by Hilary Green
'Don't worry,' Leofric said. 'All we have to do is keep going up until we can't climb any higher and the path goes down. I'm told there is a monastery of some sort at the summit, where we can find shelter.'
He set his horse in motion and they all followed, the horses sinking fetlock deep and sometimes plunging deeper still when they mistook the path. The way wound backwards and forwards, always climbing, until they reached a point where it divided. To their left, it appeared to traverse a ledge overhanging a deep gully. To their right it led downwards.
'Which way?' Hildred asked.
'Must be right,' Everwin said. 'That's the way down.'
'I don't see any sign of that monastery you mentioned,' Gladweine remarked.
'No, nor do I.' Leofric gazed around, frowning. 'Maybe it's a little further down. Perhaps we can't see it against the snow.' He looked up at the sky. 'I wish to God the clouds would part and give us a glimpse of the sun. We should be heading south, but we've twisted and turned so much I've no idea which way we're facing.'
'Well, anyway, that path goes down,' Everwin insisted. 'That must be the way.'
The rest agreed, for want of any better suggestion, and they set off again down the track. It was dusk by the time they came to a small valley where there was a stand of pines. Under the trees the snow lay less thick and there was some shelter from the wind.
Leofric drew rein. 'There's dead wood here for a fire. We'll camp for the night and hope to catch the others in the morning.'
No one demurred and Ranulph was not the only man to groan as he lowered himself out of the saddle. They tied up the mules and hobbled the horses, then they spread out in search of wood for the fire. Leofric was right. There were plenty of dead branches and dry twigs and soon flames were leaping and crackling in the gathering dark. They clustered round, stretching frozen hands towards the blaze and grunting with mingled pain and pleasure as numbed limbs came back to life. Paega showed no inclination to attempt any cooking, and no one wanted to wait for a meal. They all had strips of dried and salted pork in their saddle bags, with twice baked bread left over from the previous day, and they made do with that washed down by whatever they carried in their flasks. Hildred fetched a leather bottle from his pack, unstoppered it and took a long swig. Then he turned to Ranulph.
'Here. Try some of this. It's good stuff. I've been keeping it for a special occasion, though I must admit this wasn't quite what I had in mind.'
Ranulph shook his head. 'No, thank you. It's generous of you, but there's no reason for you to give it to me. I've got my own.'
'Oh, come on! You look as if you could do with it.'
He pushed the bottle into Ranulph's hand and, unwilling to appear ungracious, he took a mouthful. The wine slid down his throat, bringing a warm glow to his belly. He swallowed another draft and handed the bottle back. 'You're right. It is good. It reminds me …'
'Reminds you of what?'
'Of the wine we buy … used to buy in Gascony, to sell in London.' His throat closed as he was swept by a wave of nostalgia for the long, warm days while the Waverider lay at anchor in the Gironde and he and Piet negotiated on the price of the barrels stacked in the merchant's cellar.
Hildred seemed to intuit something of what he was thinking. He slapped him on the shoulder and said, 'It will be warm where we are going. There will be wine as good as this, and girls and music. We just have to get through this.'
Before long men began to wrap themselves in their cloaks and stretch out to sleep by the fire. Leofric set watches, two men at a time, and Ranulph was thankful that he was paired with Hildred and given the last watch of the night. He did not think he could have stayed awake if it had been the first. He pulled a blanket from his saddle bag, rolled himself in it and lay down. The ground was hard and cold, but in spite of that he slept almost at once.
Gladweine woke him while it was still dark and he hauled himself unwillingly to his feet. Hildred was already up and stooping to lay fresh branches on the fire. He looked up as Ranulph joined him, stretching and yawning.
'The storm is over, thank God. Look. The sky is clear. You can see the stars.'
Ranulph followed his gaze. Through the branches of the pines the stars were glittering. He was reminded of nights when he had lain beside Piet on the deck of the Waverider while Piet taught him to identify and name the constellations. They very rarely sailed at night, but Piet had insisted that he memorise the lessons. 'After all', he was fond of remarking, 'you never know when you might not be able to make port by nightfall, and if you can't navigate by the stars you may never see your home again.'
