Heretic. Part 12

Sir Guillaume looked at the Scotsman, then back to Joscelyn, and he saw allies. It must have been Robbie, Sir Guillaume thought, who had taken down Joscelyn's reversed s.h.i.+eld, a gesture the Norman had noticed, but decided to ignore. You'll go with him," he said flatly, and he's your prisoner, eh?"

He's my prisoner," Robbie said.

But I command here," Sir Guillaume insisted, and a share of the ransom is mine. Ours." He waved a hand to indicate the rest of the garrison.

It will be paid," Robbie said.

Sir Guillaume looked into Robbie's eyes and saw a young man who would not meet his gaze, a young man whose allegiances were uncertain, who proposed riding to Berat with Joscelyn. Sir Guillaume suspected Robbie would not come back and so the Norman went to the niche where the crucifix hung, the same crucifix that Thomas had held in front of Genevieve's eyes. He took it from the wall and laid it on the table in front of Robbie. Swear on that. he demanded, that our share will be paid." I do so swear it," Robbie said solemnly and laid his hand on the cross. By G.o.d and my mother's own life, I swear it." Joscelyn, watching, seemed amused.

Sir Guillaume gave in. He knew he could have kept Joscelyn and the other prisoners, and that in the end a means of conveying all the ransom money would be found if he did keep them, but he also knew that he would face weeks of unrest. Robbie's supporters, and there were many of them, especially among the routiers who had joined the garrison, would claim that by waiting he risked losing all the money, or else they would suggest that he was planning to take the cash and cheat them, and Robbie would encourage that unrest and in the end the garrison would fall apart. It was probably going to fall apart anyway for, without Thomas, there was no compelling reason to stay. The men had never known that the Grail was their quest, but they had sensed Thomas's urgency, sensed that he had a cause, and that what they did had a meaning; now, Sir Guillaume knew, they were just another band of routiers who were lucky enough to hold a castle. None of them would stay long, Sir Guillaume thought. Even if Robbie did not pay his share Sir Guillaume could still ride away much richer than he had arrived, but if Robbie kept faith then Sir Guillaume would have enough money to raise the men he needed to gain his revenge on those who had stolen his lands in Normandy.

I expect the money to be here within a week. Sir Guillaume said.

Two. Joscelyn said.

One week!"

I shall try. Joscelyn said off-handedly.

Sir Guillaume pushed the crucifix across the table. One week!" Joscelyn looked at Sir Guillaume for a long time, then placed a finger on the broken body of Christ. If you insist. he said. One week.

Joscelyn left next morning. He rode in full armour, his banner, horses and men-at-arms restored to him, and with him rode Robbie Douglas and sixteen other men-at-arms, all of them Gascons who had served Thomas, but who now preferred to take gold from the Count of Berat. Sir Guillaume was left with the men who had come to Castillon d'Arbizon, but at least that meant he had the archers. He stood on the castle's topmost rampart and watched Joscelyn ride away. John Faircloth, the English man-at arms, joined him there. Is he leaving us?" he asked, meaning Robbie.

Sir Guillaume nodded. He's leaving us. We'll not see him again." So what do we do?" Faircloth asked, in French this time. Wait for the money, then go."

Just go?"

What else in G.o.d's name can we do? The Earl of Northampton doesn't want this town, John. He'll never send anyone to help us. If we stay here, we die."

And we go or die without the Grail. Faircloth said. Is that why the Earl sent us here? He knew about the Grail?" Sir Guillaume nodded. The knights of the round table. he said, amused, that's us.

And we abandon the search?"

It's a madness. Sir Guillaume said forcefully, a G.o.dd.a.m.ned madness. It doesn't exist, but Thomas thought it might and the Earl thought it worth an effort. But it's pure moonstruck idiocy. And Robbie's caught up in it now, but he won't find it because it isn't there to be found. There's just us and too many enemies, so we'll take our money and go home."

