Spitting bitter grape-skins, I had not gone far when I met up with a party of knights on foot. They had been in the battle, for their armour was white with dust and they were daubed with blood. In short, they looked just like me, but for some reason they seemed to know I was English, and hailed me loudly and angrily. There were seven of them. One had a bandaged head, another’s arm was in a sling, but they all had their hands on the hilts of their swords.
‘French knights,’ I said in their language, ‘do not … we have all battled enough for one day, have we not? I am looking for my cousin, the Lady Agnes de Wharram. Have you seen her?’
‘Ladies?’ sneered one man. ‘Are the English sending ladies to fight their battles for them? Or are you saying that French knights would fight women?’ He was working himself up to fight. A thought, heavy as lead, settled upon me: I would have to draw my sword and give them the satisfaction of hacking me up. Wearily I was lifting my hand, seven sets of blood-rimmed eyes watching it like lurchers following a hare, when a voice I knew, from somewhere – where? – spoke up.
‘Wait, my friends, I know this fellow.’ One of the men, he of the bandaged head, pushed past his comrades. I recognised something about his face, though it was streaked with his blood: it was a strong face, with a sharp nose and piercing eyes.
‘My God,’ I rasped. ‘Aimery? Aimery de Lille Charpigny?’
‘The very same, Petrus!’ To the consternation of his friends he strode up to me and, grabbing me around the chest, planted a kiss on each cheek.
‘You know this villain, then, Aimery?’ said the man who wanted to kill me.
‘I do. This is Petrus …’ He frowned at me, trying to remember.
‘Petrus Zennorius – as was. Sir Petrus Blakkedogge, or Canis Niger, or … Black Dog,’ I stuttered, steadying myself with a hand on Aimery’s shoulder.
‘You are a chevalier now! God’s tongue, I …’
‘I will tell you everything later. My dear man! I am so … I cannot believe it. I never thanked you for …’
‘For letting that girl knock me out? You can thank me now,’ he grinned.
‘So thank you a hundred, a thousand times! And now it seems you have saved me again, so I will put myself even further into your debt.’
‘Why are you wandering around, Petrus? You should be over there with your countrymen.’
‘I cannot … Listen, have you seen a lady called Agnes de Wharram?’ I asked. ‘She is my cousin.’ Somehow it did not seem right to lie to this man, whom I had last seen sprawled unconscious in the Bucoleon Palace of Constantinople, and who had risked his life to save mine.
‘Your cousin?’ Aimery scowled, unconvinced.
‘If she is not my cousin she is certainly nothing else,’ I said. ‘She has fair hair, the colour of butter, and very blue eyes. Not very tall. Very … comely,’ I added. Then I thought of something else.
‘Good Aimery, I will never be able to thank you sufficiently for Constantinople. But would you care to ransom me? I am worth a fair amount. I don’t think I surrendered officially, but now I surrender to you.’
‘And who will pay this ransom of yours?’ asked Aimery, laughing.
‘I will,’ I said.
‘Come now, do not mock me, my friend,’ said Aimery, looking pained. ‘I have had a sorry day of it. I thought to capture a great English lord, but instead I got this—’ he tapped his head delicately ‘—and I am still as poor as a grasshopper.’
‘Not so. You have captured the knight who killed the Sieur de Bourbon,’ I told him, remembering the man’s grinning, yellow teeth as I had torn off his shield. My stomach lurched, but I smiled as I knew a bold knight would smile. ‘And I will ransom myself. You may have this armour, which cost me a pretty penny, and the gold in my purse is yours if you do not ask me how I came by it.’
‘Gold?’ said Aimery, bewildered.
‘Aye, bezants.’
‘My friend, I will take your armour, for that will satisfy honour all round,’ he said. ‘But …’
‘Aimery, do not fly in the face of custom. If you do not ransom me, someone else certainly will,’ I pressed. ‘I do not intend to be a prisoner. If things were reversed, I would be taking your money, do not doubt it.’ We glared at each other, then Aimery burst out laughing.
‘Well, you do owe me a debt, damn you!’ he cried. ‘My head swam for weeks after that little Greek wildcat brained me.’