Prompted by the memory, he moved away from the fire to a place where the trees were thinner and he could get a better view of the sky. It was comforting to recognise the familiar constellations. There was the easiest one to spot, the one some men called the Great Bear and others the Plough; and following the line of those stars there was …. Suddenly he was jerked out of his reverie. He searched the heavens, to be sure he had made no mistake. Then he turned his eyes earthwards and studied the line of the valley they had been following. Crossing to the fire, he tugged at Hildred's cloak.
'We're going the wrong way!'
Hildred looked mildly amused. 'We're not going anywhere right now.'
'No! We're heading in the wrong direction. Look, I'll show you.'
He pulled him out to the clearing and pointed upwards. 'See that bright star there?'
'There are hundreds, thousands of stars. Which one am I supposed to be looking at?'
'Do you know the Great Bear?'
'Is that the one that looks like a pot with a handle?'
'Yes. Can you see it?'
Hildred contemplated the sky for a moment. 'Yes, got it! So what?'
'Look at the two stars at the opposite end from the handle. Now imagine a line between them and draw it out about five times further than the distance between them. Do you see a star?'
'Yes, I see it. What about it?'
'That is the North Star. All the other stars move around the heavens, but that one stays still and it always points to the north.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes! It's how sailors find their way at night.'
'Of course. You were a mariner. So …' he gazed up again. 'If that is north …'
'If that is north, then we are heading west, not south, and we have been ever since the division in the tracks.'
Hildred frowned. 'Maybe the path turns south further on.'
'It might, but it doesn't look likely to me. The valley goes more or less straight ahead of us.'
'That's true. So if you are right …. Come on. We'd better wake Leofric, so you can show him before the dawn comes and the stars fade.'
Leofric came to with a rapidity that startled Ranulph. 'What's wrong? Are we under attack?'
'No, but Ranulph has something to show you. He thinks we are heading in the wrong direction.'
'Ranulph thinks …?'
'I know!' Ranulph put in urgently. 'Come with me and I'll show you.'
He led Leofric into the clearing and explained what he had shown Hildred. The captain was quick to understand the implications.
'Of course. I remember my father showing me that star when I was a boy, but I had forgotten.' He put a hand on Ranulph's shoulder. 'Well done, lad. Perhaps I wasn't so far wrong in taking a sailor into the company after all.' He drew a breath and let it out on a sigh. 'There's no help for it. We must go back the way we came as soon as it's light. The men won't like it.'
They did not like it. There was a good deal of grumbling and several of them wanted to know why they should take the word of a stripling like Ranulph; but Leofric's authority was absolute. The fire was extinguished, blankets packed away and saddle girths tightened and as dawn rose they set off back up the track. The sky remained clear, but they had been riding for over an hour before the sun showed itself over the mountains directly ahead and proved that Ranulph had been right. It was almost midday before they reached the jun
ction between the two tracks and now, in the brilliant light, they could see that the other one, having skirted a deep gully, went on upwards and there, far above them, they could make out the roof of a building.
'There!' Leofric exclaimed. 'That must be the monastery.'
It was nightfall by the time they reached it and rode into a broad yard flanked on one side by the monastic buildings and on the others by a guest house and stables and other necessary offices. All the buildings looked quite new, it seemed to Ranulph, and in one corner there was a pile of stones and builders' tools, as if work was still in progress. Leofric commented that they should give thanks to the man who had thought to found such a place in this inhospitable spot and they all heartily agreed, but a disappointment awaited them. The yard and the stables were empty and the Brother Hosteller, who greeted them, explained.
'Your friends were here. They waited all morning for you, and sent out men to search for you. But when they found no sign they concluded that either you had perished in the storm, or you had turned back to find shelter lower down. They left word, however, in the hope that you had survived, that they will wait for you for three days in the town of Lucca. Now, come inside. There is warmth and food, and comfort for body and soul. Welcome to the Hospice of St Nicholas.'
