by David Gilman
They stepped outside. ‘Come on, you idle bastards,’ said Killbere. ‘Sir Thomas and I will find you a battle to fight even if we have to start one ourselves.’
The men clambered to their feet.
Will Longdon and Jack Halfpenny hauled Thurgood upright. ‘We could float Robert down a sewer and have him open the Paris gates; then we’d have a fight on our hands,’ said Longdon.
Killbere took a few uneasy steps towards the archers and lifted Thurgood’s face. His bleary eyes tried to focus.
‘Aye, he floats like a turd right enough, but by God this lad saved our skins that day,’ said Killbere, and gently slapped the semi-conscious archer’s face. ‘You find him a dry blanket for the night but don’t put him too close to the fire. He’s drunk enough to roll in it and with all the brandy in him he would light up the night.’
‘He never could hold his drink, but he has a weakness for it,’ said Halfpenny.
Killbere rubbed Thurgood’s hair. ‘Blessed are the weak for they shall inherit the wine barrel,’ he said. The men laughed. The young archer raised his head.
‘Weak I am, Sir Gilbert… but… what the river could not drown… the drink… will.’ He grinned foolishly. ‘But… you cannot… drown a man’s love… not that… not ever.’ His head flopped.
Killbere stepped back and scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘When an archer starts talking of love then it must be for his horse, for who else would let him ride for free?’
The men-at-arms jeered and the archers laughed with them. The fight at the priory garrison had been hard won and those with sword in hand in the ditches had needed the bowmen at their backs. It was enough that both groups knew it. Blackstone and Killbere led them back to the lines. Behind them the killing would go on throughout the night, illuminated by the fires of the burning houses. The cries of the dying carried over the walls of Paris where the crown of France waited to be seized.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Robert Thurgood rolled out of his blanket and stared uncomprehendingly for a moment at his surroundings. The dull glow of fire embers was muted in the mist that had settled across the camp. Men lay snoring, tucked beneath their blankets. The rain had ceased some hours before, but the wet grass and the damp night air held the smell of the burnt-out suburbs of Paris. He shuddered and pulled his tongue, thick from the drink, from the roof of his mouth. He was not used to brandy and regretted not searching out wine when they reached the inn. The last thing he remembered was laughing with Jack Halfpenny as the archers teased the men-at-arms about how close their arrows had been to them when they assaulted the priory. It had been harmless banter and then he and Halfpenny had talked about the whores that would be waiting for them once they breached the city walls. Now he looked about him and realized his friends had carried him back to the lines and wrapped him in a blanket. His war bow had been put safely into its waxed linen bag and his sheaf of arrows tied neatly next to it. He needed to relieve himself. He clambered free from the blanket wrapped around his legs and staggered carefully between the sleeping men. He found a place in the trees and rested one hand against the tree trunk while fumbling at his clothing with the other. Thurgood felt the fuzziness ease from his head. He yawned and then did up his breeches. He turned back the way he had come and realized he did not know where his blanket and comrades lay among the many others. He stared, trying to peer through the mist, and felt the shiver of the night chill. He skirted sleeping bodies and began to curse silently as it dawned on him that he was unlikely to find his place until daylight.
As the faint breeze shifted the mist slowly here and there he saw the glow of a brighter fire than others and the figure of a man stooping to lay more wood onto the flames. It served as a beacon and he turned towards it, grateful he would not have to spend the rest of the night shivering in the dank forest. As he approached he realized it was the man-at-arms Collard who attended the fire. The knowledge stopped him in his tracks. Collard was part of the guard that stood over Aelis. Thurgood stood unmoving. His mind danced across a hundred thoughts in a few shallow breaths. He licked his lips and tasted the image that had presented itself in his mind’s eye. It was not chance that brought him to Aelis’s tent, but destiny. He would whisper his feelings for her and then caress her and she would cleave to him. He looked quickly around, fearing his thoughts might be heard by others, because such a clarion call could surely not be confined within his head alone. His heart thudded as he felt warmth flood into his groin. He would never have such an opportunity again, but Collard would stop him. As he thought the man’s name Collard looked back and stared in his direction but Thurgood had quickly dropped to the ground the moment he sensed the man-at-arms begin to turn. He lay motionless as Collard pulled his cloak around him and went back to sit next to his fire.
