Blood of the Innocents

by Michael Jecks

  Fulk was nodding. ‘He’s right,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘I would not attack them with so few.’

  ‘Ach, if you say so,’ Grandarse said. ‘But it would be a glorious opportunity.’

  ‘An opportunity to die,’ Berenger said flatly. ‘But we will need more men if we are to succeed in rescuing their prisoners. Now, take me to Denisot.’

  In the bushes, Denisot listened to the sounds of the night, while at his side Ethor lay on his belly. Usually at this time of year Denisot would expect to hear the odd owl, perhaps a wandering cat, the sleepy barking of a neighbour’s dog. Here, near the camp, all he could hear was whimpers and weeping from women and others in the camp. He strained his ears, trying to hear her voice. Gaillarde must be there, she had to be! She hadn’t been left in the town, he was sure. They wouldn’t have taken her to another house to rape and murder her. She would have been left in her own house. But someone had taken her with them. They had killed little Suzette and taken Gaillarde.

  He looked up when the quiet hiss came from the trees behind them and nudged Ethor. The two crawled backwards from their protective bush, and made their way painstakingly over the grass to the trees. Not until they were five yards in among the trees did they feel safe enough to rise and stretch aching muscles.

  ‘That’s the camp?’ Berenger asked quietly.

  ‘Yes. You have brought men?’ Denisot asked. His voice was harsh with anger. ‘They have the women in there from our village. They have my wife . . .’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, but there are only a couple of men with me. Where is Hawkwood?’

  ‘Him? Over there,’ Denisot said, pointing to a second stand of thick undergrowth. ‘But you should have asked for help, for men to come and rescue our people! I thought you had brought companions to help us save the women! Still, we can do it! We can go now, surprise them. Perhaps we can save some of them.’

  It was Ethor who shook his head. ‘No, Denisot. You saw the men on guard duty just as I did. They are all alert, not resting. There is no chance of surprise.’

  Denisot shook his head. ‘Of course there is! We can knock down the sentries, then . . .’

  ‘You hope we may be able to break into the camp and rescue the prisoners, but you know that idea is doomed. The women are all held separately with the men, in ones and twos in rooms in an old convent. The men are inside, too, all gathered together. To get to them, we would have to race through all the sleeping routiers. Then we would have to release the women from any shackles or bonds holding them before trying to escape. In that time the entire camp would be awake, and it’s unlikely we could liberate any of the women before we were slaughtered. I don’t think a single woman could be rescued like that. More likely, the mercenaries would slay them as soon as the alarm was given.’

  ‘We have to leave,’ Berenger said. ‘We can go to our knight, Sir John, and bring him back. These fellows may listen to him and surrender their captives for a fee.’

  ‘Fee?’

  ‘A ransom. They will be happy enough to release the women for some money.’

  ‘What money?’ Denisot asked. His voice was louder than he intended and when Ethor put a hand on his shoulder, he nodded. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said more quietly. ‘We have no money, Master Fripper. All we had, they have stolen. What would you have us do, go and rob someone else to pay these thieves? Kill someone to pay these killers?’

  Berenger looked towards the camp. ‘Perhaps there is another way, but there is nothing we can do without more men. We have to go to the English camp.’

  ‘You go, then. I will stay here and watch for my wife,’ Denisot said.

  ‘You don’t even know that she’s there,’ Berenger said. ‘She could have been slain and left in any one of a number of places between your town and here.’

  ‘These men do not bury their victims or hide them! They kill and leave the bodies where they lie! My wife is there. I am sure of it!’

  ‘If you remain here, you will be likely caught and killed yourself,’ Ethor said. ‘Denisot, go back with these men. I will stay and follow them.’

  ‘To what purpose?’ Berenger asked.

  ‘If they move from their path, I can show you where they have gone.’

  Berenger shook his head. ‘My friend, if you think that the English army cannot see a swathe of destruction such as these men are leaving, you are blind. And if you were to come to the English camp and call out, you would be killed as a spy. If you were captured when the army came to you, you would be slain. None of you can remain. Denisot, staying here will mean your death. If you come with us there is a possibility that you can save her. If you don’t, there is none.’