What if they don't send the money?" Faircloth asked. There's honour, isn't there?" Sir Guillaume said. I mean we plunder, thieve, rape and kill, but we never cheat each other over ransoms. Sweet Jesus! No one could ever trust anyone else if that happened." He paused, staring at Joscelyn and his entourage who had stopped at the valley's end. Look at the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," he said, just watching us. Wondering how to get us out of here." The hors.e.m.e.n were indeed taking a last look at Castillon d'Arbizon's tower. Joscelyn saw the impudent standard of the Earl of Northampton lift and fall in the small breeze, then he spat onto the road. Are you really going to send them money?" he asked Robbie.

Robbie looked startled at the question. Of course," he said. Once he had been paid the agreed ransom then honour insisted that he would have to pa.s.s on Sir Guillaume's share. It had never occurred to him to do otherwise.

But they fly the flag of my enemy," Joscelyn pointed out. So if you send them the money, what's to stop me taking it back?" He looked at Robbie, waiting for a response.

Robbie tried to work out the ramifications of the suggestion, testing them against his honour, but so long as the money was sent, he thought, then honour was satisfied. They didn't ask for a truce," he said hesitantly, and it was the answer Joscelyn wanted because it suggested Joscelyn could start a fight the moment the money was paid. He smiled and rode on.

They reached Berat that evening. A man-at-arms had ridden ahead, warning the town of their new lord's approach, and a delegation of consuls and priests met Joscelyn a half-mile from the eastern gate. They knelt to welcome him and the priests presented the Count with some of the cathedral's precious relics. There was a rung from Jacob's ladder, the bones of one of the fishes used to feed the five thousand, Saint Gudule's sandal, and a nail used to crucify one of the two thieves who had died with Christ. All had been gifts to the town from the old Count, and now the new Count was expected to dismount and pay the precious relics, all encased in silver or gold or crystal, due reverence. Joscelyn knew what he was expected to do, but instead he leaned on his pommel and glowered at the priests. Where is the bishop?" he demanded. He is ill, lord."

Too ill to welcome me?"

He is sick, lord, very sick," one of the priests said, and Joscelyn stared at the man for an instant, then abruptly accepted the expla nation. He dismounted, knelt briefly, made the sign of the cross towards the proffered relics, then nodded curtly at the consuls who held out the town's ceremonial keys on a cus.h.i.+on of green velvet. Joscelyn was supposed to take the keys and then return them with a kind word, but he was hungry and thirsty so he clambered up into his saddle and spurred past the kneeling consuls. The cavalcade entered the town by its western gate where the guards went on their knees to their new lord, and then the hors.e.m.e.n climbed to the saddle between the two hills on which Berat was built. To their left now, on the lower hill, was the cathedral, a long, low church that lacked tower or spire, while to their right a cobbled street stretched to the castle on the taller hill. The street was hung with painted signs that forced the hors.e.m.e.n to ride in single file, while on either side of them the citizens knelt and called out blessings. One woman strewed vine leaves on the cobbles while a tavern-keeper offered a tray of wine pots that got spilled when Joscelyn's horse sidled into the man.

The street opened into the marketplace, which was dirty with trampled vegetables and stinking from the dung of cows, sheep and goats. The castle was ahead now and its gates swung open as the guards recognized the banner of Berat carried by Joscelyn's squire.

Then it all became confusing for Robbie. His horse was taken by a servant and he was eventually given a room in the east tower where there was a bed and a fire, and later that evening there was a raucous feast to which the dowager Countess was invited. She proved to be a small, plump and pretty girl, and at the feast's end Joscelyn took her by the wrist and led her to his new bed chamber, the old Count's room, and Robbie stayed in the hall where the men-at-arms stripped three serving girls naked and took their turns with them. Others, encouraged by Joscelyn before he disappeared, were dragging bundles of old parchments from the shelves and feeding them to the big fire that blazed mightily and bright. Sir Henri Courtois watched, said nothing, but became as drunk as Robbie.

