The battle was over.
Berenger stood panting in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He realised that he had a cut on his left forearm, and another in his left hip, but worse by far was his back, where his efforts had ripped the physician Antoine’s careful efforts.
Saul had taken a stab to his back, but it was not deep. He also had a jagged cut over his left ear, but he would survive that, just as he had survived so many other wounds in the past. However, Berenger was concerned when he saw Loys. The bolt had entered below his collarbone. It was a vicious-looking bolt with a heavy head and wooden section. The wood had splintered when it hit Loys, and bits and pieces of wood were all about the main head. It looked much worse than it truly was, however. When Berenger moved it, he soon realised that the head was not barbed, and he could remove it easily while Loys lay at the roadside. Fulk looked at the injury carefully, then walked away. He soon returned with moss with which he packed the wound, while Loys winced and looked away, his face grey with pain.
When he was done, Fulk gave Loys a flask with some drink in it, which Loys sipped while Fulk went to Alazaïs’s body. He grabbed at her skirts and, before Berenger could remonstrate, the Swiss had cut away a long strip. He helped Loys sit up, groaning and muttering about ‘Damned Swiss tarse fiddlers’, before he wrapped the linen over and about Loy’s breast, holding the pad of moss in place.
Berenger left him to his ministrations and went back to Alazaïs’s body. She lay on her side, one leg drawn up as though she was sleeping. In her face there was the serenity he had noticed before, a calmness and inner beauty that even death could not efface. It made him feel humble just to see it, as though seeing this woman with all the trials and problems of life shorn away was itself a gift. Only a short distance from her lay her two boys. Their blood had pooled and run together, so that it was now mingled as it congealed.
‘I will make him pay for this,’ Berenger said. ‘I swear to you, Alazaïs, he will pay.’
He rose and walked to the horse lying in the roadway. The rider was still trapped, and Berenger had to strain, sitting on his rump and pushing with his feet, to roll the horse’s corpse enough to release the fellow.
‘I owe you my life,’ he said. It was a foolish comment, perhaps, but with those words he felt the weight of obligation land on his shoulders.
‘I wouldn’t see an ambush against a traveller,’ Denisot said. He had dragged his leg from beneath the horse and now sat massaging it. It was not broken, fortunately, but it would be many weeks before he could walk without a severe limp.
‘My name is Berenger Fripper.’
‘Denisot, the Bayle of Domps,’ Denisot said. He peered at Berenger with careful interest. The man was clearly English, and Denisot knew that meant he was likely one of the hated murderers who infested this poor land. ‘Who were they?’ he asked, indicating the bodies in the woods.
‘Men who wanted me dead, sent by a traitor,’ Berenger said. He rose and walked back to the woods, seeking the youth.
The boy still lay in the brambles, and Berenger tipped a flask of water over his head before Alain stirred, muzzily staring about him, then moaning and whimpering as his ruined shoulder moved.
‘You know me, boy,’ Berenger said. He squatted on his haunches before the fellow as he tried to sit upright, moaning and weeping at the pain from his shoulder. ‘You know I keep my word.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who am I?’
‘The captain, sir.’
‘Stop your moaning or I’ll put a stop to it forever. Answer me and you may be allowed to live.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who ordered you to ambush us today?’
‘You know who.’
Berenger picked up a stick and prodded it at the boy’s shoulder. ‘I asked you a question. Be honest and frank and I’ll be merciful,’ he said as Alain screamed and tried to knock the stick away. His effort pressed the stick’s point into his wound and widened the lips of the gash. Alain screamed all the louder.
‘Who?’
‘Will! It was Will!’ Alain sobbed, his left hand at his ruined shoulder. He looked up at Berenger with a gleam of hatred. ‘He told us to come out here and kill you all. He said to kill the bitch and her pups first. He said that a whore like that wasn’t worth the price of a bolt, but that we should kill her and her pups so you would see you’d lost everything. He said you should feel the pain of loss before you died.’