He was right, at least about the bodily comfort. They were shown into a hall where a great fire burned in the central hearth and given bowls of steaming broth and freshly baked bread. When they had eaten their fill, mattresses and blankets were laid out for them and very soon they were all asleep. In spite of his weariness, Ranulph slept fitfully. He heard the bell that summoned the monks to Matins and Lauds and when he heard it ring again for Prime he knew it was time to get up. The sound brought back memories of his childhood in the abbey at Chester, memories which he found disturbing.
His unease was increased next morning, when the Brother Hosteller came to inform them that it had been decided to hold a Mass in thanksgiving for their survival, and, naturally, they were invited to join the monks in celebrating it. The other men agreed readily, aware how close they had come to an icy death, but when they reached the door of the small church dedicated to St Nicholas Ranulph hung back. It had not been difficult to go along to mass in Bruges with Piet and his family, when it had seemed as much a social obligation as a religious one. Here, in the presence of the monks and after the experiences of the last two days, he saw it again as an act of sacrilege.
One of the older monks, who was waiting by the door, saw his hesitation.
'Come, my son. Our Lord Christ invites you to share his great feast.'
Ranulph shook his head and mumbled, 'Forgive me, Father. I cannot take the sacrament. I am not in a state of grace.'
The old man smiled gently. 'That can surely be remedied by confession and absolution. Come with me now. I will hear your confession and we may still be in time for you to share in the sacrament.'
Ranulph met his eyes and for a moment the temptation to unburden himself was almost too great to resist. But then he remembered what must be spoken of, if he were to make the monk understand, and shook his head again. 'There are things that cannot be confessed, Father.'
'Surely not,' the monk responded. 'Christ's forgiveness is infinite.'
Ranulph turned away, in desperation. 'But only if full confession is made, and that is something I cannot do.'
The monk sighed deeply. 'Well, I cannot force you. I shall pray for you to find the strength to speak.' And he turned away and went into the church.
Ranulph hung around outside for a while, but the wind was bitter and after a few minutes he slunk back to the warmth of the fire in the guest hall. He thought of the other men, giving heartfelt thanks and receiving the comfort of the sacraments, and felt more than ever an outcast.
When he heard the voices of his companions chatting and laughing as they left the church he slipped out and joined them, hoping that no one had noticed his absence. He was relieved to hear Leofric courteously refuse the abbot's invitation to rest for another day or two and order the company to horse. In the stable, he was making his usual cautious approach to Hob when Leofric called to him. He was leading a grey mare, which Ranulph had often seen him riding when he wanted to rest his big chestnut war horse.
'Here. You've served your apprenticeship on that misbegotten nag. It's time you had a decent mount. Take Silver. She's only a common or garden rouncey but she has a nice nature and she ambles, which you'll find a lot more comfortable.'
'You mean I can borrow her, for today?' Ranulph said breathlessly.
'No. I mean you can ride her from now on. Put a leading rein on Hob and bring him with you.'
The misery Ranulph had been feeling a short while earlier disappeared and his spirits soared. He knew that this meant he was accepted as a useful member of the company, no longer just a barely tolerated hanger-on. He mounted Silver and felt her eager responsiveness to the lightest touch of his legs. As he followed the rest of the company out of the gates and onto the downward leading path he whistled softly to himself.
Hildred drew rein and allowed him to catch up. 'I'm glad to see Leofric has had the sense to put you on a decent horse. No one should be condemned to riding Hob for as long as you were.'
'I expect he was right,' Ranulph conceded. 'I had no idea how to ride at the beginning and it wouldn't have been fair on a horse like Silver to have to put up with me.'
'Well, that's true,' Hildred grinned. 'You sat a horse like a sack of turnips for the first week, at least. But you've come on a lot since then.'