Next morning the rest of the shelves were emptied. The books were thrown out of a window into the castle yard where a new fire burned. The shelves were hacked down and followed the books and parchments out of the window. Joscelyn, in high spirits, super vised the room's cleansing, and in between he received visitors. Some had been servants of his uncle: the huntsmen, armourers, cellarers and clerks who wanted to make sure their jobs were safe. Some were lesser lords from his new domain who came to swear fealty by placing their hands between the Count's, swearing the oath of allegiance and then receiving the kiss that made them Joscelyn's own men. There were pet.i.tioners wanting justice and even more desperate men who had been owed money by the late Count and who now dared hope that his nephew would honour the debts. There were a dozen priests from the town who wanted the new Count to give them money to say Ma.s.ses for his uncle's soul and Berat's consuls climbed the stairs in their red and blue robes with arguments why the town's tax yield should be lower; and amidst it all Joscelyn was roaring at his men to burn more books, to feed more parchments to the fire, and when a young and nervous monk appeared to protest that he had not yet finished searching the muniments, Joscelyn chased him from the hall and so found the monk's lair, which was full of still more doc.u.ments. All were burned, leaving the monk in tears.

It was then, as the newly discovered h.o.a.rd of parchments was flaring high to scatter burning sc.r.a.ps throughout the courtyard and threaten the thatched roof of the castle's mews, that the bishop, apparently not sick at all, arrived. He came with a dozen other clergymen, and with them was Michel, the old Count's squire. The bishop hammered his staff on the cobblestones to get Joscelyn's attention and when the new Count deigned to notice him the bishop pointed the staff at Joscelyn. A hush fell over the courtyard as men realized a drama was unfolding. Joscelyn, the fire gleaming from his round face, looked belligerent. What do you want?" he demanded of the bishop who had not, he thought, shown sufficient deference.

I want to know. the bishop demanded, how your uncle died." Joscelyn took a few paces towards the deputation, the sound of his boots echoing from the castle walls. There were at least a hundred men in the courtyard and some of them, having suspected that the old Count had been murdered, made the sign of the cross, but Joscelyn looked quite unconcerned. He died," he said loudly, in his sleep, of a sickness."

It is a strange sickness," the Bishop said, that leaves a man with a slit throat."

A murmur sounded in the yard and swelled to a roar of indig nation. Sir Henri Courtois and some of the old Count's men-at arms put hands to their sword hilts, but Joscelyn was equal to the challenge. What do you accuse me of?" he snarled at the bishop. I accuse you of nothing," the bishop said. He was not willing to pick a fight with the new Count, not yet, but instead attacked through Joscelyn's hirelings. But I do accuse your men. This man," he drew Michel forward," saw them cut your uncle's throat." A murmur of disgust sounded in the yard and some of the men at-arms moved towards Sir Henri Courtois as if a.s.suring him of their support. Joscelyn ignored the protest and instead looked for Villesisle. I sent you," he said loudly, to seek an audience with my dear uncle. And now I hear that you killed him?" Villesisle was so taken aback by the accusation that he said nothing. He just shook his head in denial, but so uncertainly that every man there was sure of his guilt. You want justice, bishop?" Joscelyn called over his shoulder.

Your uncle's blood cries for it," the bishop said, and the legitimacy of your inheritance depends on it."

Joscelyn drew his sword. He was not in armour, just breeches, boots and a belted woollen jerkin, while Villesisle wore a leather coat that would be proof against most sword strokes, but Joscelyn jerked his blade to indicate that Villesisle should draw his own weapon. A trial by combat, bishop," he said.

Villesisle backed away. I only did what you . . ." he began, then had to retreat fast because Joscelyn had attacked him with two quick strokes. Villesisle became frightened that this was no dumb show put on to placate a troublesome bishop, but a real fight. He drew his sword. My lord," he pleaded with Joscelyn. Make it look good. Joscelyn said softly, and we can sort every thing out afterwards."