‘You killed her to punish me,’ Berenger breathed.
Fulk had joined them and now stood at Berenger’s shoulder with Saul. ‘That is what I heard Will order,’ he agreed. ‘Will wanted the men to lie in wait and kill the woman and her children while you looked on, then kill you.’
‘Why did you decide to stop them?’
‘He ordered me. I was sent with the others to waylay you. I didn’t like the idea. What, attack you just because you wanted to leave?’
‘I left because I wanted to impose discipline.’
‘Ja. You are a commander. A commander must always impose discipline. It is a part of your job to enforce it and see that all men obey. I would not argue with your position.’
Saul was eyeing him doubtfully. ‘You didn’t elect to join us when we left.’
‘I saw no need to. It was when I heard that there was to be an attack on you that I decided to leave the company. If the company wants to punish a bad commander, I’m happy with that. But I am Swiss. I believe in holding a court and discussing a man’s crimes before all the men, and then punishing him before them.’ He shrugged. There was contempt in his voice as he continued. ‘To tell a man he is free to go, and then attack him on the road like a common outlaw, that is not the action of an honourable man. I will have nothing to do with a commander who proposes that.’
Berenger was content with his words. ‘I am glad you decided to help us. If it weren’t for you and that man there, we would be dead now.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘What can I do? I have no company: none of us do. I have to find a new life.’
Denisot limped to join them. He stood gazing down at the youth. ‘Was this one of the ambushers?’
Fulk nodded and kicked the lad. He screamed briefly, clutching at his cods with his left hand, vomiting into the bushes at his side. ‘What shall we do with him?’
Berenger pulled out his knife. There was a dull ache behind his eyes and he wanted desperately to have a drink. The shaking in his hand shocked him. It made the blade of his knife move wildly as he stood there. Then he looked about him, feeling lost and empty inside. Bodies lay all over this wood. Up there was the man he had killed first. There was the man he had seen Fulk kill with a slash to the throat. Further on, he saw a splash of red on an oak where the man had lost his hand, and back there, on the road, Alazaïs and her children lay in the dirt. A short gust of wind brought the smell to him, the odour of battle. It tasted of blood and smelled of tin and shit, and the feel of it in his nostrils made Berenger shiver like a horse on a battlefield.
Fulk found their horses farther up the hill. They were clumped together in a huddle as though fearful of their welcome. Two were missing, he reckoned. ‘Probably the two who were guarding them took to their heels when they saw how the fight was going,’ he said. ‘I daresay they’ve made it all the way back to Uzerche by now.’
This boy wasn’t responsible for their deaths, and he could serve a useful purpose still. ‘Give him a horse and send him back with a message: “This is what happens when you try to fight real men. I’ll return for a reckoning soon.” Take that, and take it swiftly. This man here is the bayle of a town near here. If he finds you on the road you will be declared outlaw and beheaded.’
‘You’d let him go?’ Denisot said with surprise.
‘What good will his death serve? At least this way, Will knows that I am alive. It will make him fear my revenge.’
Saul said, ‘I’d cut his balls off first.’
‘Leave him. He’s alrea
dy useless. He’ll never be a fighter again, not with that arm. He’ll be lucky if it’s not amputated in a week, or it goes septic and kills him. He’s nothing.’
‘But you’ll return to take revenge on Will?’ Fulk said.
‘In time. Not until I’ve healed and I know what is happening with the men,’ Berenger said. He moved his arm experimentally and winced. His back felt soaked in blood and he knew he must have his wounds seen to again.
They gave a mount to Alain and sent him on his way, but the other horses they decided to take with them to the abbey. They would be able to use them as remounts, or perhaps sell them if they grew desperate.
‘I shall go with you,’ Fulk said. ‘I have no wish to return to Will’s company. He would not be grateful for my part today.’
