Bernard Cornwell - 1356 (Special Edition)

‘The first you’ll know,’ Genevieve said, ‘is the flight of an arrow.’

‘There’s some kind of village over there!’ One of the scouts, his horse white with sweat, galloped up to the hesitant Roland and pointed to the east. ‘There’s a tower there.’

‘A church?’

‘God knows. A tower. It’s not far, maybe a league?’

‘How many men did you see?’ Roland asked.

‘Two dozen? There could be more.’

‘Let’s go!’ Jacques snarled.

A rough track led through a wooded valley towards the hidden tower. Roland took it, leading Genevieve’s mare by its reins. He hurried. He glanced back to see that the distant men had vanished from the skyline, then he was among trees and ducking to avoid low branches. He fancied he heard hooves behind, but saw nothing. His heart was pounding in a way it never did in the tournament lists. ‘Go ahead,’ he told his squire, Michel, ‘find who owns the tower and demand shelter. Go! Go!’

Roland told himself it could not be Thomas pursuing him. If Thomas had escaped Montpellier then he would be south of Roland surely, not north? Maybe no one pursued him? Perhaps the armed men were on some innocent journey, yet why would they be armoured? Why wear helmets? His horse pounded through the leaf mould. They splashed through a shallow stream and cantered beside a puny vineyard. ‘Thomas’s men call their arrows the devil’s steel hail,’ Genevieve said.

‘Be quiet!’ Roland snapped, forgetting his courtesy. Two of the count’s men were riding close to her, making sure she did not try to fall off her horse and so slow them down. He rode up a slight slope, looked behind and saw no pursuer, then they breasted the shallow crest and there was a small village and, just beyond, the tower of a half-ruined church. The sun had almost gone and the tower was in shadow. It showed no lights.

The horses crashed through the village, scattering fowl, dogs and goats. Most of the houses were derelict, their thatch blackened or fallen in, and Roland realised this must be a village denuded by the plague. He made the sign of the cross. A woman snatched her child from the path of the big horses. A man called out a question, but Roland ignored it. He was imagining the devil’s steel hail. Imagining the arrows slicing from the twilight to slaughter men and horses, and then he was in a small graveyard and one of his men was in the broken nave of the church and had found the steps that climbed into the old bell tower. ‘It’s empty,’ he called.

‘Inside,’ Roland ordered.

And so, in the dusk, Roland to the dark tower came.

Seven

Thomas, Keane, and their prisoner reached the mill to find Karyl and nine remaining men-at-arms ready, though what they were ready for none of them knew. They were all in mail, their horses were saddled, and they were nervous. ‘We know about Genevieve,’ Karyl greeted Thomas.

‘How?’

Karyl jerked his scarred face towards a man dressed only in hose, shirt, boots, and coat. The man had been shrinking from Thomas’s sight, but Thomas spurred towards him. ‘Keep an eye on that bastard,’ he told Karyl, indicating Pitou, ‘if he annoys you, hit him.’ He curbed his horse by the reluctant man and looked down into a very anxious face. ‘What happened to your monk’s habit?’ he asked.

‘I still have it,’ Brother Michael said.

‘Then why aren’t you wearing it?’

‘Because I don’t want to be a monk!’ Brother Michael protested.

‘He brought us news.’ Karyl had followed Thomas. ‘He said Genevieve was taken, and you are hunted.’

‘They have taken Genevieve,’ Thomas confirmed.

‘De Verrec?’

‘I assume he’s taking her to Labrouillade.’

‘I sent the rest of the men to Castillon,’ Karyl said, ‘and told Sir Henri to send at least forty men towards us. It was his idea.’ He nodded down at Brother Michael.

Thomas looked at the monk. ‘Your idea?’

Brother Michael looked about the hilltop anxiously, as if seeking somewhere to hide. ‘It seemed a sensible idea,’ he said finally.

Thomas was not so certain it was sensible. He had ten men, twelve if you counted the reluctant student and even more reluctant monk, and they would be pursuing Roland de Verrec while the men from Castillon d’Arbizon would be roaming an unfriendly country looking for Thomas. That could lead to disaster if either small group was confronted by a much larger enemy. Yet if they did link up? He nodded approval. ‘It was probably a good idea,’ he said grudgingly. ‘So now you’ll go back to Montpellier?’

‘Me? Why?’ Brother Michael asked indignantly.

‘To learn how to sniff piss.’

‘No!’

‘So what do you want?’

‘To stay with you.’

‘Or with Bertille?’

Brother Michael coloured. ‘To stay with you, sire.’

Thomas nodded towards Keane. ‘He doesn’t want to be a priest and you don’t want to be a monk. Now you’re both Hellequin.’

Brother Michael looked disbelieving. ‘I am?’ he asked excitedly.

‘You are,’ Thomas said.

‘So all we need now is a pair of ripe young girls who don’t want to be nuns,’ Keane said cheerfully.

Karyl had not seen Roland de Verrec pass northwards with Genevieve. ‘You told us to stay hidden,’ he said reproachfully, ‘away from the road. So we did.’

‘He didn’t come this way,’ Thomas said, ‘he’s on the Gignac road, at least I think he is, and the bastard has a day’s lead on us.’

‘We follow?’

‘We’ll use the roads through the hills,’ Thomas said. He did not know those roads, but they had to exist because, looking north, he could see villages in the higher ground. He could see a mill on the skyline and smoke rising from a shadowed valley, and where there were people there were roads. They would be slower than the high roads, but with luck, with no thrown horseshoes and no coredors , he might catch up with de Verrec before the virgin knight reached Labrouillade. He dismounted and walked to the southern edge of the small plateau on which the ruined mill stood. He could see Montpellier clearly and also see small bands of horsemen scouring the scorched ground where the houses outside the city walls had been burned to deny an English attack any shelter or cover. There were at least six bands of men, no group larger than seven or eight, all of them exploring the bushes at the edges of the cleared ground. ‘They’re hunting me,’ he told Karyl, who had come to stand beside him.

Karyl shaded his eyes. ‘Men-at-arms,’ he grunted. Even at this distance it was possible to see that at least two of the bands were in grey mail. The sun glinted off helmets.

‘City guards, probably,’ Thomas said.

‘Why don’t they make one group?’ Karyl asked.

‘And share the reward?’

‘There is a reward?’

‘A big one.’

Karyl grinned. ‘How big?’

‘Probably enough to buy you a decent farm in, where is it, Bohemia?’

Karyl nodded. ‘Have you ever been to Bohemia?’

‘No.’

‘Cold winters,’ he said, ‘I think I’ll stay here.’

‘They’ll be searching the city,’ Thomas said, ‘but when they find nothing, then a whole lot more of them will come outside.’

‘We’ll be gone.’

‘And they’ll guess that.’

‘And pursue us?’

‘I hope so,’ Thomas said. The horses from the city would likely be well fed and rested, while the horses at the mill had fed sparsely, and if he was to travel fast through the hills he would need good horses. He also needed mail and weapons for Keane and Brother Michael.

He said as much to Karyl, who turned to look at the monk. ‘A weapon would be wasted on him,’ he said scornfully, ‘but the Irishman looks useful.’