Villesisle felt a surge of relief, then grinned and made an attack of his own that Joscelyn parried. The watching men were fanning out to make a half-circle around the fire in front of which the two men could fight. Villesisle was no novice, he had fought in tour naments and skirmishes, but he was wary of Joscelyn who was taller and stronger, and Joscelyn attacked now, making use of those advantages, scything his sword in ma.s.sive strokes that Villesisle parried desperately. Each clash of blades echoed twice, once from the castle's curtain wall and once from the big keep, one triple ring fading as the next began, and Villesisle was backing away, backing away, and then he leaped aside to let one of Joscelyn's murderous cuts waste itself on the smoky air and immediately pressed forward, lunging with the point, but Joscelyn had been waiting for it and he turned the lunge and bulled forward, throwing Villesisle off his feet so that he sprawled on the cobbles and Joscelyn loomed over him. I might have to imprison you after this. he said almost in a whisper, but not for long." Then he raised his voice. I ordered you to go and talk with my uncle. Do you deny it?"

Villesisle was happy to play along with the deception. I do not deny it, lord. he said.

Say it again!" Joscelyn ordered. Louder!" I do not deny it, lord!"

Yet you cut his throat. Joscelyn said, and he motioned for Villesisle to stand and, once his opponent was up, he moved fast forward, scything the sword, and again the triple rings sounded in the yard. The swords were heavy, the strokes clumsy, yet the men watching reckoned Joscelyn had the greater skill, though Sir Henri Courtois wondered whether Villesisle was using all his skill. He slashed now, but did not try to close on his opponent and it was no trouble for Joscelyn to step back. The burning books and parchments roared beside him, starting sweat from his forehead and he cuffed it away. If I draw blood from this man, bishop. Joscelyn called out, will you take that as a sign of his guilt?" I will. the Bishop said, but it will not be sufficient punishment." The punishment can wait for G.o.d to give. Joscelyn said and he grinned at Villesisle who grinned back. Then Joscelyn stepped carelessly towards his opponent, opening his right side to a blow; Villesisle understood he was being invited to make a swing and so give the appearance that the fight was real and he obliged, swinging his great, awkward blade in the expectation that Joscelyn would parry it, but instead Joscelyn stepped back and used his sword to propel the blow onwards so that Villesisle was spun around, carried by the heavy blade's momentum and Joscelyn, cold-eyed and quick as lightning, brought his own blade back and gave it the merest flick of a wrist and the tip of the sword sliced into Villesisle's throat. It stuck there, caught on Villesisle's gullet, and Joscelyn pushed it forward, twisted the steel, pushed again and he was smiling as he did it and the blood was streaming down the blade, cascading from its edges and Joscelyn still smiled as Villesisle, a look of utter astonishment on his face, fell to his knees. His sword fell with a clang. Breath was bubbling red at the rent in his throat and now Joscelyn gave the sword a great shove so that it tore down into Villesisle's chest. The dying man was caught there, suspended by the sword that had been rammed down his windpipe, and then Joscelyn gave the blade another twist, put both hands on the hilt and ripped the steel free with a monstrous heave that made Villesisle's body shudder and blood fountain up across Joscelyn's arms.

The spectators let out a breath as Villesisle fell sideways and died. His blood trickled between the yard's cobbles to hiss where it met the fire.

Joscelyn turned and looked for the second man, Villesisle's murderous companion, and that man tried to run, but he was caught by the other men-at-arms and thrust into the open s.p.a.ce where he fell to his knees and begged Joscelyn for mercy. He wants mercy," Joscelyn called to the bishop. Would you give it to him?"

He deserves justice," the bishop said.

Joscelyn wiped his b.l.o.o.d.y sword on the skirts of his jerkin, then sheathed it and looked at Sir Henri Courtois. Hang him," he ordered curtly.

Lord . . ." the man began an appeal, but Joscelyn turned and kicked him in the mouth so hard that he dislocated the man's jaw and, when the man recovered his balance, Joscelyn raked his foot back, half tearing off an ear with his spur. Then, in an apparent paroxysm of rage, Jocelyn leaned down to haul the bleeding man upright. He held him at arm's length for a heartbeat and then, with all the strength of a man trained to the tournament, he threw him backwards. The man screamed as he tripped and fell into the fire. His clothes flared. The spectators gasped, some even looked away as the burning man tried to stagger free of the flames, but Joscelyn, risking being burned himself, thrust him back in. The man screamed again. His hair caught fire and blazed bright, he jerked in terrible spasms and then collapsed into the hottest part of the fire.