‘First, Master Fripper will need to find a physician,’ Denisot said. He wanted to see these men taken into Domps and captured, so that they could pay for the death of the girl found by Poton, and for all the other crimes committed by the English, but there was something about them that made him feel unsure. If he had all the men of Domps summoned to arrest them, he suspected that many would die. Better by far to take them somewhere and see them healed and sent on their way.
‘I can help you,’ he said. With those words he sealed his fate.
Will was furious when Alain returned. The horse-minders were never seen again after the attempted ambush. They had made off when they saw how the battle was developing, terrified of reporting their failure to their new commander, but Alain rode back to Uzerche, lurching in the saddle, and was there before the curfew bell was tolled. He found Will at a bar with two town whores sharing his drinks, one sitting on his lap, a second beside him on the bench. The first had untied his braies and was playing with his tarse, her hand inside his hosen while she kissed him amorously.
‘They escaped?’ Will repeated, averting his face so her kiss missed his lips and instead smeared down his cheek. She chuckled deep in her throat and moved her hand more energetically.
‘The woman and her brats were killed, but someone rode up and warned the captain. He was able to turn the attack to his own advantage,’ Alain said nervously, watching the woman. His arm was thrust into a strap of leather while the company’s physician, who was a good barber but not so competent with the tools of a healer, hovered nearby, waiting to get the lad to a table and look at his injury. Alain was faintly yellow about the face now, and sweating with the pain of his wound.
‘They had surprise, they had accurate weapons: they should have been able to destroy Berenger’s little group in one loosing of bolts with or without a man giving them warning!’
‘After he warned them of the ambush, Fulk turned against us. He was with them,’ the boy said.
‘Fulk? That goat-swyving son of a Swiss peasant! I should have realised he’d go and do something like that!’ Will stood, the whore falling from his lap to the floor with an indignant squeak. ‘You tell me that prickle helped Fripper to escape?’
‘Who gives a shit for him?’ the whore said, climbing to her feet. ‘He’s gone, but I’m here.’
‘You stupid bitch, do you think he’ll just go? We killed the woman he wanted. He may be drink-addled and foolish, but he won’t let that stop him. He will see me taking her life as a grave insult. With that to spur him, as well as me taking leadership of the company, he will seek revenge.’
‘What can one man do against your army?’ the woman on the bench asked. She had her blouse open, and her full breasts were on display. She moved a hand over her nipple in blatant invitation when she saw Will look at her.
‘Little enough,’ Will said. He wetted his lips as she moved her attention to her other breast.
‘He’s only one man. You have a hundred at your back. He’s nothing.’
‘True. Did he say anything else?’
‘He told me to hurry. The man who warned him of the ambush, he was there. Fripper said he was a bailiff to a town near here.’
‘Did he say where?’
‘No. But he said that you should beware. He said, “This is what happens when you try to fight real men. I’ll be back for a reckoning soon.”’
Will chuckled then. ‘I look forward to it!’
‘We should go to Limoges,’ Denisot declared.
‘Fuck your mother!’ Fulk declared. ‘You think we want to put our heads on the block for the headsman’s sword? If we go there, we will be killed for sure.’
‘Where else can we go? You need a physician,’ Denisot said, looking at Loys and Berenger.
‘We will not go to Limoges. Is there nowhere else?’ Berenger asked.
Eventually, on the recommendation of Denisot, they decided to make their way to the Abbaye de St Jacques. It was a small abbey some fifteen miles east of Limoges, Denisot explained, and from what he had heard, they had an expert infirmarer.
‘What will they make of us there?’ Saul demanded.
Denisot held out his hands expressively. ‘Look at your comrades, my friend. Will they survive if you do not get them to a physician soon? Your younger companion has a hole in his breast that could go foul at any time; your leader has a terrible injury in his flank and back, and you yourself have injuries that should be seen to.’
‘There must be other physicians.’
‘Not many. The best is a man in Uzerche. You want to return there?’