‘And now it’s happened again?’ I pointed to his crusted bandage.
‘No, no: that was a bolt. Straight across my forehead. Lots of blood, but ’tis not much. Now then, I accept your surrender, Sir Petrus.’ He turned to his comrades, who were watching us intently.
‘I know this man from Constantinople. He is a very great fighter, and I count him as my friend. Today he met with the Sieur de Bourbon upon the field, and slew him. He has put himself under my protection, and I would ask that he receives all the honour that his rank and valour is owed. All right, friends?’
Grudgingly they accepted, and wandered away in the direction of the city. ‘Now let us search for your cousin,’ said Aimery. He had seen some women on the far side of the tents, so we made our way slowly past the little palaces of cloth that were rising and billowing like sails while men heaved on ropes and cursed the saints out of heaven.
‘What are you doing here, brother?’ I asked him straight away.
‘I was about to ask you that very same thing,’ he laughed. ‘My story is simple, and I am sure yours is not … I can see that I am right! Well, you have seen Constantinople. There is nothing there for a landless knight like me: no prospects, no wealth, no honour. I love my lord Baldwin, but I think even he has abandoned the empire in his heart. I would have stayed even so, but the squabbling of the barons, and their bloody inability to do anything save torment the Greek citizenry, sickened me so much that … we are supposed to be Crusaders, friend Petrus! We are meant to be defending Mother Church, but every day dawns without hope, and the schismatic Greeks who besiege us have more fire, more – let me say it, and do not think ill of me – more faith. I could not stand it. So I came back to France, which my blood calls home though I had never seen it, and pledged myself to King Louis. And I feel like a man again.’
‘Do you have land here?’
‘No, I am as landless here as in Greece. My family held a fief in Burgundy, but it reverted to the king years ago. But I intend to serve my king and fight in his wars, and perhaps fortune and skill will bring something my way.’
‘And it has, it has,’ I said, patting my chest. ‘Quite the prize, eh?’ I told him the story of my past few weeks very briefly and left out most details, especially my recent visit to Paris, but Aimery was no fool.
‘You helped with the translation of the Bucoleon relics, did you not? I have heard, from men close to Emperor Baldwin, that you were with the Crown of Thorns when King Louis took possession of it at Troyes. We missed each other when you last came to Constantinople, but word had it that you were favoured at Vincennes.’ He gave me a penetrating look. I remembered the cold, wet day when we had sat in a tavern and I had discovered that, far from the Frankish oaf I had taken him for, Aimery de Lille Charpigny was a man who observed the world around him with sharp eyes and a busy, astute mind.
‘It was my good fortune to be given charge of the earthly details to do with the Crown and the other relics,’ I said. ‘Your Emperor has been good enough to put his trust in me, and I have indeed met King Louis on two or three occasions. But as a go-between, nothing more. He is a very noble and righteous monarch,’ I added. ‘And I have been just a glorified clerk, really, a witness and recorder of transactions.’
‘And now a knight,’ he reminded me. ‘The Sieur de Bourbon – he is a powerful man, you know. Did you really kill him?’
‘I did – not deliberately, though.’ For some strange reason we both burst out laughing, though there was precious little joy or mirth in it. We laughed, I suppose, because it was not us who were lying, hacked an
d bloody, growing cold among the vines; and because grown men who wear swords at their belts cannot be seen to weep.
Chapter Fifteen
There was a stand of plum trees a little further on, and between them, white sheets had been stretched to give some shade to the five or six women who sat dejectedly beneath them. They were guarded by a pikeman who leaned on his weapon and regarded the women slackly, sweatily; and a jowly priest, who hailed us and trotted over officiously, his ruddy jowls quaking. Aimery explained our errand, and they stepped aside, though he eyed me suspiciously.
There were three maids-in-waiting, and one of them, to my joy, was Margarete. With her was a young knight’s wife I recognised, and an older lady I did not. Letice was not among them, but Margarete, who looked frightened and dishevelled but unhurt, held out her arms to me, a desperate look of relief on her lovely face. Not thinking about scandal any more, I would have held her to me but fortunately for both of us the young wife, who was tear-stained and red-nosed, stepped between us artlessly and seized my hand.