Joscelyn turned on the bishop. Satisfied?" he asked, then walked away, brus.h.i.+ng embers from his sleeves.

The bishop was not done. He caught up with Joscelyn in the great hall, which had now been stripped of its books and shelves, and where the new Count, thirsty after his exertions, was pouring himself red wine from a jug. Joscelyn turned a sour look on the bishop.

The heretics. the Bishop said. They are in Astarac." There are probably heretics everywhere," Joscelyn said carelessly. The girl who killed Father Roubert is there. the bishop insisted, and the man who refused our orders to burn her." Joscelyn remembered the golden-haired girl in the silver armour. That girl. he said, interest in his voice, then he drained the cup and poured another. How do you know they're there?" he asked.

Michel was there. He was told by the monks."

Ah yes. Joscelyn said, Michel. He stalked towards his uncle's squire with murder in his eyes. Michel. Joscelyn said, who tells stories. Michel who runs to the bishop instead of coming to his new lord."

Michel hurriedly stepped back, but the bishop saved him by stepping in front of Joscelyn. Michel serves me now. he said, and to lay a hand on him is to attack the Church." So if I kill him, as he deserves. Joscelyn sneered, you'll burn me, eh?" He spat towards Michel, then turned away, So what do you want?" he asked the bishop.

I want the heretics captured. the bishop said. He was nervous of this new and violent Count, but he forced himself to be brave. I demand in the name of G.o.d and in the service of His Holy Church that you send men to find the beghard who was known as Genevieve and the Englishman who calls himself Thomas. I want them brought here. I want them burned."

But not before I have talked with them." A new voice spoke, a voice as cutting as it was cold, and the Bishop and Joscelyn, indeed every man in the hall, turned to the door where a stranger had appeared.

Joscelyn had been aware, ever since he had stalked away from the courtyard, of the sound of hooves, but he had thought nothing of it. The castle had been loud with comings and goings all morning, but now he realized that strangers must have arrived in Berat and a half-dozen of them were now in the doorway of the hall. Their leader was the man who had spoken and he was taller even than Joscelyn, and spare, with a hard, long, sallow face that was framed with black hair. He was dressed all in black. Black boots, black breeches, black jerkin, black cloak, black broad-brimmed hat and a sword scabbard sheathed in black cloth. Even his spurs were made from black metal and Joscelyn, who had as much religion in his soul as an inquisitor possessed mercy, felt a sudden urge to make the sign of the cross. Then, when the man removed his hat, he recognized him. It was the Harlequin, the mysterious knight who had made so much money on the tournament fields of Europe, the one man Joscelyn had never beaten. You're the Harlequin," Joscelyn said, accusation in his tone.

I am sometimes known by that name," the man said, and the bishop and all his clergy made the sign of the cross for the name meant that this man was beloved by the devil. Then the tall man took another step forward and added, But my real name, my lord, is Guy Vexille."

The name meant nothing to Joscelyn, but the bishop and his clergy all crossed themselves a second time and the bishop held out his staff as if to defend himself.

And what the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" Joscelyn demanded. I have come. Vexille said, to bring light to the world." And Joscelyn, fifteenth Count of Berat, s.h.i.+vered. He did not know why. He just knew he was frightened of the man called the Harlequin who had come to bring light to the darkness. The bone-setter claimed she could not do much, and whatever she did do caused Genevieve excruciating pain, but after it was done, and when her shoulder and left breast were soaked with new blood, Brother Clement gently cleaned her and then poured honey onto the wound, which he bound up with sacking again. The good thing was that Genevieve was suddenly ravenously hungry and she ate whatever Thomas brought her, though G.o.d knew that was little enough for his own raid on Astarac had left the village bereft of food and the monastery's supplies had been depleted to feed the villagers. Still, there was some cheese, pears, bread and honey, and Brother Clement made more mushroom soup. The lepers, clappers sounding, went into the woods to find the mushrooms that were served to all the monks. Twice a day some of them rattled their way around the back of the monastery and up a flight of steps into a bare stone room where a small window overlooked the altar of the abbey church. This was where they were permitted to wors.h.i.+p and Thomas, on his second and third day after his talk with Abbot Planchard, went with them. He did not go willingly, for his excommunication meant he was no longer welcome in any church, but Brother Clement would pluck his arm insistently, then smile with genuine pleasure when Thomas indulged him. Genevieve came with him on the day after the bone-setter had made her scream. She could walk well enough, though she was still weak and could scarcely move her left arm. Yet the arrow had missed her lungs and that, Thomas decided, was why she had lived. That and Brother Clement's care. I thought I was going to die. she confessed to Thomas.