  Denisot turned and stared back towards the mercenaries’ camp.

  ‘I failed her before. She still blames me because I could do nothing to save our children. I could see it in her eyes: she held me responsible for their deaths. If I go now, I will be—’

  ‘Helping to rescue her,’ Grandarse said. He belched and hoicked up his belt. ‘Aye, well, we’ll be rescuing no one if we don’t get our arses back to the English camp soon. Best hurry.’

  ‘I will stay. I may be able to help her,’ Denisot said. He stared hard at Fripper. ‘I saved your life once. You owe me this. You should stay with me.’

  ‘I could not help you against so many,’ Berenger said. ‘You stay, but keep safe, and we shall bring back more men so that we can rescue your wife.’

  ‘You will come back? This you swear?’

  ‘Yes. I will return with men.’

  Denisot nodded as though to himself while Berenger stood, waiting. Ethor shrugged and muttered, ‘Eh, bien.’

  ‘You are with me?’ Denisot said.

  Ethor nodded and the two stood staring at each other. At last, with a heavy heart, Berenger muttered his farewell. ‘God watch you.’

  Denisot said, ‘Godspeed.’ He looked at Ethor, and the two men turned and made their way quietly back to the edge of the trees. Berenger watched them disappear into the gloom.

  He felt as though he was betraying Denisot and his wife; he felt as though he was leaving them both to their deaths.

  Wednesday 17 August

  The English camp was in turmoil when Berenger and the others arrived. Sentries forced them to stop on their way in, and even when they had passed inside the camp, they had the feeling that they were being watched suspiciously as they sought the pavilion of Sir John de Sully.

  ‘Eh, this is a bugger! I feel like a spy, even though I’m as innocent as the day I was born,’ Grandarse said.

  ‘If that’s true, you must have been a remarkable babe,’ Berenger said.

  ‘I was that. I was noted for my intelligence and skills.’

  ‘At eating and thieving?’ Hawkwood said with a grin.

  ‘Aye. And clipping saucy bastards from far-off parts round the head, too, ye ignorant git!’

  Berenger smiled, but only fleetingly. He felt curiously ill at ease here in the midst of the English army. It was so familiar, so much a part of his past: all the noises, the smells, the scenes, were engraved on his mind from a dozen campaigns: the ringing and clattering of hammers from the smiths and armourers, the coarse bellowing and swearing from vinteners trying to urge on recalcitrant recruits new to marching and fighting, the smell of baking clay as new-made bread ovens dried, the all-pervasive odours of ten thousand men urinating, sweating and defecating in the warm air. It was all so poignantly familiar, and yet it was foreign too. It had been so long since Berenger had felt a part of a campaign like this; to return to it now made him wary and nervous, like a pup waiting for a kick.

  ‘Come, Fripper,’ Grandarse said.

  Sir John’s pavilion was easy to find. Grandarse and Berenger walked to it and announced themselves to the steward at the door.

  ‘My friends, I am glad to see you!’ Sir John exclaimed when he saw them. ‘Fripper, it does my heart good to see you well. I had heard you were dead!’

  It took little time to tell him what had happ
ened to them since Grandarse and Hawkwood had left in search of Berenger. Sir John’s face grew serious as he heard of the sacking of the abbey. ‘These men are not serving the Prince or our King. They are making war on their own account. If we find them, they can expect little sympathy from me or any of my men here,’ he said.

  ‘There is no justification,’ Berenger said. ‘They murdered the Abbot of St Jacques, just as they murdered many others about Uzerche.’ He didn’t want to mention Alazaïs. Not yet. He had a natural reluctance to talk about her murder. There was always the risk that Sir John might think he had a personal feud with Will over the woman. ‘If I find them, I will kill their commander,’ he said.

  ‘Quite so.’ Sir John turned away.

  Berenger looked at him as Sir John filled his mazer from a jug, waving a hand towards Berenger and Grandarse so that his steward would serve them too. Berenger took the cup and sniffed the heady odour of strong wine. He set it down untouched.

  He could remember the battles in which he had served this knight: many battles, most of them victories, and some few disasters. But in his mind still all he could see were the faces of Alazaïs and her two boys as Sir John spoke once more.