‘Master Petrus! How did you come here?’
‘Captured like you, Lady Cecily,’ I said, gently. ‘Are you well, Lady Margarete?’ As I was already holding Cecily’s hand I took hers as well and gave it a squeeze. It was warm and alive, and I tried to reassure her with my eyes, but she was too rattled. ‘There were more of you,’ I went on with false gaiety. ‘Is my cousin Agnes here? I think you were in the same cart …’
‘I was,’ said the older lady. ‘She is over there, with Giliane.’ She pointed to another shelter a little further away. At first I could not see anyone there, but then my eye fell on three shapes lying on the ground. I gasped and took to my heels – to my shame forgetting all about poor Margarete – with Aimery muttering and panting behind me. I dodged around the trees, ignoring the cries of the priest. In front of me, very white in the dappled shade, lay a linen-covered body. Next to it a woman lay on her side, and next to her …
‘Letice!’ I yelled. She lifted her head from the pillow of her crossed arms and scowled. ‘Oh, God! Letice … Agnes …’
‘Stop shouting, Patch,’ she said. She sounded very weary. Her throat was bound up with a bloody length of gauze, and there was blood on her tunic.
‘Christ Almighty, my love, you are hurt!’ I knelt beside her and helped her lean against me.
‘Not really.’
The other woman stirred, and I saw it was the sick noblewoman that Letice had been nursing, Gunnilda de Lucie.
‘Have you come to fetch us, good sir?’ she said.
‘Not yet, Lady Gunnilda,’ I told her. ‘But the battle is over. Soon everyone will be ransomed or exchanged.’ To Letice I said: ‘Have they hurt you? What happened?’
‘They swarmed all over the carts,’ she told me. ‘We knew we were dragging behind, but there was a lame ox up ahead and the driver was tired … I mean, it was more horrible because I knew they would catch us, and we were crawling along, waiting for it to happen. They charged down the road, and before we could do anything they had lopped off the driver’s head.’
‘I saw them come,’ I said. ‘I thought—’
‘Agnes … tell him what you did, my dear.’ Gunnilda de Lucie rolled over and took Letice’s hand. But Letice shook her head.
‘She took up the carter’s sword,’ said Lady Gunnilda. ‘And she used it, too. My Agnes, you were braver than many a knight in their first battle, I’m sure. If she hadn’t, sir, only God in his mercy knows what would have befallen us. But they had some honour, I suppose, and took us prisoner in return for Agnes putting down her blade. I do not think …’
‘In the other cart, a maid had her throat cut, and another was dishonoured,’ said Letice flatly. ‘The girl they raped … I don’t know what happened to her. The other one is there.’ She nodded towards the shrouded body. ‘Everyone was nice enough to her after she was dead. God bless us all, eh, Patch?’
‘Amen,’ said Lady Gunnilda, not catching the bitterness in Letice’s tone.
‘Is this your cousin, Petrus?’ said Aimery.
‘It is. Agnes de Wharram, may I present Aimery de Lille Charpigny? We knew each other in Constantinople,’ I said. Aimery knelt and kissed Letice’s hand. She was too surprised to resist. Then he kissed Lady Gunnilda’s hand as well, and she blushed.
‘You are a gentleman, sir knight,’ she cooed.
‘But the Lady Agnes is hurt,’ said Aimery, reaching out and touching her bandaged throat very tenderly.
‘Nothing. Just a scratch,’ she muttered.
‘Nonsense! Her leg is broken!’ Lady Gunnilda put in. Meanwhile, Letice was scowling at Aimery, pale eyebrows lowered. I knew that look, and I wanted to warn the Frenchman to leave her be, for his own sake. But he did not notice, or ignored the look.
‘I am horrified,’ he said, ‘that any countryman of mine would think to harm so fair a lady. Or any maid at all,’ he added hastily. So he had understood her after all.
‘My leg isn’t broken. I have twisted my ankle, that is all. And I am not a maid,’ hissed Letice.
‘She is a widow,’ I added hastily. ‘Her late husband was a Crusader and died at Venice.’
‘My lady, you are alone in the world?’ Aimery said in horror. ‘How could heaven allow such a state of affairs?’