He remembered the coming plague. He had heard no more about it and, for the moment, he did not tell Genevieve. You won't die. he told her, but you must move the arm." I can't. It hurts."

You must. he said. When his own arms and hands had been scarred by the torturer he had thought he would never use them again, but his friends, Robbie chief among them, had forced him to practise with the bow. It had seemed hopeless at first, yet little by little the ability had come back. He wondered where Robbie was now, whether he had stayed at Castillon d'Arbizon, and that thought frightened him. Would Robbie seek him here at Astarac? Had friends.h.i.+p really turned to hate? And if not Robbie, who else might come? The news of his presence in the monastery would spread in the unseen way such news always did, tales told in taverns, pedlars carrying the gossip from one village to the next, and soon enough someone in Berat would take notice. We have to go soon," he told Genevieve.

Where?"

A long way away. England, perhaps?" He knew he had failed. He would not find the Grail here and, even if his cousin did come, how could Thomas defeat him? He was one man with only a wounded woman to help him and Guy Vexille travelled with a whole conroi of men-at-arms. The dream was over and it was time to go.

I'm told it's cold in England. Genevieve said.

The sun always s.h.i.+nes. Thomas said gravely, the harvest never fails and fish jump straight from the rivers into the frying pan. Genevieve smiled. Then you must teach me English.

You know some already.

I know G.o.dd.a.m.n. she said, and I know G.o.dd.a.m.n b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y G.o.dd.a.m.n and Christ G.o.dd.a.m.n b.l.o.o.d.y help us.

Thomas laughed. You've learned archers" English. he said, but I'll teach you the rest.

He decided they would leave next day. He made a bundle of his arrows, then he cleaned the caked blood from Genevieve's coat of mail. He borrowed a pair of pincers from the monastery's carpenter and did his best to mend the mail where the crossbow bolt had pierced it, bending and closing the shattered links until at least they were crudely joined, though the rent was still obvious. He tethered the horses in the olive grove to let them graze and then, because it was still early in the afternoon, he walked south to the castle. He was determined to have one last glimpse of the stronghold where his ancestors had been lords. He met Philin as he left the monastery. The coredor had brought his son from the infirmary and, with the boy's leg firmly splinted with a half-dozen of the chestnut stakes used to hold the monastery's vines, he had put him on a horse and was leading him southwards. I don't want to stay here too long," he told Thomas. I'm still wanted for murder."

Tlanchard would give you sanctuary. Thomas insisted. He would," Philin agreed, but that wouldn't stop my wife's family sending men to kill me. We're safer in the hills. His leg will mend there as well as anywhere. And if you're looking for refuge . . .

Me?" Thomas was surprised by the offer.

We can always use a good archer."

I think I'll go home. Home to England."

G.o.d look after you anyway, my friend," Philin said, then he struck off to the west and Thomas walked south through the village where some of the folk made the sign of the cross which was evidence enough that they knew who he was, but none tried to take revenge on him for the harm his men had caused. They might have wanted such a revenge, but he was tall, strong and wearing a long sword at his belt. He climbed the path to the ruins and noticed that three men had followed him. He paused to face them, but they made no hostile move, just watched him from a safe distance.