Thurgood’s mind played devil’s advocate. Would Collard let him lie with the woman who had shown her gratitude for him saving her life, and her obvious affection? Could he be bought off? With what? The gold coin from Thurgood’s share of the raids was still in his purse but Collard had also been given a cut. Besides, he reasoned, Collard would not risk disobeying Sir Thomas. Not him. No, the man-at-arms would stop him before he even reached for the woman’s tent flap. Thurgood gnawed his knuckles because now the blood that pumped through his veins and warmed his body was prompted by a picture of himself lying on her with his face between her breasts. He yearned for them as an infant desires a mother’s nipple. Saliva slaked the dryness in his mouth. The mist cloaked him. He was unseen and unknown to anyone. He was a ghost who could move undetected through the night. How to tell her, though, how his heart yearned for her? He had saved her and she had told him with her eyes that she was his. No words were needed. He rolled onto his back, his hand squeezing the erection that threatened to burst through his breeches. There was a clear sky above the mist. Here and there a star twinkled in the moist air and the moon’s glow dressed the pale veil around him. There was risk; of course there was. But the regret that had assailed him when the river swept him away prodded him again. Life had not yielded enough pleasure. It had offered fear and death and good friendship with Jack Halfpenny. But now he had something more to hold close. As he turned over onto his stomach his arm pressed against a rock. He picked it up. It fitted neatly into his fist. Without further thought he silently got to his feet and strode through the mist towards the fire glow. The figure that sat hunched, head down, was breathing heavily. Collard was asleep. For a moment Thurgood hesitated. Could he lie with Aelis and not wake him? His fist answered the question before his mind did.
He stepped carefully across Collard’s sprawled body and eased aside the tent flap. Enough light filtered through the canvas from the fire for him to see Aelis lying on her back with an arm thrown across her eyes. She slept in her chemise; the ties down the front were loose, exposing the cleft of her breasts. Thurgood knelt at her feet, uncertain how to wake her without her being alarmed. He wiped his palm across his mouth and eased himself gently forward. He smelt her musty fragrance and his heart thumped louder as he carefully leaned over her. Too loud, he thought. She’ll hear it. Her breathing was deep and even and he suddenly felt confident. With a delicacy that belied his stubby fingers he lifted her chemise tenderly away from her breasts and gazed at her brown nipples. The linen had chafed them in the night and they stood proud of her flesh. Thurgood swallowed hard and lowered his face close to her cheek. He whispered her name. There was no response and he blinked in the shadows, not knowing what to do next as his erection pressed against her thigh. The touch of her warm body enticed him further. He lowered his lips to her cheek and kissed her. The weight of his chest against her breasts startled her awake. She gasped in fright, her body bucking against him. He saw the terror in her eyes as he smothered her face with his callused hand. She started to wriggle and he rolled further on top of her.
‘Aelis, it’s me, Robert. It’s all right. Be quiet. It’s me,’ he whispered urgently.
She shook her head violently from
side to side and now panic struck him. Why did she not recognize him? He had been so careful. Surely she knew he would cause her no harm? He tried to quieten her and pressed his body tighter against hers. His confusion increased with every movement of her thighs as she tried to kick him free. Her shift crept up her legs and then, without him realizing that he had pressed his free arm across her throat, she quietened, her struggles easing. Her eyes closed as if falling asleep.
