It was not even a mile to the gate, but it took me an eternity to reach it. The vineyards had become a maze, and I was so exhausted that I could not bring myself to clamber over the tangles of stakes, vines and the corpses of men and beasts. So I had to cast about to find clear ways through, and by the time I gained the road I was reeling with fatigue and with the horrors I had seen. Already, a rabble of soldiers, peasants and camp-followers was picking over the corpses, plundering and stripping them naked. The chalky ground was blotched everywhere with great dark stains and scattered with severed body parts: legs, arms, hands. Heads lay like grotesque root vegetables, black, distended tongues licking the earth, eyes staring glassily. Corpses lay heaped in butchered wantonness, pale as maggots, French and English knotted together, legs splayed, manhoods lolling. The ravens and kites were already gathering.
As I came close to the city I passed beyond the looters. Here at least the bodies were still clothed. In a daze, half fainting with thirst and the pain from my injuries, I let my eyes drift over the shields and surcoats, looking for blazons I recognised. But I saw none, until I passed a cluster of bodies. Next to them lay a shield of dark blue divided by a stripe of white, a yellow star above and below. I had seen that device not so long ago. It was the shield of William Maynet.
He lay on his back, arms outstretched and eyes wide open. A crossbow bolt jutted from his breast-bone. Another body was sprawled across his waist, its neck a black stump. Edmund of Wykham’s head lay close to his friend’s open hand, eyes narrowed, lips pulled back. He must have dismounted when his friend fell, and as he knelt … I pulled the signet rings from their hands. William had a chain around his neck with a garnet-studded cross upon it, and Edmund had a gold chain and a worn medal wrapped around his wrist. I took them for Earl Richard, for their mothers and fathers. When I stood up, I saw that they had almost made it to safety, for English voices were calling to me from the walls. In another minute, I had passed inside the gates, a knot of soldiers had gathered round me, and I was taking a long, long drink from a wineskin. The king and his brother had taken over the castle, and I found my way there. I knew what needed to be done, but I needed Earl Richard’s permission. The nobles were shut up in urgent councils, I was told, so I let some kindly monks undress me and clean up my wounds, which were many but slight, and as the stinging of the last dressing faded I fell asleep.
I had not slept for two hard days and two long nights, but I woke in time for breakfast, which I fell upon although I was not hungry. I was stiff as a statue but there was no fever, and after I had found my baggage down in the town, arranged for my armour to be repaired and sent across to Aimery de Lille Charpigny, and changed from the linen shift the monks had lent me – it reminded me unpleasantly of grave-clothes – into my normal things, I took myself back to the castle and asked for an audience with Earl Richard. It was past luncheon by that time, for Saintes was in an uproar, stuffed full of angry, defeated Englishmen and preparing for a siege. The townsfolk were scuttling about, boarding up their houses and avoiding the English, who no doubt had already begun to steal and to bully them.
Richard received me in the castle solar. He did not look like a man who had played any part in the last two days, but lounged, clean and groomed, in a high-backed chair.
‘Sir Petrus,’ he said as I entered. ‘Have you come to confirm your knighthood?’ I could not tell if he was jesting or not, so I bowed and said, ‘If your lord still means to honour me I will be the happiest man in your brother’s kingdom …’ But he cut me off.
‘You did kill Archambaud Dampierre, yes? You did save the life of my lord Balecester? You did. There are witnesses. Do not be uncouth, man. A knight you are, whether you like it or not. And now, since we are defeated and trapped, and our precious allies have proved no more use than a candle in a snowstorm, what have we to discuss?’ His face had gone cold. I drew back my shoulders.
‘My lord, I brought you a message that held no personal interest to me. But nevertheless I did bring the message, and you have acted, in some part at least, because of it. I cannot speak for the man who sent it, except to assure you that, circumstances being what they are, he acted in good faith, for the cause of Raymond of Toulouse is closer to his heart than any other thing in this world. Knowing Jean de Sol, perhaps you will see that this is true.’