It was a good place for a castle, Thomas thought. Certainly better than Castillon d'Arbizon. Astarac's stronghold was built on a crag and could only be approached by the narrow path he had climbed to the broken gate. Once past the gate the crag had originally been topped by a curtain wall encircling the courtyard, though that was now nothing more than heaps of mossy stone that were never higher than a man's waist. An oblong of broken walls with a semi circular extension at their eastern end showed where the chapel had been and Thomas, walking the wide flagstones beneath which his ancestors were buried, saw that those stones had been disturbed recently. Raw marks betrayed where they had been prised up. He thought of trying to raise one of the flagstones himself, but knew he had neither the time nor the tools, and so he walked on to the western side of the crag where the old keep had stood, a broken tower now, hollow to the wind and rain. He turned when he reached the old tower and saw how his three followers had lost interest in him when he left the chapel. Were they there to guard something? The Grail? That thought seethed like a bolt of fire in his veins, but then he dismissed it. There was no Grail, he thought. It was his father's madness that had touched him with its hopeless dream. A shattered stair was built into one flank of the tower and Thomas took it as far as he could climb, which was only to where the missing first floor had spanned the hollow shaft. There was a great gaping hole in the tower wall there, a wall that was over five feet thick, and Thomas could walk into the s.p.a.ce. He stared down the valley, following the line of the stream with his eyes and he tried once more to feel some sense of belonging. He tried to snare the echoes of his ancestors, but there was nothing. He had felt emotion when he went back to Hookton, the little of it that remained, but here, nothing. And the thought that Hookton, like this castle, was in ruins made him wonder if there was a curse on the Vexilles. The country folk here claimed that dragas, the devil's women, left flowers where they walked, but did the Vexilles leave ruins? Maybe the Church was right after all. Maybe he deserved to be excommunicated. He turned to look west in the direction he must travel if he was to go home.

And saw the hors.e.m.e.n.

They were on the western ridge, way to the north of him, coming, he thought, from the direction of Berat. There was a large band of them, and they were soldiers right enough for what had caught his eye was the glint of light reflecting from a helmet or mail coat.

He stared, not wanting to believe what he saw, and then, coming to his senses, he ran. He went down the stairs, across the weed thick courtyard, out through the ruined gate where he barged past the three men, and then down the path. He ran through the village and then northwards and he was out of breath by the time he banged on the gate of the lazar house. Brother Clement opened it and Thomas pushed past him. Soldiers," he said in curt expla nation, then he went into the hut and picked up his bow, the bundled arrows, their cloaks and mail and bags. Come quick. he told Genevieve, who was carefully ladling some of Brother Clement's newly gathered honey into small jars. Don't ask. he told her, just come. Bring the saddles."

They went back outside to the olive grove, but Thomas, looking around, saw soldiers on the road in the valley north of Saint Sever's. Those men were still some way off, but if they saw two people riding from the monastery they would be bound to follow, which meant there could be no escape now, just concealment. He hesitated, thinking. What is it?" Genevieve asked.

Soldiers. Probably from Berat."

There, too. She was looking south, towards the castle, and Thomas saw the villagers hurrying towards the monastery for refuge and that surely meant there were armed men approaching their houses.

He swore. Leave the saddles. he told her and, when she had dropped them, he pulled her round the back of the monastery, following the lepers" path to the church. Someone had begun to toll the monastery bell to warn the brethren that armed strangers had come to their valley.

And Thomas knew why. Knew that if they were found they would both burn in the holy fire and so he ran into the lepers'

part of the church and climbed the short flight of stairs to the window that overlooked the altar. He pushed his bow through, sent the arrows after it, then the rest of the baggage, and clambered up himself. It was a tight fit, but he squeezed through and dropped clumsily and painfully onto the flagstones. Come on!" he urged Genevieve. People were coming into the church, thronging the door at the far end of the nave.

Genevieve hissed with pain as she scrambled through the small window. She looked frightened at the drop, but Thomas was beneath and he caught her. This way. He picked up his bow and bags and led her down the side of the choir and then behind the side altar where the statue of Saint Benedict stared sadly towards the frightened villagers.

The door in the alcove was locked as Thomas expected it to be, but they were hidden here and he did not think anyone had noticed them slip through the shadowed choir. He raised his right leg and kicked his heel against the lock. The noise was huge, a drum bang echoing in the church, and the door shook violently, but did not open. He kicked again, harder, then a third time and was rewarded by a splintering noise as the lock's tongue tore out the old wood of the frame. Tread carefully," he warned her, and he led her down the stairs into the darkness of the bone house. He groped his way to the eastern end, where the arched niche was only half full of bones, and he threw his belongings to the back of the pile, then hoisted Genevieve up. Go to the back," he told her, and start digging."