'I didn't have much choice.' Ranulph returned the smile. 'Kill or cure!' He rode in silence for a while. It occurred to him that he still knew very little about horses and this seemed a good moment to ask some questions. 'Leofric called Silver a common or garden rouncey. What does that mean?'
Hildred looked at him in some surprise, as if he assumed that such things were known to everyone. 'A rouncey is just an ordinary horse, without any special breeding. Some are better than others, more responsive, more forward-going, like Silver there. Others are lazy nags like Hob.'
'And what would you call your horse? I can see he's a cut above the ordinary.'
'Bayard is what is called a palfrey. He's the sort of horse a knight would ride when he wasn't expecting to fight. I'm lucky to have him. I won him from a knight I unhorsed in one of our battles. He's not as big as a destrier, but he's fast and nimble and a very smooth ride because he ambles.'
'Leofric said Silver could do that. What does it mean?'
Hildred gave a chuckle. 'You really don't know much, do you?'
Ranulph shook his head. Once he would have been mortified by the remark but he knew Hildred well enough to recognise that it was not intended to hurt.
'Right,' Hildred went on. 'You've ridden Hob at a trot, and you know how it jolts you out of the saddle. That is because when a horse trots it uses diagonal pairs of legs alternately which makes it bob up and down. One, two. One two. Like that. When it ambles it uses all four legs separately, one, two, three, four, so it never has more than one leg off the ground at a time. Look, I'll show you.'
They were riding at the back of the column so there was no one behind them. Hildred wheeled his horse and rode back a short distance, then urged him into a faster gait so that he caught up and passed Ranulph.
'See?' he said, reining back.
'Yes. I understand now.'
'You try it.'
Ranulph held back, then, used to having to pound his heels into Hob's side to get a response, gave Silver a sharp kick which sent her forward with such a leap that he was nearly unseated. But after a stride or two she settled into a smooth, almost gliding movement which allowed him to sit still in the saddle.
'Any more questions?' Hildred enquired when they were walking side by side again.
'Yes, one. What is a destrier?'
'Ah! Well, you would know one if you saw one. A destrier is a knight's war horse. They're big bastards, almost always stallions, and worth
a king's ransom. They are specially trained for battle, to kick out at an opponent's mount, or to bite. A destrier's hooves can be more lethal than a knight's sword in close combat.'
'Is Leofric's horse a destrier?'
'He's got the right conformation, but he's been gelded. Geldings just don't have that fighting temperament – which is why we do it, of course.'
Ranulph considered all this for a few moments. Then he said, 'Thank you. I think that answers all my questions for the moment.'
Hildred expelled a breath on a whistle. 'Phew! Thank the lord for that. You've just about had all the information I can give you. Are you always this curious?'
Ranulph thought, then he grinned. 'Yes, I suppose I am.'
10.
It took them almost three weeks to wind their way down from the mountains onto the plains of Lombardy. At every town or village they passed they heard news of the main army under Vermeulen but they were never able to catch up with them. Nor had they finished with mountains. After crossing the River Po they found themselves heading into a new mountain range, not as high as the Alps but a land of craggy peaks separated by deep ravines. They came at last to a valley, which the local people told them was called the Garfangana, where the track followed the line of a fast rushing river. At their last stop before entering it Leofric called them together.
'Stay alert, men. From what I hear this a lawless land, controlled by petty war lords who owe allegiance to no one and like to exact tribute from those who travel along the valley. From now on, we ride armed.'
From their saddle bags, or from packs carried by the mules, the men of the company dug out what armour they possessed. Some had hauberks of ring mail, others had brigandines of boiled leather, reinforced with metal plates sewn in over the heart and lungs. All had helmets of one sort or another. All had a shield hung at their backs and a sword hanging from their belts and many carried a battle axe as well. Looking at them, Ranulph was once again gripped by a sense of inadequacy. He had nothing but a dagger, which he had bought with his earnings at the end of his first voyage on the Waverider, and he saw no prospect of acquiring anything more useful.