  ‘Now, to cheerier matters. Grandarse, I assume you will happily command Fripper again as a vintener?’

  ‘Aye. Gladly.’

  ‘Then I think that the men he has brought with him shall be a benefit to all of us. Please take him to the fellows he will command and introduce him.’

  ‘There is another matter, Sir John,’ Berenger said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I must take my men to find the company who were guilty of these crimes.’

  Sir John peered at him over his cup. ‘I do not think that the Prince would be happy to learn that I had agreed to deplete my forces just as our campaign begins.’

  ‘It is essential, Sir John. My friend’s wife is held captive with the company.’

  ‘Then it may be better if he doesn’t win her back, don’t you think?’ Sir John said. ‘If she has been raped and assaulted for the last week or so, I doubt whether she will be the same woman.’

  ‘He must win her back,’ Berenger said. ‘It is a matter of honour.’

  ‘Well, I can admire his determination, but to lose a vintaine would be difficult. We do not have the manpower to fritter away our forces.’

  ‘It would have to be more than one vintaine,’ Grandarse said. ‘They have a force of over a hundred.’

  ‘So you’d want five or six vintaines? I don’t think . . .’

  ‘Then I must go back alone. I owe this man my life. I will not leave him when he needs my aid.’

  ‘Berenger, you are part of the Prince’s army now.’

  ‘I have no contract, I’ve accepted no money, and I have not even taken provisions from you. I am a free agent.’

  Sir John rubbed his chin and contemplated the man. Berenger looked pale-faced and fretful, which was unexpected. In the past he had always been determined and firm, but he had a core of obedience that had remained unshaken. Now he looked like a man who was willing to risk all in order to help this man he called a friend. ‘How far are they?’

  ‘Perhaps forty miles yesternight. Now? Maybe another twenty. They have many on foot still, and those must slow the march of the entire column.’

  Sir John considered. Berenger was a useful leader, but to send him and a force of men after this company may well cost more than a few of their own troops. The English could ill afford to lose more men. They were short enough as it was.

  ‘Grandarse?’

  ‘Aye, well, I think Fripper is keen, Sir John,’ the centener said.

  ‘It was one thing to allow two vintaines to make a reconnaissance, but different to have a centaine riding off in force,’ Sir John said.

  His squire leaned forward and whispered in the knight’s ear.

  ‘Yes? That is possible, certainly,’ Sir John said, frowning in concentration.

  ‘What?’ Berenger asked.

  ‘Since we left Périgueux we have had two forces of cavalry watching our line of march. They must be riding on to warn our enemies where we are. Perhaps you could find them and capture some of their men? Any of them brought back here would be worth a great deal in terms of information. And if you kill them all, that will leave the Compte de Poitiers blind until he finds a new force to track us. What do you think?’

  Berenger nodded and glanced at Grandarse. ‘We should be able to do that. How strong are these French forces?’

  ‘Perhaps seventy men-at-arms. You will need to take a strong force.’ The knight gazed at him impassively. ‘Perhaps a centaine.’

  Berenger grinned. ‘Thank you, Sir John.’

  ‘Bring my men back safely, Fripper. And if there are any good fellows in this man Will’s company, we could use them, too.’

  Gaillarde was ready to collapse in a heap when they reached the latest camp, but first she must gather up sticks and twigs and make a fire while the men rested, the dark-haired man watching her from narrowed eyes.

  His name, she had learned, was Bernard. He at least had little in the way of an accent. She could understand him. That was not the case with many of the other men in the company. More were like the fair-haired fellow called Owen, who had a dreadful cut in his cheek, and spoke in some guttural tongue she could barely understand. Perhaps it was the recent wound that was giving him his speech impediment, but she doubted it. His eye was horrible, too: it had a bruise that had turned the eyeball to a violent scarlet.

