once more.

Guy rode back to the waiting train. "We will rest here and move on when they have cleared the ford. Water the horses."

The horses were watered and rested and the sun was beginning its long, slow descent when the farmer finally ceased shouting and slapping his team. Guy, thinking the wagon was finally free, hurried back down into the dell only to find the farmer lying on the grassy slope above the ford, his wagon as firmly stuck as ever.

"You! What in God's name are you doing?" demanded Guy.

"Sire?" replied the farmer, sitting up quickly.

"The wagon remains stuck."

"Aye, sire, it is that," agreed the farmer ruefully. "I have tried everything, but it won't budge for gold nor goose fat."

Glancing around quickly, the knight said, "Where's the woman?"

"I sent her ahead to see if there might be anyone coming the other way that could maybe lend a hand, sire," replied the farmer. "Seeing as how you and your men are busylike…" He left the rest of the thought unspoken.