‘He’s right,’ Berenger said. ‘We cannot go back, and we have to travel to Guyenne, in any case. This abbey will not be far from our path. I don’t want to go south in case we meet up with some of Will’s men.’
Loys gave a low whimper of pain. That settled the matter.
Berenger felt sickly. He was cold even in the sunlight, and his back was appallingly painful. Fulk had a look at it, and said that there was plenty of watery blood and a little weak pus, but nothing to worry about. Still, with the chill in his bones and the shaking, as well as his desperate need for a cup of strong wine, Berenger felt nearer death than life. However, he would not leave Alazaïs and her two boys to the attention of crows and wild dogs. He insisted that they should all be loaded onto the spare horses and taken to the nearest church.
It delayed them, but Denisot brought them to a small church in a village some miles from Chamberet, where the priest was known to him. When they clattered to a halt before his church, the father was working in a small vegetable patch at the side of the cemetery. He straightened and leaned on his spade, watching the men as Denisot called to him and explained what had happened. After a brief discussion the priest agreed to accept the mother and her sons. He was happy to accept Denisot’s word as bayle that they were Christian, and Fulk carried the three little bundles into the church with Saul.
‘I will look after them,’ the priest said.
Berenger looked into his eyes. He felt no gratitude, only a fierce, feverish rage at the world for allowing Will to destroy Alazaïs. ‘Do so! They were dear to me. I will return to see that you have treated them well, and it will go evilly for you if you have abused them!’
The priest stared up at him. ‘I will pray for you too.’
Berenger spat at the ground. It was tempting to pull out his dagger and mark the man’s face for his effrontery, but before he could match action to thought, Fulk returned and mounted his horse between them.
Suddenly Berenger felt an unaccountable misery. It struck him that he would never see Alazaïs again and it was his own fault. This was not the responsibility of others: this was his, and he must bear it for the rest of his days. She was dead because he had taken his company of men to her town. He had invested Will with rank in the company, and that error of judgement had allowed Will to take over the men. It was his arrogance and attempt to enrich himself that had directly led to Alazaïs’s death. He had not molested her, let alone raped her, for there had been something about her that kept him away, a warmth in her soul that looked almost angelic, and which it would have been heresy to harm. It could perhaps have soothed his soul, had he grown to k
now her better. Only that morning he had seen a different side to her character as she smiled at him in genuine gratitude when he offered her his horse.
And now she was dead, and that smile had died with her.
All because of him.
Saturday 23 July
The two English centaines had stopped for the night, and were draped over the side of a hill like a badly laid table-cloth. Camp fires were already burning and the faces of the vintaine were lit with a healthy golden glow as they waited for their pottage to warm through.
Robin approached with the weight of command lying on him like an ingot of lead.
It was a relief to see that the men looked more comfortable with each other than they had. When they had set off, Clip and Dogbreath looked on him accusingly as though suspecting him of being a spy for Sir John. The two appeared to have formed an unholy alliance: the two experienced members of the vintaine against all others. Robin would have to try to do something to meld them and the other members. He would have considered making them both sergeants under him, each responsible for eight of the men, but that would lead to additional friction, he was sure. Neither man would be ideal. Both were too self-obsessed and keen on their own safety to be reliable commanders of others.
Pierre and Felix, the father and son, didn’t look up as he took his seat. Imbert gave him a sidelong glance: he suspected that Robin was the cause of his headache and foiled escape. The father and son seemed to think that they were safe so long as they avoided his gaze. That was fine by Robin. Clip was picking at his teeth with a sharpened stick while eyeing the rest of the vintaine with mixed contempt and disdain.
‘All I was saying was,’ Dogbreath said, ‘if you want to see how to lead men, you only have to look to Sir John.’
‘What is this?’ Robin asked.
‘Imbert was saying he didn’t understand why half the men here were fighting for a cause they don’t understand,’ Dogbreath said. He snorted contemptuously.
Blood of the Innocents Page 12