  Even with those, she found Bernard was the more terrifying of the company. He was quiet, watchful, intense, like a hunter stalking a hart. Always at his side was another, nervous and terribly shy. This was Arnaud, a younger fellow who was so nervous, he barely dared to look at her. Whenever his eyes lit on her, he instantly reddened and looked away; Bernard was one of those men who was always looking at her as if he could see every line of her beneath her shift and tunic. His eyes were everywhere, all over her body. It made her feel as if slugs were crawling over her. He was terrible; he made her feel sick.

  The younger fellow reminded her of a cousin who had got into trouble in Limoges when he went as apprentice to a saddler and got into the wrong company. Poor Guillaume! When there was a dispute between the apprentices and others, he joined a gang that ran about the town, hurling stones and getting into fights with sticks and clubs. At the end of their brief reign of terror, the apprentices were punished severely, and Guillaume was fortunate not to have been caught. From that evening onwards, he was a quieter, more peaceful man. He had settled and raised a small family, making all forms of leather purses, pouches and scabbards for local folk, vowing never to travel to the city again.

  ‘Mistress?’ It was the fair boy.

  Gaillarde turned to him, giving an involuntary whimper as the skin on her cheek was pulled taut over her bruise. It was painful at all times, but when she moved her head without wariness, it was worst of all. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You want some pottage?’

  Bernard stood and stepped between them. Gaillarde drew away as he leered at her, then turned his back and pushed the other back again. ‘Leave her, Arnaud. She doesn’t need anything from you.’

  ‘She likes me, and I want to feed her. You give her nothing.’

  ‘She is mine, Arnaud. Not yours. Leave her alone or you’ll answer to me.’

  His voice was low, quiet, but there was no mistaking the menace in his tone. Arnaud looked past him at Gaillarde, and in his eyes she saw his soul as though it was stripped naked. He was no mercenary, not in truth. These thieves and murderers must have captured him and brought him here against his will. They seemed to keep a close eye on him at all times, so far as she could see. Bernard in particular seemed to think he might run away at any moment, and perhaps find friends to rescue her too, she thought.

  Gaillarde had to fight to hold back a sob. The back of her throat felt tight and strained, and her breast was like a clenched fist. All the muscles were taut. S
he let her head hang.

  ‘He likes you,’ Bernard sneered. He took her arm and pulled her along to his bed. ‘He thinks he can take you like he’s taken others.’

  ‘He wouldn’t!’ she burst out. ‘He’s not like you!’

  He pushed her suddenly. A heel caught a stone, and she fell back on her rump with a short squeal of pain as a sharp piece of rock bit into her buttock.

  ‘You listen to me well, woman. You are mine while you’re in this company, and you’d best remember that. I’ll have you keep your eyes downcast when you look at other men, else your life will grow painful.’

  ‘Why? So you can keep me in good condition for whenever you want to rape me?’ she snapped.

  He slapped her face suddenly. It was not hard, but it caught the bruise where he had hit her before, and the sudden pain flared like a torch, scorching her face. ‘Don’t talk to me like that,’ he said, leaning close. ‘If I want to fuck you, I will, you whore. You have no one here will save you. Don’t forget that for a moment. I’m the only man here who’s keen to keep you alive.’

  ‘Why? Tell me that!’

  ‘Because . . . because I would see you safe.’

  He wanted to keep her for himself, no doubt, but he had no affection for her. That was proved by his abuse.

  ‘You should be careful! I am wife to the bayle of my town!’

  ‘So you’re the wife to the bayle? That is good to know. I know much you don’t realise, woman. I know a bayle’s wife is worth money. So I’ll keep you alive and I’ll sell you back to him when I get the chance. But if you make my life hard, I may just think that it’s not worth the fight. I may decide to leave you to the others to be gang-raped and killed. If you want that, you go on making sheep’s eyes at Arnaud back there. Otherwise, if you want to live and see your husband again, you’d best learn to be nice to the one man here who’s protecting you.’

  She turned her face away while he glared down at her, and then he was gone. She dared not move for a few moments, thinking that he might still be there, but he had stalked off, and was seeing to his pony. Carefully, fearfully, she turned her head a little further and saw Arnaud. He was standing a short distance away, and as his glance caught hers, he slowly dropped an eyelid in an elaborate wink. She felt relief course through her veins. It was as intoxicating as a draught of strong wine.