‘I listened to my dear brother, and that was the cause,’ said Earl Richard, clenching the arms of his chair, his face reddening. ‘And the lies of my father-in-law, promising a great host of allies that never existed. As for …’
‘My lord Richard,’ I said quickly, risking all to head off his anger. ‘You are blameless in this matter, and no man could say otherwise. The whole army saw how your allies betrayed the king. But if I had not brought the message, perhaps you would not have chosen this course. I would make some small amends, if I could.’
‘Amends? You are trying my patience, sirrah! I am beginning to wonder what sort of Englishman you are. Do you dare speak of betrayal to me?’
‘The English cause is not the only one betrayed,’ I reminded him. ‘King Louis has gathered a vast army. He will crush Toulouse in a day. News of the battle will reach Aragon and Navarre, and they will not have the stomach for a full-blown war. But some good may yet come of all of this.’
‘Do not talk in riddles, man,’ barked Richard.
‘What if I could still ensure that Sanchia of Provence gave you her hand?’ I said, slowly, deliberately. My heart was knocking the words up out of my chest, but I kept breathing, and looked the earl straight in the eye.
‘I have not kept my side of our bargain, so why should Raymond?’ asked Richard, coldly. ‘Toulouse’s cause is lost,’ he went on. ‘He will surrender to Louis, and take whatever the king chooses to inflict upon him.’
‘He still needs friends,’ I said.
‘Poor Raymond,’ said Richard, bitterly. ‘Do you know what my brother the king has done? He has fled. He left this morning for Bordeaux. Finished with all this nonsense, for which I am sure he has already absolved himself of any responsibility at all. Father Lusignan is off to beg Louis for mercy, and meanwhile I, who knew this was a fool’s errand from the start, must sit here like a woman. Do you know what de Montfort said this morning? That my brother should be locked up like Charles the Simple. I could have had his head for that, except that he’s bloody right.’
‘Well, my lord,’ I said. In my profession it is either an extremely good sign or an even worse one to have powerful men tell you exactly what is on their mind. I could not take back what I had just said, and neither could he, so I decided to ignore it and press on. ‘Raymond will lose his lands, and the Church will be given free rein to do what it will,’ I told him. ‘He knows this. He has lost his allies in war, but he will need allies more than ever if he is to survive the peace that will be stuffed down his throat. I will ask, or Monsieur de Sol will ask, that he gives up the Lady Sanchia in return for your good will and that of England. It is a promise you can make without any concern, for Count Raymond is a hollow man now.’
I could see the thoughts flying behind Richard’s eyes. His knuckles went white, then back to red again. I have you,I thought. Money might have done it, but love … The Captain was not mad at all, I realised. And he had possibly just saved my life.
‘Come here,’ he commanded. ‘Kneel.’ I did so. ‘Raise your hands in prayer,’ he said. I did, understanding with a sickening clarity as I touched my palms together what was about to happen. Richard stood, and pressed my hands tightly between his own. ‘Say these words after me.’
I intoned the solemn words, those nails, the glue and mortar that bind men to their masters:
‘I, Petrus, swear on my faith that henceforth I will be faithful to my lord. I will never cause him harm or lay open to another what he has entrusted to me, and will do my homage to him completely, against every man, with no deceit.’
‘You are my man now, Petrus,’ said Earl Richard, releasing me. ‘A knight must have a master.�
� He was watching me keenly. I forced my lips into a grateful, worshipful smile, the smile the gamekeeper finds on the fox that has died overnight in his trap.
‘You have made me a promise, my knight. If you are not lying, and can deliver my lady to me, I will be in your debt. Fail, and I tell you now that you will be arraigned as a traitor and meet a traitor’s end. I assure you I will not forget, either way. Am I making myself plain?’
‘As you command, my lord,’ I said. ‘I will set off tomorrow, if that is possible.’
‘You seem to know what is possible, Petrus, so …’
My new lord dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I left and wandered about the castle for a long time, finding myself at last up on the battlements, leaning through an embrasure and staring out at the rolling land. The air was heavy with the sweet foulness of spoiled meat, and amongst the vines the naked bodies were turning black. The sky was filled with wheeling crows and kites. Bands of people were wandering here and there, some looking for friends or masters, for corpses were being carried both to the French camp and into Saintes, and some searching for what little plunder must be left. There was no sign of any preparation for a siege, and I guessed that Henry and his cousin Louis must be engaged in whatever negotiations cousins make after one of them has lost a battle with the other. The flags were flying over Louis’ camp, already a large town of tents and rough shelters, the smoke from a thousand campfires rising up straight as columns.