‘Aelis,’ he whispered again. But she had gone limp beneath him. ‘It’s all right,’ he repeated. But he knew it wasn’t. His hand had gone from smothering her mouth to between her legs, and the urge to push himself into her became unbearable. He pressed his lips against her breasts and releasing his arm from her throat squeezed their fullness. It was too late to stop. His fingers desperately began to undo his breeches and as his body shifted from her she suddenly lurched, half rolling from under him, her outstretched hand plunging a small knife into the back of his shoulder. It pierced the thick archer’s muscle and hit bone. Thurgood bellowed with the shock of the sudden and unexpected pain and rolled clear into the sides of the tent. She forced herself past him out of the tent as, dazed, he made a vain attempt to snatch at her. His fist caught the hem of her shift. It ripped but she was free of him. He stumbled into the night. It had gone wrong; nothing was as he had planned. He didn’t understand anything except that he had to run.
She had stopped on the other side of the fire clutching her torn clothing as she looked down at Collard’s sprawled body. The mist swirled and added to Thurgood’s confusion. There was so much he wanted to say to her but the jumble of misplaced thoughts would not form into words. Voices were raised in the pale night as figures emerged, swords and knives in hand. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he turned to run. The mist would be his friend. The night darkened as a large figure blocked his path. He looked up and then felt the added pain as Meulon’s fist felled him.
*
Thurgood shivered. He opened his eyes and saw the blue sky above him. He was lying on the wet, dew-laden grass. The muscle in his back knotted where he had been stabbed. At first he couldn’t remember why he was in such pain and then the shadows from the night before cleared from his mind. The daylight hurt his eyes. Someone kicked him in the ribs and he half raised himself and stared at the men who surrounded him. They were faces he had known for years but the scowls that greeted him caused him unbearable sadness. These were his friends.
‘Get up,’ said Jack Halfpenny.
Thurgood rolled onto his side, and then his knees as he stood unsteadily. His head pounded and he trembled in the cold. Someone had fashioned a bandage across his wounded shoulder.
‘Christ, Jack, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean no harm. You know that. Don’t you?’
Halfpenny made no reply at first. He lowered his eyes and shook his head. ‘Robert. You fool,’ he said.
Will Longdon stood at Halfpenny’s side. He strode forward, grabbing Thurgood by the collar and yanked him through the gathered men. Thurgood looked around him and saw where Blackstone’s men had camped the previous night and felt a tinge of regret when he realized where his own bedroll had been. He wished he had never left it. Longdon shoved him forward to where Blackstone and Killbere stood flanked by John Jacob and the other captains. Merciful Christ, he thought as he remembered the assault on the girl, at least he hadn’t raped her. Blackstone would punish him for trying though; he knew that. There was no doubt he would be banished from serving with him. They might even take the gold coin from his purse as recompense for the girl. Thurgood went down on his knee in front of Blackstone.
‘Sir Thomas, I beg forgiveness. My passion for the woman got the better of me. My heart was true in its feelings for her, but after the drink I lost my mind. I will make amends and also beg her forgiveness.’
Silence greeted his admission of guilt. He kept his head lowered a moment longer but when he heard the men’s feet shuffle he raised his eyes. Blackstone and the others had stepped aside. Thurgood’s stomach heaved. He brought a hand to his mouth. The acid from the spurt of vomit burned his throat. The shock of what he saw nearly felled him as had Meulon’s fist hours earlier. Aelis’s collapsed tent and the cold, blackened embers of the fire outside it were revealed. Lying next to the fire was Collard’s sprawled body.
Thurgood’s mouth opened and closed. His mind screamed denial.
‘You killed a comrade-in-arms,’ said Killbere, his voice subdued with tightly controlled anger.
Thurgood shook his head. He looked desperately from face to face staring down at him. ‘No. I couldn’t have. I swear it. I only hit him once. Only the once,’ he implored.
‘Stupid bastard. You don’t know your own strength,’ said Killbere.
Thurgood got to his feet, a hand outstretched towards Blackstone, begging. ‘Sir Thomas… I would never… I could not…’ he mumbled.
Blackstone remained silent, but Thurgood saw there was pain in his eyes.
‘You were drunk, Robert, and your cock ruled your brain,’ said Killbere.
Blackstone nodded to those behind Thurgood. Will Longdon and Halfpenny stepped forward and gripped his arms. He was one of their archers and his fate was already sealed.