He knew he could not climb up himself without spilling dozens of ribs and thigh bones and arm bones, and so he went along the cellar and pulled down stacks of bones. Skulls bounced and rolled, arms and legs clattered, and when the cellar was a mess of scattered skeletons he went back to Genevieve, scrambled up and helped her delve down into the old bones closest to the wall. They made a hole there, pulling the rib cages and pelvises and shoulder blades apart, scrabbling ever deeper until at last they had made a deep, dark hiding place among the dead.

And there, in the blackness, cradled by the bones, they waited. And heard the broken door squeal on its hinges. Saw the small flickering light of a lantern cast grotesque shadows on the arched ceiling.

And heard the mailed footsteps of the men who had come to find them, to take them, and to kill them.

Sir Henri Courtois was ordered to take thirty-three crossbowmen and forty-two men-at-arms to Castillon d'Arbizon where he was to lay siege to the castle. Sir Henri accepted the orders glumly. I can lay siege. he told Joscelyn, but I can't capture the castle. Not with that small force."

The English managed it. Joscelyn said acidly.

Your uncle's garrison was sleeping. Sir Henri said, but Sir Guillaume d'Evecque will not be so obliging. He's got a reputation, a good one." Sir Henri knew who commanded at Castillon d'Arbizon because Robbie had told him, and had also told him how many men were under Sir Guillaume's command.

Joscelyn jabbed a finger into the older man's chest. I do not want one more archer raiding my territory. Stop them. And give the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds this. He handed Sir Henri a sealed parchment. It gives them two days to leave the castle. Joscelyn explained airily, and if they agree to its terms, you can let them go." Sir Henri took the parchment, but paused before putting it in his pouch. And the ransom?" he asked.

Joscelyn glared at him, but honour decreed that Sir Guillaume should receive a third of the money that had ransomed the new Count and Sir Henri's question was therefore a proper one and so Joscelyn answered it, but curtly. The ransom's there. he said, nodding at the parchment, all there."

It's here?" Sir Henri asked, astonished, for the message plainly contained no coins.

Just go!" Joscelyn snapped.

Sir Henri left the same day that Guy Vexille took his own men to Astarac. Joscelyn was glad to see the back of the Harlequin, for Vexille was an uncomfortable presence even though his men-at arms were a welcome addition to the Count's forces. Vexille had brought forty-eight soldiers, all well mounted, well armoured and well armed, and he had surprised Joscelyn by not demanding a single ecu as payment. I have my own funds," he had said coldly. Forty-eight men-at-arms?" Joscelyn wondered aloud. That takes money."

They were a heretic family, my lord," his uncle's old chaplain had maintained, as if that explained the Harlequin's wealth, but Vexille had come equipped with a letter from Louis Bessieres, Cardinal Archbishop of Livorno, and that proved he was no heretic. Not that Joscelyn would have cared if Vexille wors.h.i.+pped wooden idols every night and sacrificed weeping virgins at each dawn. He was far more worried by the fact that the Vexilles had once been the lords of Astarac. He confronted Vexille with that, unable to hide his fear that the black-dressed knight had come to reclaim his ancestral lands.

The Harlequin had merely looked bored. Astarac has been in your lords.h.i.+p's fief for a hundred years," he said," so how could I hold that honour?"

Then why are you here?" Joscelyn demanded.

I fight for the Church now," Vexille said, and my task is to hunt a fugitive who must be taken to justice. And when he is found, my lord, we shall leave your domain." He turned because a sword had just been drawn, the sound of the blade sc.r.a.ping on the scabbard's throat unnaturally loud in the great hall. Robbie Douglas had just entered the room. He now pointed the drawn weapon at Vexille. You were in Scotland. he said threateningly.

Vexille looked the young man up and down and seemed unworried by the blade. I have visited many countries," he said coldly, including Scotland."

You killed my brother."