I thought of Letice, and hoped she was all right. Her leg had not seemed to be broken, but Letice was not used to being at the mercy of others. Of all men, though, Aimery would take care of her. I had thought a great deal about him over the years, but though I had returned twice to Constantinople since he had helped me escape from the alliance of Nicholas Querini and the Emperor Baldwin’s regent I had not seen him, for he had been away at the wars, and there was always war on the borders of the dying empire. Aimery had been a man of honour in an empire that existed because honourable men had been poisoned by greed. He had risked his life to save mine, for no other reason, so far as I knew, than that it had seemed to him the right and honourable course of action. Letice could not have a more worthy protector. I hoped she would not make his life too miserable.
The next day I slipped out of the city just before dawn and galloped south through the vineyards, still green and lovely here, beneath a sky that was dark and tattered. I had gone to say goodbye to Margarete but her door was barred by a lady from Shropshire with the arms of a washerwoman, who looked at me as if I were a weasel out to rob the henhouse, and so I fled before I caused more of a scandal. I never saw her again, though more than once I wished, in the months to come, that I had braved the wrath of the court ladies and showed Margarete some honour, as she had showed me love.
The French had not yet bothered to encircle Saintes, and I saw nothing but cattle, and a few tired peasants walking to their fields, to trim the vines and hoe in the cool before sunrise. Overhead, beneath the ragged clouds, flocks of black birds were flying north to where the carrion waited to delight them. Earl Richard had given me a parting gift: a surcoat of red cloth emblazoned with a crouching black dog, a red-eyed Alaunt with bristles like a boar and white teeth. Some swift-fingered seamstress had worked day and night to make it, no doubt. I was bound, now: tied with all the chains of obligation I had spent the past seven years avoiding and mocking, I who had called no one master or lord. The oath I had sworn meant nothing to me, but I was inside the trap now, that cage that men call their world, whose bars are the power of others, and whose key is never quite in reach. I felt the weight of it pressing upon me even as I flew down the roads of Poitou: rank, influence and power, layers and layers of it, heavy as time. Above me now, my lord Richard. Above him, the king, and above him God himself. I believed in none of them, but that luxury afforded me no comfort, for now they all believed in me.
Chapter Sixteen
Raymond de Saint-Gilles, seventh Count of Toulouse, sat at the head of a long table in an empty hall, his greying head sunk into his hands. There was no noise except for the sparrows high up amongst the beams. Finally one hand dropped to the table, two fingers standing, tapping.
‘Henry has run away, you said?’ His voice sounded terribly weary but somehow unsurprised. ‘And Lusignan’s word was nothing but empty air. My God, to be ruined is one thing, but to be ruined by fools …’
‘My lord, you have been unwell,’ said Captain de Montalhac. We were standing together before the Count, the three of us alone in the great hall save for the sparrows in the ceiling and an old black cat asleep on a window ledge. ‘Perhaps we should not talk of these things now.’
‘No, de Montalhac? Then what shall we talk of, man?’ The Count looked up at last. He was haggard, for the sickness that had almost killed him three months ago had burned away the flesh beneath his face leaving him hollow-cheeked and aged beyond his years. He was a handsome man, in his fourth decade, broad-shouldered, his long and curly hair just beginning to leave his temples, but the skin below his eyes was papery and bruise-black, and his eyes had not lost the yellow stain of fever.
‘King Henry has abandoned us. Hughues de Lusignan, that posturing serpent, has betrayed us. France has a vast legion of men in the field – how many d’you think, young man?’
‘There were thirty thousand at least before Saintes, my lord,’ I said reluctantly. ‘And I heard, while I was a prisoner, that more were joining Louis every day. We faced perhaps five thousand knights and more than twenty thousand foot, and countless crossbowmen and auxiliaries. If Lusignan has gone over to France, then there are another thousand knights and five or more thousand foot.’