‘I won’t hang you,’ said Blackstone. ‘You have earned the right to be given a chance for what you did at the river.’ He looked across the open meadow. It sloped gently away for a mile, the pockets of forests flanking its breadth of eight hundred paces. ‘You forsake your war bow, food and water. You run hard and fast, Robert, and you might escape your centenar’s arrow. A hundred and fifty paces is what I give you.’
Thurgood twisted and looked at Longdon. He never missed. Before he could say anything more he was pulled away from his sworn lord. He twisted his head back, eyes searching out Blackstone. ‘Forgive me, lord. I don’t beg for clemency but for your forgiveness. I served you loyally. I swear it.’
Blackstone’s hardened gaze offered no compassion. Thurgood felt the loss as deeply as his regret for the night’s events. He stumbled, grief almost claiming him.
‘Keep your feet,’ Will Longdon growled at him. Twenty paces away from the gathered men they stopped and turned him to face the long run that might offer a chance of life.
‘Will, a moment with him,’ said Halfpenny.
Longdon nodded. These two men were lifelong friends. He turned away and took up his bow and then searched out an arrow whose fletching satisfied his need for an accurate flight.
Halfpenny shoved a wineskin into his friend’s hands. ‘Drink,’ he insisted. ‘You’ll need it.’
Thurgood nodded gratefully and drank thirstily until he had had his fill. When he had finished Halfpenny took his friend’s face in his hands and pulled it close to his own. ‘Robert, you stupid bastard, you have robbed us all of a good man.’
‘I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear.’
‘No, not him. You. We have fought the battles over the years, my friend. We were a part of history. And now you must run for your life.’
Tears welled in Thurgood’s eyes. ‘Will Longdon never misses,’ he whispered.
‘Listen to me. You run straight for a hundred and thirty paces. You need to cover ground. Then go right for ten. Run straight and then left for another ten. Understand. Only go ten paces each side. Once you have got past a hundred and fifty you can make the trees. You understand?’
Thurgood was trembling and nodded vigorously. ‘We’ll get back home, Jack. You and me both. London. The Dog and Moon tavern. Like old days.’
‘Like old days,’ said Halfpenny and embraced him. He kissed his friend’s cheek. And whispered: ‘I won’t let any man here harm you. I swear it.’
Thurgood pulled his face away, questioning what he had just heard. ‘Jack, don’t cause yourself trouble. I’ll take my chances.’
Halfpenny nodded to reassure him. ‘I swear it,’ he repeated. ‘Run hard, Robert. Think of home.’
Blackstone’s voice carried across the gathered men. ‘It’
s time.’
With a final glance and smile of regret, Thurgood stepped away from Halfpenny. He glanced at the men he had served alongside these past years. Different countries, different enemies, but always side by side. He wished he could find some words of farewell but could not. He focused on the long meadow. Will Longdon held his war bow, the arrow ready to be nocked.
Thurgood ran.
His eyes blurred in the cold morning air but the forest’s sanctuary beckoned him. The torn muscles in his shoulder nagged but he used the pain to drive him on, relishing it, turning it to fuel his desperation. He did exactly what Halfpenny had told him. His head was clear enough now to think of survival. Straight, right, left… straight… arms pumping, sucking in great gulps of air. Pace by pace, yard by archer’s yard. The arrow would come soon if his friend failed to stop it. He wouldn’t hear it, he knew that. There might be the flutter of a bird’s wing as the fletchings quivered through the air. He was strong. His legs carried him; the strength was there. The forest grew closer. He wished he could turn and wave because he knew he had won. Perhaps when he reached the trees he would look back and raise his uninjured arm in farewell. Elation soared through him.
Will Longdon watched Thurgood’s run. His eyes followed every movement the man made. There were markers within that field. A rotten tree stump, a hump of ground, a patch of winter grass taller than the rest. Every one a measured distance to an archer’s eye. Mind and hands knew instinctively where to aim. Legs braced, his back bent, the muscles and momentum of his body drawing back the arrow towards his cheek waiting to see which way the running man would turn next.