‘Well, what are your affairs?’ countered Letice rudely. Aimery drew back his head. Oh Christ, now she’s offended him, I thought, but instead he bowed rather sweetly and placed his hand proudly on his hip.
‘I may not be a man of wealth,’ he said, ‘but why should that matter? There is a song that says,
If the beautiful lady I want to belong to
Wants to honor me
Just so much that she agrees to let
Me be her faithful lover,
I am mighty and rich above all men,’
he chanted. He had a good voice, but Letice, hurt and grieving, merely scowled. Aimery was not to be put off, however. He knelt down and took her ankle gently in his hands, and she was too surprised to protest. He felt it expertly, and smiled.
‘Just a sprain, my lady. It will be healed in a week.’
‘What are you on about, Frenchman?’ demanded Letice.
‘Good lady, I ask you for nothing
But to take me for your servant,
For I will serve you as my good lord
Whatever wages come my way,’
he replied. ‘How else might a courtly knight like Sir Petrus or myself live with honour? Without love, what is there? Chrétien of Troyes wrote …’
‘What do you mean, a knight like Sir Petrus?’ said Letice. Meanwhile she had evidently heard quite enough about Chrétien of Troyes, and she was regarding Aimery with something like horror, although there was, perhaps, a touch of amusement as well. I explained what had happened, and how I was now an actual knight, forsooth. I must confess I felt a brush of satisfaction as I watched her gape in disbelief.
‘Black Dog – how did you come by such a name?’ asked Aimery.
‘A pet name from his youth – isn’t that right, cousin Petrus?’ said Letice. She gave us both a sort of twisted smile. ‘I told you, didn’t I? But you did not believe me.’
‘I seem to remember you saying something about me being chopped to pieces,’ I reminded her. And at that moment a great cheer went up from the crowd of prisoners under the linden tree. Shielding my eyes, I thought I saw the white flag of truce. Aimery looked as well.
‘I would guess that the prisoners are being exchanged,’ he said. ‘You had better go, Petrus, and you too, my ladies. I will see to it that your friend is buried decently.’ He helped Lady Gunnilda to her feet – she winced, but the flux seemed to have left her – and held out his hand to Letice. She tried to rise, but gave a moan and shook her head.
‘My ankle,’ she gasped. She had gone very white, and I helped her lie down.
‘Here,’ I said to Aimery, reaching under my mail coat and drawing out my purse. ‘Here is my ransom, and here’s for Lady Agnes
as well, and this dear lady.’ I took two bezants from it and handed the heavy little bag to Aimery, but he held up his hands.
‘You will be exchanged,’ he protested. ‘You need not pay a ransom at all, to anyone.’
‘Take it!’ I told him. ‘A man who does not at least try to pay his debts is no man at all. We are by no means even, my friend, but this is a beginning.’ And I took his hand and folded it into a fist around the purse. ‘I will send you my armour, and may it bring you good fortune – you’ll need to get it mended, though.’ I patted the tangled rings that covered my belly. ‘Look after Lady Agnes, my dear friend. I am leaving her under your protection, but as a free woman, not a prisoner, yes?’
‘No! What the bloody hell do you …’ Letice was struggling to sit up, but I knelt and put my hand gently over her mouth while I planted a firm kiss on each cheek.
‘Aimery is a good man,’ I whispered to her. ‘One of the few people in this world I would actually trust with my life, let alone yours, you difficult wench. You are safer here than in the city. King Louis has enough men to lay siege to Saintes for ten years. Go back to … go back to Venice.’ Her eyes were slashing at me like razors. ‘Very well, go back to London. You will be safe there now.’ I gave her the two bezants I had taken from my purse. ‘This will get you wherever you wish to go. Trust Aimery.’ I took her skull between my two palms and kissed her hard on the forehead. ‘I love you. I don’t expect you to care, and I don’t require your love any more, but I do love you.’ Then I embraced Aimery, and with a by your leave took Lady Gunnilda by the arm and helped her away through the plum trees towards where the English prisoners were beginning to form themselves into a line. I left the noblewoman with the party of John de Hastings and set off down towards the Taillebourg road.
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