‘Christ. And England will not fight on?’ There was no hope in Raymond’s voice, and I could give him none.
‘No, my lord. The English barons are furious with Henry. They were forced to pay a shield tax of thirty marks on each knight’s fee, and now they have seen him toss their silver into the kennel – worse, for no doubt they would rather have seen it in the shit than given to Lusignan. I am afraid that Lord Cornwall and Lord Leicester will have sought terms with Louis by now.’
‘It is finished, then,’ said Raymond. ‘I have heard nothing from Navarre or Aragon, and I will not. The stupidity of Avignonet has cost me …’
‘You have been excommunicated before, my lord,’ said the Captain. ‘That need not concern you. And remember, there is still …’
‘Still no pope in Rome. Yes, yes, I know that, Michel. That will not matter to Louis. And I fear it will dampen the enthusiasm of my vassals and allies. Roger of Foix has been very silent these past few weeks. I am alone, I tell you.’
‘Not entirely so, my lord,’ I said. Raymond regarded me, bleary with defeat. ‘You may still have a friend in England,’ I went on. ‘Richard Earl of Cornwall is willing to show his friendship – this I have from my lord Richard himself.’
‘That is something,’ muttered Raymond. Then he brightened a little. ‘Better Richard than his half-wit brother,’ he said.
‘I cannot answer to that,’ I told him, ‘but Richard is well-loved by Louis Capet.’ I told him briefly how Earl Richard had gone as a pilgrim to parley with the French king at Taillebourg, and how the French knights had cheered him. ‘He will not be an ally in war, but in peace you will find him a powerful friend.’
‘Why?’ Raymond’s question was blunt, his eyes sceptical.
‘He despises Hughues de Lusignan, and he knows that his brother has abandoned his friends and shamed the crown. I believe he is a loyal man, although I base that on very slight acquaintance. That is the answer to your “why”, my lord. But in fact I am authorised to offer you the means by which you may secure an alliance with the earl.’
There was silence for a moment. Raymond inspected a chewed fingernail bitterly.
‘How, young man?’ he asked me at last. It was very clear that he was not looking forward to my answer.
‘It is no secret that Earl Richard has, for two years now, desi
red the hand of the Lady Sanchia of Provence.’ There: it was said. I expected the silence to grow like a thunder-head, but instead Raymond scratched his ear and cackled grimly.
‘Sanchia? I am to pay tribute to the mighty Earl of Cornwall with my betrothed, am I? My God. Well – are you Richard’s ambassador, young man? What is your exact title?’ He fixed me with a yellow but piercing eye.
‘Petroc has no exact title, my lord. He has been acting on my instructions, and so he is in effect, and in this matter, your agent.’
I glanced at the Captain, but he seemed quite at ease with all of this. He knew about my homage to Earl Richard, for I had told him everything as soon as I had ridden into Toulouse two days before and found him, much to my joy, at the palace of the counts.
‘So you are Richard of Cornwall’s knight,’ he had said, amused. ‘Do you intend to keep your oath?’
‘I am not certain,’ I had said, truthfully, for all through my long ride down the valley of the Garonne I had turned the question over and over in my mind: it meant nothing, just an assortment of words designed to intimidate the weak. But I did feel the stifling weight of obligation, of tradition. All those tombstones of loyal knights I had knelt on in church, all the songs. They involved me now. I had taken off my red surcoat after the first day’s journey, but I could hear myself screaming King’s men! King’s men! as I fell asleep at night and as I trotted along the empty roads, and felt again the unlooked for, unwelcome bloom of pride within my chest as Earl Richard had laid his sword upon my shoulders. The Captain laughed, however, and patted me on the knee.
‘One should never be certain about oaths,’ he said. ‘Speaking as one who has never sworn one.’
‘Not even to Count Raymond?’
‘Good Christians are not required to swear their loyalty,’ he answered. ‘But I am bound, nonetheless. You have sworn, but are you bound? You have a lord now, if you choose, but you have no king – or did you take a shine to Henry?’
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